The Rhyme
I can't believe I'm here, I thought. The Rhyme. I passed out cold, still in the glass coffin. Zillah shook me awake, with a touch I'd nearly forgotten. It's him!! I screamed, feeling hurt, scared, and above all angry at the realization that this heartless soul brought me back from where I escaped. He held tight, avoiding my flailing arms. Pinpricks of glass cut my skin, but the pain of being in this place was worse. I knew what type of things happened in this room. I shouldn't be here.
I manage myself out of his grasp and onto the floor, among even more glass. At this point, I didn't care. I stared into his eyes, snarling.
"Lime, how did you --?" he says, at a loss for words. He looked exactly the same as the day I killed myself. Dressed in a manner the highschool kids back in Sea-at-tel tended to dress.
"I don't know. Send me back. Now," I retorted. He didn't like that. He's never liked being told what to do. A questioning look spread over his face.
"Send you back where?"
"Home."
"But you are home. Where is home?"
I shook my head, my dreads raining glass dust. "Sea-at-tel. Now do it, you owe me that."
He tried to coax me over, almost a smile on his face. "Come here, I've waited a long time for you to wake up." A manicured hand reached out, but I flinched back. That hand caused alot of trouble in my past life. And like the cats that he so hated, he turned on me. A snarl consumed his face as he spit, "You ungrateful little ---! How dare you? After all I've done, this is the welcome I receive?"
I pulled myself to my bare feet, leaning up against the cold wall. My eyes darted for a way out, but I knew… there was no way out of this room.
“Send me back, now,” I tried to say with confidence. Perhaps if I sounded determined…
He wiggles a set of iron keys with a smirk. This seemed all too familiar of arguments past. Of him expecting me to know what he wanted, and me giving in until I got it right. “Lime, dear, you can’t possibly still be mad after so long.”
“I will not be part of your brothel orgy and babymaking party!,” my confidence fading and the anxiety taking over. “Go be with your wife!” I blinked away tears, feeling the wall, still grasping at the idea that I’d find a secret button that would open a trapdoor or something.
“Wot wife?” He bursts into laughter, genuinely amused at the conversation. After all this time, this is what we talk about… rather, argue about. “My dear, I’ve never had a wife. Now I know you’re truly insane. Come sit next to me, you owe me at least that. Do you know how many years I’ve kept you here, waiting for you to wake?”
I glanced at the glass coffin, realizing that I was somehow here in the Rhyme the whole time.
“That one you were referring to was a means to an end, that’s all. I’ve gotten what I needed from her and she’s long gone, believe me.”
“And there’s nothing to be gotten from me, either, so you just throw me in your basement?”
“Oh, there’s plenty to be gotten from you yet,” he smirks.
That god-forsaken smirk. How I used to love it in this morbid way, but I couldn’t read him now. I couldn’t tell if the smiles were from happiness, or he was being manipulative.
“Promise you won’t touch me. That you mean me no harm.” I levelly stared at him, trying to judge his reaction.
Zillah easily chuckles, “Of course I’ll do my best.”
“Blood promise.” I lean down, picking up a shard of glass perfectly shaped to fit in the palm of your hand and tossing it towards his feet, not daring to come in contact with him by passing it over. He picks it up, curious at the idea of it. “I know what you’re capable of, now do it.”
He thinks a moment, casually standing there with the weight of his body dominating his right leg. With a practiced motion of his arm, he slides the sharp edge against is palm, breaking the skin and nonchalantly pattering blood onto the floor. “Now… I promise. So come here.” He tentatively stepped forward, almost within arm’s length. I could tell he needed to be around me. I could also tell that I needed out of here, and I didn’t have as much control of the situation as I thought I would. This is when I should have fallen into his arms like the end of a dark love story. The curtain would have been dropped, and the crowd would have gone home with a sense of morbid romanticism.
I must have had a wild dreadlock in my brain, and before I knew it, I retorted, “What makes you think I wanted to come back?”
“How ungrateful, why did you really want to stay dead? What good is that?” I could tell his temper was rising, and he got that glare in his eye I had forced myself to forget over the years.
“I wanted to stay dead because I didn’t want to be around you.”
“Now exactly why wouldn’t you want to be around me?,” he frowned, “You killed yourself like a fool because you didn’t have me and now here I am, and here you are. What could be better? Aren’t you pleased?”
The game of answering a question with another question began. “Why did you bring me back?” And what’s behind Door Number 2, Alex! I thought. This was the golden question.
He shrugs simply, “Because I wanted you.” Of course an answer like that would never appease a girl. It seemed almost unnatural for him to speak that way. Feeling defeated, I fell back to the floor, amidst the glass and blood.
“You can’t just have me whenever you want me.”
“You obviously aren’t seeing clearly. Perhaps a few days locked in here will make you more receptive to reason. I’ll come for you later.” He starts walking slowly towards the steps, head cocked in anticipation of a rebuttal.
I flinched, wanting to say more, but could only squeak, “I…”
Zillah smiled darkly in victory. “Goodnight, Lime.”
The door clicked softly closed, and the echo of a key in the lock gave finality to the fact that I was trapped. In the Rhyme.
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