After being drugged and tied up in Dana’s basement, Rowan should be fuming, but the red-headed stranger has sparked his curiosity. In a wild gamble, he invites her for dinner.
The first part of the story – The Kidnapping
Original comic with both parts of the story
Story 16
Dana eyed the dimly lit stairwell with great apprehension. Who the hell lives in the basement of a warehouse? Is this some kind of prank? A final ‘Fuck you’ by her disgruntled former captive? Checking over the note again, it definitely read ’34 Albion rd. – Side door – Ring for admittance.’ This was the place. More than that, someone had buzzed her in.
She jumped at the sound of a crash somewhere beyond the walls of the landing. Whatever they were doing in there, it was noisy. The outer wall may have offered some protection from the din, but once inside it seemed deafening. It hardly seemed possible that a person could live under this.
Still, the draw of his invitation was too potent to ignore. Cautiously, she began her steps downward, willing herself to be confident.
Nearing the bottom step, she noticed a distinct change in the ambient sounds. Machinery and the clatter above had dissipated. It was remarkably quieter down here. Perhaps a person could live here after all.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?”
Dana spun around in alarm to see an imposing, ill-tempered looking man descending towards her. A dark blue shirt and pants identified him as security. There was no doubt he took his role seriously. His scowling pock-marked face brimmed with threat, ready to remove anyone with force if necessary.
Frightened, she pressed herself against the wall, trying to answer, only her voice was lost.
He stopped just above her, making her five-foot-five-inch petite frame seem positively miniscule against his six foot one robust build.
“I said, what the hell are you doing down here!?”
She recoiled as best she could, but the wall behind her offered no exit. Two steps below, lie her only possible salvation – a door.
She shakily tried to present an explanation “I’m.. I’m here to see Rowan.”
He snorted in amused disbelief. “Rowan? Rowan don’t allow no visitors!”
She tried to extract the note from her pocket, but her fingers were shaking and uncoordinated, doubting the words would mean much to him anyhow. Anyone could have written it.
His eyes narrowed and moved in closer. “I like visitors” he said, the stench of cigarettes and cheap coffee wafting its way to her nostrils, leaving her buckling at the knees.
The solitary door next to the base of the stairwell opened. A familiar face stepped out. The man of her dreams. The object of her obsession that really WAS here. Her savior. Her hero in black cargo shorts. She felt an overwhelming urge to leap into his arms, seize the buckles over his shoulders and wrap her legs around him, showering him with grateful kisses.
Rowan had been afraid she might not show, or that she’d be overwhelmed, scared, or worse. He knew she was unstable. He also knew there was more, having seen a glimpse of what might just be her true self. The part of her that wasn’t overstimulated, or filled with fear. Those little moments on the stairs, when she’d stood up for herself. The brief exchanges in the hall regarding the paintings. He knew there were depths to explore in her astonishing room, feeling what could be a connection in the end. How would she react here though?
After having repeated to herself a hundred times over my reactions will be kept in check, Dana pinched her thigh with a vice-like grip to refocus, biting back a screech of pain. She’d been given a second chance. One night to show him that she was more than a collection of pathologies.
Denying the guard’s less than tempting proposition, she scurried to Rowan’s side.
“Sorry Dirk, I should have mentioned I’d be expecting a visitor.”
The man grumbled a wordless response, eyeing them both. Now there’s two of ‘em, he thought. Rowan was tolerated. An oddball yes, but a quiet one. This one, however, had been seen snooping around on the security camera. One of many she’d appeared on. It was one thing for a skinny loner to slip in and out, but a woman with bright red hair would certainly attract attention.
“A little lady like this could get hurt,” he warned. “This ain’t no day spa.”
Rowan smiled politely, gently directing Dana to enter with a hand to her back. She hurried in, never taking her eyes off him.
“Again, my apologies. And thank you for your concern.”
With her safely inside, he closed the door and turned to his unusual guest. “Sorry about him. He’s a creep, but I need him on my side. My living here isn’t entirely legal. I slip him a few bucks, he turns a blind eye.”
She stood frozen to the spot, gawking at him, having trouble believing this was really happening.
“Can I take your jacket?” he asked with a friendly, relaxed tone.
She was a little hesitant to hand it over. It had been worn specifically to impress.
Who was she kidding? She would have handed over her heart, her wallet and her left kidney had he asked.
He received it graciously, giving her a slightly quizzical look before placing it on a nearby hook. Dana seemed a bit stunned, standing there in her little black dress just staring. Her fingers were clasped above her heart, weaving slowly in and out of each other.
“Please, go on in,” he said with an encouraging tone, heading to the kitchen behind him. “I was just putting the vegetables on.”
With Rowan momentarily occupied, she had a glance at her surroundings, then stopped dead in her tracks.
“Whoah…”
His living space was a comfortable size for a bachelor with minimal needs. A small kitchen area sat to the right, a bathroom to the left, a wide-open space lying beyond. Its sparse furnishings were arranged around an outer circle, leaving a fair-sized gap in the middle. It was cozy and comfortable, but nothing could have prepared her for the décor.
Innumerable posters, pictures, drawings and leaflets had been plastered to every inch of the walls and ceiling. Each had been carefully placed to allow the blackened surface beneath to come through as irregular borders between them. It was a massive mosaic with each tile a story.
She gasped for air, only just realizing she’d been holding her breath.
He came up next to her, tempted to close her gaping jaw and smiled. “You have your room? Welcome to mine.”
Her eyes scanned the walls, darting from image to image, staggered by their numbers. It would take hours to examine each one. She took a tentative step, craning her neck to admire the patchwork sky, riddled with colorful stars.
With a smile of liberated joy and wonder, she spun around slowly in sheer delight, lifting her arms without thinking, twirling faster, letting out a squeal of glee. The brief dance then ended as her eyes fixated on a nearby wall. Approaching it with near reverence, her smile faded as she got closer, replaced by shocked disbelief.
Knowing what she was looking at pleased Rowan. He’d hoped she would find it quickly. Grinning from ear to ear, he quietly stepped to her side again, awaiting a reaction.
She turned her head to glare at him, pointing a stern finger at the poster in question. It was fairly recent. Only two months old, in fact, from a Midwest tour. His dancing figure was front and central, dressed in his typical costume – a swallow-tailed, burgundy jacket with black shorts specially designed for easy access to concealed weapons. He stood a little to the side of a partially obscured chalk outline of a figure. A cliché lifted from any number of outdated homicide dramas. Over a dozen knives pierced its unfortunate middle, including a cluster of disturbingly accurate hits to the groin. The headline was simple and made his purpose abundantly clear.
“You’re a knife thrower!?” she cried with rising inflection.
“Among other things,” he giggled, pointing out another image, higher up.
She moved a step to the right, craning her neck to see. It was a similar style of poster, but with a younger version of himself, late teens perhaps. His hair was different – cropped short where it’s now thick, irregular spikes should be. The picture showed him entirely wrapped in heavy padlocked chains, with a fiercely arrogant look on his face. The words ‘ROWAN’ written atop in bold red letters, ‘THE IMPOSSIBLE ESCAPE!’ lie below his feet.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Her quieted voice was fraught with disbelief.
Slowly her head turned around to find a gleefully grinning face. He was absolutely enjoying this.
“So, tying you up in the basement…?”
He shrugged unapologetically. “Useless. Sorry.”
“You could’ve gotten out at any time?”
“Easily,” he drawled, balancing himself on his toes, hands casually held behind his back.
She considered his gloating for a moment then asked. “Was it my fascinating dinner conversation that kept you around?”
“No,” he replied in a more serious tone before the smile returned along with a twinkle in his eyes. “I just wasn’t sure if you were going to stab me if I tried to escape!”
Rowan stepped back chuckling, still wearing that cheeky grin. He made an adequate living delivering shock and unexpected twists to his audience. The opportunity to do the same here was impossible to resist.
She watched him back away with a mischievous spring in his step, finding it difficult not to smile. It was admittedly pretty funny.
In preparation of playing the good host Rowan cleared his throat. “Can I get you something to drink? I recommend the white. …It’s the only option actually.”
He was far, far more interesting than she’d ever imagined. “The white sounds good,” she replied, trailing off as her eyes moved back to the gallery.
Humming to himself in the small kitchen, he made a quick check of dinner preparations before pouring two glasses of wine.
He had sincerely hoped his own gallery of the self would entrance her. Clearly, it had. They had something in common. He never imagined though, that she would appear so relaxed. This was something to cling to. There was someone in there and she was letting him see it.
He gathered up the glasses entering into the main room. She seemed to have vanished. Confused, Rowan walked around the table, spotting her lying a bit away from the wall. She looked like an enormous starfish, arms extended out to either side, staring at the ceiling.
“Dana?” he asked tentatively, bewildered by the odd behavior. Was this another strange turn?
A wondrous smile crept across her face. “It looks better from here.” Seeing the odd look on his face she froze, jolting up onto her elbows. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be acting so weird.”
“No! No please, it’s alright. Really!” he hastily replied, crouching down. He set the glasses aside, leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper. “Actually, the sweet spot is about two feet behind you, eight inches to the left.”
She shuffled backwards, face screwed up in concentration, with no regard to her comical appearance. A delighted laugh escaped him at her antics.
After settling down, her eyes popped open at the new perspective. The difference in location was relatively minute, but the view was entirely new. Pointing upwards exclaiming, “the lines!”
Both baffled and thrilled by her lack of self-consciousness, his smile began to match her own. Following her gaze, he saw it too.
“They all converge! They’re like a spider’s web, everything revolving around a… It’s… a…What is it?”
“A circus tent,” he said softly. “Where I was born, raised, worked. It’s a place I will always call home.”
She sat up slowly, moving a bit to the side to place a reverent distance between them. “You’re a curious person.”
He chuckled. “Strange, coming from someone who was just lying on my floor.”
There was a moment where the air itself seemed to change as a connection between them found hold.
Flushed, she shyly played with the hem of her dress. “Can I look at the rest of them?”
A grin was all the encouragement she needed.
They spent quite some time going through the closest clusters. An array of friends, old and new. There were stills and posters of other performers, with many of himself across the years. Time was spent on each, asking questions, thrilled to hear his stories. The shrill beep of the kitchen timer sounded, breaking a moment that could have gone on for hours. He excused himself with regret, leaving her to reflect upon the events and revelations of the past twenty minutes.
She should have been nervous. Terrified even. Or, conversely, overwrought with uncontainable excitement. Where had the voices gone? The ones that endlessly whispered their doubts into her mind. The ones that preyed on her fears, or encouraged her excesses?
Under his canopy of smiling friends and extended family, she felt comfortable, even safe. His world of love and support was so alien to her, yet she could feel its, and his, calming presence. Evidently, he’d had a rich life. A loving home wherever he went. He hadn’t looked at her with judgmental eyes. Bypassing her jagged outer shell, he’d seen the heart within.
Rowan returned so quickly she nearly jumped out of her skin. Her mind had been so preoccupied she hadn’t heard him coming. It didn’t help that he stepped so lightly.
“Sorry about that. It’ll be a little longer.”
She gave him a shaky smile, “It’s all right.”
“So, what do you think?” he asked, indicating his space with a nod of the head.
Looking over the small room, Dana wasn’t sure how to respond. Other than the photos, there was hardly anything to see. Actually, there was hardly anything at all. Surely, he didn’t live with so little? The only piece of technology she could see was a hi-fi system of apparent quality. There was no TV. No bed, no wardrobe, no shelves. Just a table, two chairs, and a deep-seated armchair, with an enormous chest in the corner. Aside from that were just a couple of lamps. The more she looked, the stranger it seemed. Though there was ventilation near the door, there were no windows. Stranger still was that everything was arranged towards the walls, leaving a large open space in the center. There was room for more. At the very least, a bed. What possible purpose did such a vacancy serve?
Unable to think of anything better to say, a response stammered out with some hesitation, “it’s… small”.
“It’s not much, I admit, but I don’t mind. I spent a lot of my life in smaller places than this. The road isn’t known for its comforts. I never really had any need for more.”
“It is a bit deceptive though.” He stood up, approaching the back wall, running a finger along its length. After a moment it stopped, caught on a protrusion. He turned, beckoning her to join him. “There are a few secrets hidden in plain sight.”
As she came near, she began to understand. Almost imperceptible at first, once alerted to its presence it seemed evident. A door – cleverly masked by a multitude of images within his gallery. Locating a hidden latch with familiar ease, he invited her to look within.
It was a storage area the length of the room, about half its depth. Stacks of boxes and rows of shelves lined its outer walls, leaving just enough space to move freely. A sewing machine sat atop of one of the piles, a set of weights on another.
“It’s an awkward size to use as a room, but it’s perfect for keeping control of the clutter.”
Immediately Dana’s eyes were drawn to several large bookcases, packed tightly with an impressively varied collection.
“I always wondered what you were reading,” she murmured. “I could never get close enough to see.”
She pulled one from its place, wiping a layer of dust off the top. It was a simple green hardback with only a title to suggest its contents. Painting Illusions. “It drove me crazy not knowing. I wanted to buy the same ones. To see what you saw.”
“You’re more than welcome to borrow one if you like.”
Looking up at him she noted the implication of ‘future’ in his statement. He already sees more nights with me than this?
She felt a surge within which she actively tried to suppress. Things were going too well to allow thatpart of her to emerge. This was a safe place. There was no need for excesses or defenses right now.
She examined the book in hand. It wasn’t one she knew. “Can I borrow this one?”
He gave her an odd look. “You’re interested in set design?”
So that’s what it was about.
“Yyyyeeeeesss?” she replied.
“I could find you something a bit better you know.”
Hugging it close to her chest, her eyes full of fierce determination. If he likes it, I will too.
Her eyes moved once again to the shelves. There was far too much to take in, the titles alone an hour’s read.
The shrill timer rang again, this time to signal the oven’s work was complete.
Rowan hurried towards the kitchen, then back with a quick flourishing bow. “Your dinner will be served in a few minutes.”
He led her into the table in the main room. She chose the chair by the wall, setting the book next to her.
His grinning face appeared from around the bend, holding up a pair of salt and pepper shakers. Hoping to impress, he sent the first skidding across the tabletop, stopping precisely in front of her. It was quickly followed by the second, coming to rest a hair’s breadth away from the other.
She applauded politely. Taking a quick bow, he returned to the task at hand.
“What happens if I want ketchup?” she called after him.
“Then I ask you politely, but firmly to leave!” he shouted. “What kind of psycho puts ketchup on spaghetti?” he grumbled, loud enough to be heard.
She giggled at the comment. So, we’re having pasta, are we? A safe option. Slightly disappointing though. Based on his careful choices at the market, she’d imagined an exotic presentation of culinary delights. Spaghetti was so, common.
As he busied himself with the meal, she found herself feeling ill at ease. Her posture unnaturally forced by the unforgiving wooden chair, and despite her back to the wall, she felt weirdly exposed.
He finally emerged, to hand out some cutlery. “You know that little farm stand you discovered when you were STALKING ME?” emphasizing the last three words with tongue-in-cheek exaggerated tone.
She lifted her shoulders with a sheepish grin.
“Ahahah, Well, I thought I’d make something to showcase what they have to offer.”
He then brought out a colorful salad, followed by a beautifully presented swirl of pasta. An assortment of roasted vegetables woven through it, topped with artfully placed parmesan shavings. The alluring aroma of perfectly charred eggplant, peppers and zucchini wafted into her nostrils, leaving her salivating for that first bite.
He took his seat, pulling in his chair. Smiling, he made no move to pick up his fork.
There was an odd, awkward silence as they faced each other, with Dana finding it more and more difficult to look him in the eye. It seemed so confrontational somehow, like a job interview. She idly traced a line across the table’s edge with her finger.
He was feeling uncomfortable too. “Is everything all right?” he asked.
Peering over, she looked up, overshooting a cheerful response, far more chipper than intended, “It looks great!”
“It’s a bit formal, isn’t it?”
Grateful it was him who’d said it first, Dana breathed a sigh of relief. “Can we eat somewhere less, I don’t know, ritualistic?”
He seemed encouraged. ”I think I’d prefer it.”
They’d settled on a patch of floor where each could sit cross-legged, supported by the wall, at his back and the couch at hers. Their cozy corner felt so much warmer than the exposed table. Conversation came with ease, eventually wandering to the painting she had gifted him an the artist who’d created it.
“That man is renowned for being a miserable bastard. It’s what makes all the colors he uses so surprising.”
“It gets weirder” she said, drawing a finger around the edge of the seemingly empty plate beforesucking the very last molecule of flavor from it. She had sorely underestimated Rowan’s culinary offering. The apparent simplicity had been its greatest asset. There were no extraneous additions to mask the natural flavors of the expertly grown produce. Whilst she’d feared she’d made a spectacle of herself devouring it, in truth, he was flattered. No mere words could have been a greater compliment.
“His house was so drab and lifeless,” Dana continued before pointing at the painting in question, hung by the door. “Those canvases were the only things there with any semblance of life.”
“And you really stalked him like that?” He had yet to finish every bite, continuously drawn in by her story.
“I sat in that tree for days! Just watching him!”
“I’m surprised he didn’t shoot you right out of it,” quickly taking a forkful.
“The guy just walked right over to me one day, cleared his throat and said, “If you’re going to watch me paint, you might as well come in and get a better view.”
His smile grew brighter at her comically crochety impression, every word had been punctuated withher typically exaggerated facial expressions. He hadn’t a clue what the man sounded like, but she was convincing enough to make him believe her version.
“I would have loved to have that opportunity. His techniques were pretty secretive.”
“I was so scared not to make him angry. I just sat in a corner, trying not to talk. He seemed fond of me though. He’d looked at me with this smile, get back to his work then started going on about why he did it, and how.”
“You might be the only person out there who’s been privileged enough to hear that. The guy hated interviews,” Rowan said, scooping up the remains of his pasta.
“When the painting was done, he let me have it. Now it’s yours.”
“He died around that time, didn’t he?”
“Two days later. I went back to see him, but he was already gone.”
Words failed for a moment as Rowan digested what she’d just said.
“Are you sure you still want me to have it? I feel even guiltier now about taking it.”
“It’s all right. At least it’ll get seen here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your life is so full of people. Friends, family. That painting shouldn’t be doomed to a dark hall never to be seen again.”
An odd sadness lurked in his eyes. She couldn’t understand until he followed it with a wistful smile.
“You’re the first guest I’ve ever had.”
The resulting bewilderment was matched by an overwhelming sense of euphoria. Flushed from the implications of his statement, she tumbled over her own words. “W-Why?”
He regarded her with strange regret. “I don’t like people knowing where I live.”
“Because it’s not legal?”
“Well, that’s part of it, but it’s not the main reason. On stage, I play this character. He’s confident, sexy, the ultimate seducer,” he said with dramatic flourish, punctuating each descriptor.
Indicating the audience with a sweep of his hand. “They all want a piece of me. I may not be an international superstar, but I get my share of fans that take things too far. They think I’m some sort of Casanova just waiting to sweep them off their feet.”
“I don’t want to come home to find letters or cards under my door, or people hiding in the shadows to get a glimpse of me.” The absence of the words ‘follow me’ or ‘stalk’ was notable.
Rowan paused for a moment, considering his next words.
“The problem is, the person THEY see? That was me once. I’ve changed, but I feel like I’m the only one that knows that.”
“Out there, on stage, I’m exactly what they think I am. Here, I’m just me. This is my sanctuary, for me only. No one can come in here and take that.”
Dana reflected on this admission, not knowing the side of him that others fixated on. Only knowing the part he wished others could see. There was a strange irony in that.
“I have the opposite problem,” she confessed. “People see me exactly the way I am. A lunatic.”
His gentle expression was an unexpected response. “I don’t think you’re crazy,” he said, with utmost sincerity. “Just misunderstood.”
The significance of his remark was extraordinarily precious, causing her head to lift. Profoundly moved by the fact that to him, she was a person. Not just an object, a dark past or a pathology.
He sees me as a person.
Desperately longing to leap into his arms, to take him right then and there, she balked. To do so would taint the gift he had bestowed. Hope. The brightest of sparks she could hold in her mind’s eye. A carnal connection now might diminish the magic in that.
His eyes moved away from her and towards the kitchen, his face rapt in contemplation. “You know,” he mused, looking back at her with a renewed sense of delight in his eyes. “There’s some ice cream in the freezer.”
Though it had broken the spell, Dana met his suggestion with warmth and enthusiasm. “Ice cream sounds fantastic!”
***
Sensibly small portions soon became a free-for-all as they dug what they could from the small carton. Both dispensed of any table manners, greedily gulping spoonfuls to the sound of their own glee. Excited utterances and laughter filled the small room, bringing color and life to its lonely nature. If it hadn’t been for the fact that they’d both had just one glass, one would think them drunk on wine.
“I’d forgotten how good that was.” Rowan exclaimed, trying to extract the last half a spoon’s worth that hid in the bottom’s edge.
Dana acknowledged him with a nod, but her attention had wandered elsewhere.
“What’s in that big chest over there?” she asked, indicating the many-stickered trunk in the corner with a pointed finger.
Savoring his prize, he followed her gaze. “That? Costumes. Well, some of them are in there anyway.”
Dana felt a surge of manic exuberance. “Costumes?”
***
With music playing, and the central stage defined, Rowan was quick to discover that her appetite for absurdity dwarfed his own. She had no reservations whatsoever about looking or acting like a fool. Within minutes, Rowan was in fits of hysterics at her antics while he tried his best to outdo her.
She had slipped a black and yellow striped kaftan over her clothes, placing a pair of matching antennae on her head. Flitting about the room on tiptoes, she held her arms out before her, buzzing away like some insectoid zombie. Periodically she would stop, pretending to inspect a piece of furniture, or an image on the wall, before expressing her disgust and moving on.
Rowan wiped a tear from his eye, struggling to keep his composure. She was remarkably convincing and getting more hilarious with each role tried.
It was shocking how quickly she’d stripped him of years of self-hatred and despondency. He hadn’t felt this euphoric, or been this full of laughter since his days in the circus. Since the time when the world was still full of things to discover and enjoy. The longer he spent with her, the more his troubled years melted away and were quickly forgotten. He felt alive again. Simply, happy again.
The chest had proven to contain far too little. Pretty soon, he was dragging out boxes from the hidden room. His own efforts falling behind, he needed something good. Unlike her, he’d needed to remove his clothing before being able to fit into each piece. As tempted as he was to save time by stripping down to his briefs, it might have proven too much of a shock. Ultimately, he had to run to the bathroom to change, giving her a bit of an edge in this spur-of-the-moment competition.
Throwing his head back for effect, Rowan produced a deep, maniacal laugh, aimed in her direction.
She paused mid-flutter to assess his confidence. He wanted her to quake with fear, but she just looked at him with innocent eyes, unable to keep it up for long before a few giggles escaped.
He strode by, hiding the prize behind his back. Extending his head forward, he gave her a self-satisfied smirk, letting his expression speak for itself.
As he disappeared into the other room, Dana bounced up and down on the tips of her toes, working herself into a frenzy. At the height of her excitement, she emitted a restrained squeal and launched herself towards the substantial collection, knowing there would only be a minute or two to find her next look.
Rowan exited the bathroom after a little while, dressed in an outrageously girlish sparkling pink dress, complete with oversized puffy sleeves and delicate translucent fairy wings. In his hand was a glittery star-tipped wand.
He gracefully leaped towards her, attempting a pirouette upon landing. Overestimating his skill while wracked with fits of giggles, he nearly fell over halfway through the maneuver. Expecting a roar of laughter, he was surprised to hear nothing. He scanned the room, but she was nowhere to be found. “Dana?”
With freakish speed, Dana leapt up from behind the box, her face obscured by a gigantic eye, thickly lined with purple fur. “BOO!” she screamed, loud enough to make him jump, then promptly erupted into roars of side-splitting laughter. She tore at the mask, desperately seeking air. “You look – SO RIDICULOUS!” she screeched, when she was able to find the breath to do so.
He ran his hands down the front of the dress, turned and shook the fluffy tutu to further add to the torment, before blowing an over-the-top girly kiss in her direction. Not quite done yet, he lifted his featherlight wand in the air and proceeded to ‘transform’ various objects into animal friends to pet and interact with.
“Oh my little lampkin! My darling little friend. You are looking radiant today! And *poof* my rug-amuffin, my dear, what has you so low?”
Dana honestly thought she’d have to crawl into his storage room and close the door behind her if it would offer her the chance to rest her aching middle. Fortunately, he was laughing as well now, giving her the break she sorely needed from his clowning.
“YOU!” she cried once she’d sufficiently recovered but seeing him again set her off anew.
“Does this mean I win?” he shouted. She responded by vigorously waving him away.
It took a number of rounds of regaining her composure, seeing him, then bursting back into hysterics before he felt it best to get changed. He could be thanked later.
They were sorting through the scattered piles, returning the outfits to their rightful places when Dana came across a piece she hadn’t noticed before. Attracted by its satiny red gleam, she carefully lifted it from its protective wrap. “It’s so pretty!” she gasped, feeling the stretchy fabric. “The appliques look like roses.”
He glanced in her direction. Rowan knew that one well.
She’d laid it out in front of her, admiring the row of ruffles at the base. “This doesn’t look like a costume.”
He stifled a laugh. She couldn’t have been more wrong. She stood up, holding the dress against her, checking the length and size. It was clearly too big, but that wasn’t about to deter her. “I’m trying it on!”
His eyes flew open wide, nearly lunging forward to take it off of her. It had cost him a small fortune to have it made to measure. It also represented some of his finest work as a performer, making him a lot of money back in the days.
She looked so happy though after managing to slip it on. Soon she was lifting the base high, swishing it back and forth.
As she started a spin he reached over to the box of CDs, selecting one with a red label. Eager to see her reaction, he popped it into the player, skipping forward to track 3.
She halted when the energetic Latin beat began to play then responded with a smile that lit up the room. Rowan settled into a comfortable position, cross-legged, nodding his encouragement (which was hardly needed). The music was fiery and passionate, translating to pure electricity that coursed through her, demanding to be expressed. With every new note, she fell deeper into a world where nothing but the music existed. Her arms found paths through the air like currents in the water, carrying them forward. Her feet lifted and fell with a grace that had him holding his breath. As the song quickened, she spun around, sending the ruffled arms and base flying.
Just when he thought she had given all she had, she jumped up onto the table, letting out a screech of pure, uninhibited excitement. The table threatened to collapse. The oversized shoulder straps slipped down, and half the time she’d miss the beat, but none of that mattered. She lost herself in the dance, ruffles flying as she moved. Her eyes were closed as the music coursed through her body, her irrepressible light, expressed by any means possible. She was a newly born phoenix rose from the ashes of her own insecurities, shining like a thousand suns.
He knew at that moment, she’d captured his heart. This untamable spirit with the fiery hair.
Rowan’s hand lifted on its own volition, yearning to connect with hers. They sought to draw her in, pressing her warmth against his. The sensitive tips of his fingers felt the teeming life the air was charged with.
His hand faltered, though. This moment could not come to an end. As much as he would give anything to feel her body against his, he refused any sudden end to what she’d given him. A freedom from the shackles of his own making. A second chance to be the person that he really was.
So long at this moment lasted, he was that six-year-old boy again in pilfered clown makeup, making everyone laugh. He was the teenager again, whose feet never touched the ground, reveling in the freedom the air offered instead. He was the child, the youth, the young man whose purpose was to project his own delight onto others, and he could be it again.
Yet he could not resist her. As the music wound down, his hand extended, awaiting hers. She spun around to face him, shouting “BEAT THAT!”
His fingers curled back in. This can wait.
“Are you challenging me?” he asked, eyebrows raised. The look on his face made it clear that she was in over her head.
Dana hopped off the table, sticking out her tongue. “Scared?”
A wicked grin spread across his face. It had been fun and games so far, but now the stakes had changed. Rowan was a seasoned performer. He wasn’t just going to impress; he was going to send her reeling. “Give me the dress” he growled.
She tried to look indifferent, however, her curiosity had clearly piqued. Carefully slipping out of the outfit, she handed it over, wondering what the man had in store.
Once he had it in hand, he grabbed the box it had been stored in to search for what else he needed, springing to his feet with the lot in hand, crying out “get ready to play track 1!”, before disappearing into the bathroom.
After a few minutes of waiting, Dana grew restless shouting “BORED!” in an overly loud voice, hoping to rattle him. Hearing no reply, she stood up to examine his wall in greater detail.
Fifteen minutes had passed. Finally the door to the bathroom creaked open. “NO PEEKING UNTIL I GIVE THE WORD!!!”
Dana scurried back to take a seat by the stereo, shutting her eyes as tight as she could. Wriggling about, she covered them for good measure, letting out a squeal of glee. This was going to be good!
The ruffles of the dress could be heard swish-swishing over the floor. Rowan stepped onto the chair, taking his position on the rickety table’s surface. A few seconds passed before he called out his readiness in what sounded like a Spanish accent. A female Spanish accent.
She uncovered her eyes and cried out in astonishment. The man she’d been getting to know had faded to the background, replaced by a statuesque beauty of impressive grandeur.
The red dress she’d struggled to keep from slipping, clung to his padded chest and hips, accentuating his newly acquired and enviable curves. His makeup, though hastily done, brought rose-colored life to his cheeks. It painted passionate red on his lips. His blue eyes, already one of his best features, were heavily lined in black, enhanced with luxuriously long, thick false lashes. Unable to find the matching wig, his hair had been reshaped in the semblance of a tightly wrapped bun, with a red shower puff artfully pinned atop where a flower should be.
As impressive as his appearance was, the greatest transformation lie in his bodily expression. He seemed frozen in time. A static figurine, holding the ruffled skirt high above his extended, pointed leg. His rearmost arm pointed upwards. His torso, gracefully curved in a backwards arch, gave prominence to his enhanced bust. Radiating confidence and fierce pride she felt so small before him.
Here stood a man who had honed poise and movement to finely tuned perfection. Every muscle was flawlessly positioned, held fast with perfect control, yet seemingly effortless. This was no longer a game. It was a polished work of art.
He commanded something in rapid-fire Spanish, moving only his mouth, drawing her into the illusion. When she responded with open-mouth awe, he turned his head slightly and whispered in his own voice “Press play!”
She snapped out of her trance and clumsily reached for the button, unable to take her eyes off of him.
He held the pose as the music began, letting the emotive strum of the guitars and the quickening beat enter his body and soul. When the moment revealed itself, he began a steady, resounding clap, hands held high above his head.
What followed was a dazzling display of poised perfection. A projection of fire and passion through his heartfelt expression and perfectly executed choreography.
Dana was spellbound. Utterly captivated, envisioning the lights, the stage, and the enraptured onlookers manifesting themselves in her mind’s eye.
A toss of his head, the stamping of his feet, the sweeping movements of his hands told the story of a woman who sought the hand of a man to match her station. A diva of magnificent beauty and arrogance, repelled by the audience of unsuitable suitors. A disdainful look or two became exaggerated proclamations of her own greatness in a thick Spanish accent, coupled with hilarious barbs aimed at imaginary spectators before her. After a while, she just wouldn’t shut up.
By the end of his performance, he’d had her both blown away by his talent, and gasping for air between fits of laughter. If she had any on her, she would have showered him with every last bit of cash she could find, coins included. When the music stopped, she was too stunned to speak.
He planted a hand on his protruding hip and looked down at her with infinite smugness. “I win!” he declared.
“I thought you were a knife thrower.. And an escape artist… And an acrobat,” she said in monotone, eyes wide.
He crouched down to speak. “I’ve done a lot of things. The circus is a great place to try on a few different shoes, sometimes literally.”
“And this?”
“I did drag for a few years after the escape tricks fell flat. It kept my skills sharp.”
“I thought drag queens were gay.”
He hopped off the table, landing with the lightest of steps. “I never said I was straight,” he replied with a cryptic smile.
She leapt to her feet with the frightening speed of a striking cobra. “YOU SON OF A BITCH!!” she screamed, throwing a handful of CD cases at him that had seemingly been magicked into her hand.
“WHOAH!!” he cried, lifting his arms in defense, stepping backward to escape her sudden and incomprehensible fury.
She was grabbing for more ammunition, seizing hold of a few. “YOU ROTTEN, DIGUSTING – !!!”
He clenched his jaw, seething with a wrath of his own. “If you’re some sort of homophobe you can leave RIGHT NOW!!”
“I don’t like deceivers and liars!” she screeched, chucking what she had at his quick, sidestepping form.
“What lie!? I never said anything about-”’
“You brought me here on false pretenses? Led me on – for what? Some SICK JOKE? Dangle some bait and LAUGH AT ME?”
He was prepared to fire back but her words triggered a spark of understanding. “You think I did this to hurt you?”
“WHY NOT, EVERYONE ELSE DOES!”
The suddenness of her fury had caught him off guard, to say the least, but it had nothing to do with his sexual preferences. The pain and torment etched on her contorted face was profound and disturbing. Beneath her pale-skinned surface was a tangle of scars tearing the life out of her. He carefully let his tension dissipate, projecting a sense of calm as he raised his hands in a gesture of peace. Speaking in a low, even voice he assured “I’m not deceiving you, and I didn’t invite you here on false pretenses.”
She wanted desperately to believe him, but the voices of doubt, screaming their twisted assurances overcame her. Her bent legs threatened to buckle. Her trembling figure, frail and exposed. Her mind, falling apart at the seams.
He lowered his hands, regarding her with great concern. Every person had a demon or two lurking within their depths, but she seemed consumed with them.
She collapsed onto the chest, gripping the sides of her head with her white-knuckled hands, violently shaking.
He crouched down before her, attempting to meet her wild-eyed stare. “It’s not what you think,” he said softly. “I’m just, open-minded about my partners. That’s a good thing,” he carefully added.
He reached out a hand to comfort her, holding back slightly, uncertain of how she might react. “What happened to you? Who hurt you so bad that you could look at me and see some sort of monster?”
Slowly dropping her quivering hands, she rested them between her legs. Feeling humiliated and exposed, she lifted her head but couldn’t meet his eyes. “Everyone,” she whispered, still trembling.
All fell silent after that. Compelled to offer her comfort, he extended his hand once more, wrapping it around hers, letting its warmth be her solace. She closed her eyes and began to calm.
“Are you OK?” he asked.
She opened her eyes and regarded him with melancholic regret, slowly removing her hand from his. “We were having a good time,” she said, subdued. “Can we just go back to that?”
He could feel her slipping away. “Please, you can talk to me.”
“I’d like to change the subject.”
It pained him that she felt she needed to close herself off, but he would not pressure her. He sat back perplexed. The magic they’d shared was evaporating before his eyes.
She took notice of his appearance and gave him a painfully forced smile. “You look ridiculous.”
He’d forgotten all about it. He touched his face self-consciously and replied “I should really get some of the makeup off, shouldn’t I.”
“’It’s much funnier if you keep it on” she said as they shared a strained laugh.
He stood up, trying to assess her state of mind. She seemed more relaxed.
“I’ll be OK,” she assured, noting his concern.
***
He returned, fresh-faced in his own clothes to find her on the couch, leafing through the book she’d asked to borrow. She seemed comfortable, alert and had moved on to a new fascination, as if her recent breakdown hadn’t happened. The only indication that something significant had occurred was that she no longer wore an ever-present smile.
“Anything you find interesting?” he asked, indicating the book, before settling onto the high-backed armchair.
She looked up at him, as if assessing a potential danger. “I was just reading about the integration of the whole. I get that everything appears on set, lighting, costumes and so on have to work together, but he talks about having to consider all of the senses. How can you visualize sound, or smell in a backdrop?”
Rowan pulled both of his legs up onto the chair, tucking them under. “Consider a set of two sewer systems. How do you know one is fresh and clean, and the other stinks of excrement and waste?”
Considering the problem for a moment before giving an answer, she replied “The first would be better lit, even if it couldn’t be so in real life. It would probably look newer, the water more reflective. Whites, and blues maybe? The other might be darker, full of texture. There would be more greens and browns.”
Rowan raised his eyebrows, impressed. “You’re quick! I think you’ll really enjoy what he has to say.”
She gave him a guarded smile in response.
“What do you do, anyway? I never asked.”
With strange caution she responded, “I’m not sure you’d want to know.”
“Now I most definitely want to know!”
Her eyes never wavered. “I’m a morgue attendant.”
“Excuse me?”
Setting the book aside, “I do paperwork mostly. Process the people that come in and go out. Sometimes I help the pathologist with autopsies. Hand stuff over, clean up, that sort of thing. Sometimes more.”
“I’ve never known anyone in that field. What attracted you to that?”
She shrugged. “Dead people aren’t very judgmental.”
It was difficult for Rowan to find a response to that.
As they continued to talk, he discovered entirely new depths to her. For one thing she was remarkably intelligent. It was so frequently masked by her mental difficulties, that very few saw it. The man who’d hired her in the first place had recognized it early and took her under his wing. With his support, tutelage, and confidence, she flourished, and for many years at that.
The conversation branched out in many directions from there. They talked about favorite books, his travels, life on the road and some of the shows he’d done in the past. Whenever he asked about her background, she navigated the conversation elsewhere. With so much around the room to draw from, changing the subject wasn’t particularly difficult.
After a while, there were far more questions about her than answers. Firstly, how was she supporting herself on so little? She had a house, a car (albeit battered), yet worked only two or three nights a week. How had she got all of those expensive paintings? And what about the massive wine cellar? Five-dollar bottles wouldn’t be worth such trouble. If she could afford all of that, why was the rest of the house in such disrepair? A marker of shaky mental health perhaps?
And what of those mental difficulties? Those hair trigger mood changes? She could be so suddenly overwhelmed and other times overstimulated to the point of pathological. He meant what he’d said earlier. He didn’t think she was insane. But she was consumed. The question was – by what?
They spoke well into the night, and the wee hours of the morning, until it became harder and harder to stay awake. Many mutual interests came to light, though at times she was subdued and others, distracted. The wild spark in her eyes never returned. Neither did the fire in her spirit, but she was happy to talk.
By the night’s end, Rowan had settled well into the chair, his head lolling against the back as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Dana lay on the couch, her head partially buried in a pillow.
“Rowan?”
“Mm?”
There was a short hesitation as Dana gathered the courage to ask, “After everything I did to you, why did you invite me here?”
He turned to her and smiled, then glanced away momentarily to summon the courage to answer.
“I kept asking myself the same question,” he quietly began. “I don’t normally let people in. Not to my place, or to my world. Something about you kept gnawing at me when I was reaching for the door. That room of yours. It was an entire world. A story with a million facets, some of them the darkest I’ve seen, and others, just, beauty and joy. I could have spent days in there and still never see the full depth of you. It just kept drawing me in. I don’t know how to explain it, but there was this feeling of kinship. I felt a connection that could be unearthed, if I gave you a chance.”
“When I woke up in your basement, I thought you were insane. Delusional for sure.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t think you were, now.”
“What you saw in me wasn’t a delusion. It was a truer picture of me than most others see. What you felt we could have between us wasn’t a delusion either. You’re here, in my home, on my invitation.”
“I think it broke you when you saw me kiss a friend. You thought you were going to lose me. It made you do the things you did.”
His lips upturned into a smile.
“The minute you laid down on my floor, I knew I’d made the right decision. It was like you were seeing the stars for the first time, watching each constellation reveal themselves, each one more brilliant than the last. You just, burst, with this unrestrained joyfulness and wonder.”
He fell silent, remembering the scene fondly.
“I used to be like that, back in the days, but I lost it somewhere when I went off on my own. I thought it had gone for good, coming out now and then like a dim flash.”
Then, with quiet honesty, he revealed his affection.
“My heart skipped a beat in that moment. You became the spark that rushed through me, reigniting it all. I wanted to lie down next to you and borrow your eyes. To see what you’d seen. Every moment after that tore another brick from the wall I’d built around me, flung into the ether.”
Turning to see her reaction, he found her fast asleep. He watched her for a while, marveling over the life that could burst forth from such a frail little thing.
“Dana?” he whispered. She didn’t stir.
Dana’s face was nearly obscured by the cushion she’d wrapped her arms around, but he knew there was a contented smile within.
As much as he wanted his words to have reached her ears, it would have to wait.
He got up to retrieve a blanket from the storeroom, wondering if he should have mentioned the couch folded out into a bed. He would have gladly joined her there, but what transpired instead seemed more precious. A connection he felt in his heart, not solely his loins.
He placed the blanket over her and had to stifle a laugh when in her slumber, she grabbed at it greedily and wrapped it around herself, wriggling around to get it good and tight.
Rowan reached his hand to caress her cheek but refrained, whispering instead “Good night my little enigma.”
He then took his place on the armchair, hugging his knees to his chest, wondering what side of her the morning would bring.
*****
Dana opened her eyes, confused at first, not able to recall drifting off. Without natural light, it was impossible to tell how long she’d been asleep. The lights were still on, and Rowan was still curled up on the chair, dozing uncomfortably.
She was all at once aware of a blanket around her, tucked in close by his or her own hand.
She sat up, trying to get her bearings. As she swung her leg over the side, her right ankle hit something hard. Something metal. It sent a shock of pain. She grabbed her foot, biting her lip to keep herself from crying out. Fearing he might stir, she glanced his way, but he remained asleep.
Cursing inwardly whilst examining the front of the sofa, she was surprised to find a metal frame beneath the shallow surface. Confused, she followed it around, lifting a cushion to find an explanation. It was then that it hit her. It was one of those old pull-out couches.
There’d been a bed here this whole time. If he’d said so, the evening could have had a much different ending.
The implication of this sunk in. He wasn’t disinterested, that much seemed certain. This was far more significant. He’d chosen her company over her body.
A rush of euphoria quickened her heart, bringing color to her cheeks as the realization shook the foundations of her crippled self-worth. He liked her. Despite all she had put him through, in spite of every dark side of her he’d seen, he genuinely liked her.
Dana’s elation quickly turned to horror. My ravenous demons will surely eat him alive. How long before my nightmares poison him too?
Jolting to her feet, her panicked mind raced, every thought screaming in alarm. I can’t do this!
Wide-eyed with terror, she envisioned the damage she would cause to this pure, perfect man, so kind and so caring. He was everything she could ever want, and more. On the other hand, he was walking into a trap.
She needed to leave. Now. Before perfection might begin to corrode, ruined by being near her.
Trembling, holding back the tears, she grabbed a pen from the nightstand and tore the last page from the book he’d lent her. Whispering an apology, she scrawled a short note and affixed it to the couch with a pin. With haste, Dana retrieved her shoes and jacket slipping out the door, wincing as the lock clicked. Padding up the stairs, she disappeared into the morning.
As quiet as she’d tried to be, the sound of the door reached Rowan’s ears. He woke with a start, immediately cringing at his stiff, cramped legs. Gingerly unfurling his legs one at a time, wondering how his guest had fared.
He sat up abruptly, noticing the discarded blanket and a stark white note. All that remained of her.
“Dana?” he called, scanning the small room. There was no response.
He rose from the chair with great trepidation, knowing she had left. The note would surely confirm it. He pulled it from the fabric, pin and all, his stomach a pit of dread.
Stay away from me.
He was confused, staggered. Everything had been going so well.
******
Gideon walked down the stairs nervous and alert. Rowan had mentioned there being a bad-tempered guard, but he hadn’t seen one, not yet anyway. The buzzer at the entrance wasn’t connected to any video, or speaker. Someone had let him in, though he wasn’t sure who. He sincerely hoped that it had been Rowan, alive and well.
He regarded the sign on the door with dry amusement. ‘Solicitors will be violated’. It was his place all right.
As he lifted his fist to knock, the door flew open inwards, revealing a disheveled, wild-eyed Rowan. Clearly disappointed at the visitor’s identity, Rowan tensed, snarling an unfriendly greeting “WHAT!?”
Gideon stepped back, dumbfounded by both his appearance and his rage. The ripening scent of poor personal hygiene only added to the confusion. “Rowan?” he squeaked, as if uncertain of the identity of the man before him.
The slim man blinked, beginning to back down, as he ran a hand through his oily, unkempt hair. “Sorry” he muttered. “I’ve been… unwell.” Without another word, Rowan turned and walked unsteadily towards the living area. He looked exhausted, both in body and in spirit.
Taking this as a cue to enter, Gideon followed on, astonished by his gallery. At any other time, he would have been thrilled at the collection, but right now his friend seemed in desperate need of help.
“Rowan, what on Earth happened to you? You’re a mess! You missed rehearsal and you haven’t answered the phone for three days!”
Rowan scratched at the stubble on his face before dropping his hands down by his side. As his shoulders relaxed, defeated, he looked over to Gideon, eyes pleading. “Gid, I think I’m in love.”
His partner was rendered speechless. Both by the admission, and more importantly, how it could possibly relate to his state.
“All of-” Gideon began, curling his lip over an unsightly stain on Rowan’s shirt. “THIS over some guy?”
“Guy?” Rowan exclaimed. “What do you mean guy? It’s a she!’”
Taken aback by the sharp turn to anger, Gideon cried, “It was just an assumption! The only girl I’ve seen you with is Emily!”
Rowan exploded, ”QUEER! I’M QUEER!!! I FUCK GUYS! I DATE GIRLS! I WEAR STILETTOS AND FUCKING BOOTS! I’M NOT ONE THING OR ANOTHER!”
“You were with Ed for eight months!”
“ED WAS SPECIAL!!!!”
Curling his lip, Gideon muttered, “He sure was…”
Rowan was shaking now, the events of the past few days, lack of sleep and the stress of his situation were taking its toll. Suddenly, he retracted his annoyance, displaying a white flag in the form of a raised hand. “She’s a girl,” he sighed, collapsing onto a dining chair.
“Gid, take a seat. I have a tale to tell that defies belief.”
****
He kept seeing her jubilant performance atop, remembering her rapt, exhilarated eyes. The echoes of her laughter filling the lonely room.
“Rowan?” Gideon pried. The friend before him had been silent for some time staring oddly into space.
Rowan was right. His story had been hard to believe. He should have called the police. She should have been arrested, probably committed. Instead, he invited her over? He knew Rowan liked to push boundaries, but this was ridiculous.
And yet, his haunted eyes, the way he lit up when he talked about her. How he’d trail off, smiling at nothing at all.
“You really are in love, aren’t you?”
Rowan looked back at him, utterly helpless.
“Why haven’t you phoned her? Or gone to see her?”
“Gid, she doesn’t want anything to do with me,” were the words he uttered, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Deep inside he was terrified to face another rejection. He’d opened himself up, letting his true self shine and she’d ran. When he’d admitted his sexuality, she’d responded with fury. Everything had changed after that. How horrified would she be if he’d revealed his chequered past? The thought of her curled lip, backing away in disgust was already breaking him.
“Are you sure you’re reading this clearly?” Gideon asked.
Rowan reached for the note on the table, then stopped, pulling his hand back. He knew what it said. He’d read it a hundred times.
“Not the note… The situation.”
Rowan looked at him through dull eyes.
“From what you told me, the girl isn’t exactly stable. There’s a story behind it, but when you pried, she ran.”
“That would be an accurate summary,” he grumbled.
“The poor thing’s been traumatized somehow, and something you said or did brought it all back.”
“What did I do? I did nothing but support her!” he cried.
“When you told her you were queer, she lost it, correct?”
Rowan winced. “She thought I was toying with her like some kind of sadist.”
Gideon leaned forward, tapping him sharply on the chin. “Whether it was real or not, she got it in her head that you could hurt her. After that, that’s all she could see.”
“You started asking about her past and she panicked. She probably thought if you knew the truth, you’d cast her aside. Maybe she ran off to protect herself?”
Rowan looked at him, open-mouthed. How could he not have seen this?
Because you were so busy worrying about what she’d think of your own past, you were blind to the fact she might feel the same.
Gideon sat back, fanning himself with his hand. “Oh my. The poor thing. I hope she’s all right.”
Rowan remained speechless.
Gideon kicked him from under the table hard, snapping him out of his stupor.
“Get off your ass and go to her! For God’s sake Rowan,” he pleaded, sitting back in his seat. “Go get her.”
Coursing with renewed life, Rowan stood up, flexing his fingers, eyes darting from place to place, as if he were trying to process the past few days. Gideon’s words told him exactly what he needed to do next. “You’re right” he muttered. “I need to get the truth out of her!”
He bolted for the door, nearly making it before Gideon’s shout intervened. “HEY!” he cried in alarm. “You could at least shave! And a shower would be nice!” he added, wrinkling his nose in evident disgust.
Rowan ground to a halt and turned to give his friend a smile. “Gid, what would I do without you?”
His companion cringed. “You’re going to need to change too.”
******
Rowan quietly approached the large room at the end of the hall. He knew that she would be inside. He’d slipped in through a window in the kitchen, careful not to make a sound. He didn’t want her knowing he was there. Not yet.
He made his way to the open doorway and peered around the corner, nearly giving himself away with an audible gasp.
The room has been completely gutted. Everything was gone. What she could remove from the walls she had. What couldn’t be cut out, she’d buried in layers of black paint. The elaborate ceiling he’d admired was no more, replaced by an ominous void. The heart that represented him had been dug out of the wall whole by some formidable tool and then smashed into pieces. All that was left was debris, scattered across the floor.
Dana sat in the middle, her back to the door, covered in dried paint. She was tracing a shape on the floor with a glob she’d found in a nearby can, before moving her hand to erase it. Trapped in a loop, she started again.
Her movements slowed, then stopped as she curled onto her side, waiting to be consumed. Her tears had long dried. There was nothing left but vacant eyes and a hollowness within.
He would give anything he had to see her smile again.
He stepped into the room, no longer making an effort to stay silent.
“Dana.”
Dana snapped back to awareness with wild-eye panic, leaping to her feet. Seeing him before her, she shook her head in denial, stepping backwards, knocking the paint can over. She was still clothed in the same short black dress she’d been wearing when he’d last seen her, only it was torn in places, covered in streaks and large blobs of paint. Her breath came in rapid heaves, her knees weak and trembling.
“I told you to stay away!” she shouted, jumping at the sound of her own raised voice.
He moved in closer, grabbing her by the shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere! Not until you tell me what’s wrong!”
She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling against his grip. “Leave me alone!”
“Dana! What secret could you possibly be hiding that you think will turn me away?”
Dana tensed every muscle, her teeth clenched so hard he feared they would break. With unimaginable force, she broke free of his grasp.
“I’M BROKEN!!” her voice echoing against the newly bare walls. “I’ve always BEEN BROKEN!! Everyone knows that. My parents knew it! They looked at me like I was some kind of freak! They’d lock me in my room when company was over so I wouldn’t make them look bad in front of their OH-SO influential friends! Wouldn’t want me hurting their social status, would they!? All I’ve ever had for friends were trees, vines and made-up creatures!”
Her fury and pain became one as she released decades of hurt upon him, illustrating her own words with violent gestures.
“Then, mommy and daddy got blown up in a plane crash when I was thirteen! JUST LIKE THAT!! I had to stay with an aunt who hit me and told me I was shit all the time! She only cared about sucking the tits of my massive inheritance! When I fought back? SHE was the one people listened to. I mean, who’s going to believe the CRAZY unstable teen, right?”
Her tear-streaked face pierced his very soul. “I have been alone ALL my life! NO ONE wants me! They treat me like I’m contagious! Drop me the second I’m not what they want me to be!”
“I have been poked and prodded by shrinks for as long as I can remember. Drugged up, even COMMITTED at one point until I told them all to GO TO HELL!!!”
“I’m doing you a favor,” she hissed. “Here’s your free pass off my rollercoaster! Get off while you can!!”
“Why would you think-!?”
“I AM POISON!!! A DISEASE!!! EVERY HORRIBLE THING THAT INFECTS ME WILL EAT YOU TOO!! I CAN’T! I CAN’T WATCH YOU DIE BEFORE MY EYES!! FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE, I AM STEPPING BACK!! BECAUSE I CARE TOO MUCH ABOUT YOU TO SEE YOU HURT!!!”
He stared at her in disbelief before shattering the silence. “NO!!!”
“Dana, do you have any idea how incredibly unique you are? You’ve suffered a lifetime of misery, yet you can still look at the world around you with pure, unadulterated delight!”
“Please, just go!”
“I’m not leaving you! For the first time in years, I feel like I’ve got a second chance! A chance to be the person I was before I turned jaded and reckless. One night with you and all the self-inflicted misery which colors my life lifted away! I’m not walking away from that!”
“You don’t understand! I’m saving you from a lifetime of pain!”
“Dana. If you’re broken, or damaged I want to be there to help you through it! I want to be the one you see safety in, because the reward is immense! You without your nightmares is the most incredible sight I’ve seen! You’re like a blazing sun, blowing away every shadow within me!”
She took a step backward, her eyes still full of fear.
Shaking clawed hands alongside his head in frustration he cried, “How – how can I make you see-?”
With no warning, Rowan lunged forward and grabbed her, kissing her deeply.
There was no reaction. She remained rooted to the spot, eyes wide open.
Confused, he broke his embrace, searching her for an answer, but none could be found.
Devastated, he released her, with a rising sense of horror. Had he made a grave mistake? He stepped backwards. “I – I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me” he said, his voice weak.
Just as he was about to leave, it hit her. As scared as she was of hurting him, she was infinitely more petrified of the sight of him walking away. She touched her lip, still feeling his, exploding out of paralysis.
He turned at the sound of her movement to see her flying towards him like a wild cat with claws extended. Throwing her arms around his neck, she leapt into his startled arms, pressing her lips onto his with unbridled passion. Layers of hurt that had suffocated both shattered, their inner light exploding outwards in a raging fire.
“Oh God, you scared the hell out of me!” he gasped, before losing himself in her again.
Tearing at his shirt with wild abandon, she cried “Shut up and fuck me!”
Flickering Lights 
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