Beastly

by Laura Belle Peters

  I checked the time on my phone occasionally.

  Ten minutes.

  I wasn't sure how far I'd gone. Ten minutes would normally take me at least half a mile, but damn if I knew how much slower I was being in the darkness, tripping on tree roots.

  Fifteen minutes.

  Twenty.

  Finally, around a corner, there was a glimpse of something.

  I saw the light slipping through the trees before I could make out the house.

  My pace slowed down. I wondered how far I could get if I just turned back and inched my way back to the road, maybe found another house, maybe hitchhiked home, or to another town, and never went back to my father.

  I already knew why I wouldn't.

  My sisters.

  I'd never see them again, and that wouldn't be the worst of it. Anything I refused to do, my sisters would have to. That was the rule.

  If I refused to shut my mouth and open my legs for whoever my father wanted to impress, he'd find someone who liked them as young as I used to be, he'd take one of my sisters, and – there was no other option.

  I didn't speed up, but I didn't turn around, either.

  I faced my duty with hunched shoulders and shaking hands.

  My first impression of the house was all pieces lit by yellow glows, not quite strong or bright enough to show me the whole picture.

  There was the sleek hood of a car, probably new. New-ish, at least. It didn't have the bold lines of a classic, or or the shivering inelegance of an 80's or 90's model.

  There was a front door with nothing but a peephole. No house number, no wreath, no decoration at all. Simply a stark white entry. It looked like the house was a brick ranch set smack dab in the center of a wide clearing. I saw one car parked in front of it and a few shadowy shapes that could have been more.

  Now, all I had to do was finish my long walk. The end was in sight.

  It was harder than ever to put one foot in front of the other.

  By the time I reached the two steps up to the front door, my teeth were chattering and my hands were shaking.

  The only thing that made me reach up and knock was the thought of my little sisters.

  If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be taking care of them.

  There wasn’t a lot I could do in the world, but I could at least do this.

  I knocked and stepped back a few paces, to the edge of the porch. Any further and I would have fallen down the steps.

  No one answered.

  I shifted from one foot to another, wondering if I had the courage to knock again, or if I should just… leave.

  Where to? The long darkness of the path behind me? The miles and miles between me and the nearest town? The beating my father would give me for disobeying?

  I stayed.

  The door opened after five breaths of painful silence. For one brief moment, I saw the outline of an enormous man, backlit and terrifying, standing in the doorway.

  Then, the sudden light, bright and clear, hit my eyes and I threw up my hand to protect them, stumbling backwards into nothingness.

  “Shit,” a deep voice said, and the huge shape turned into a man, reaching for me, catching me by the arm and pulling me back up onto the porch.

  When I got my feet back under me, I snatched my arm away, flinching and wincing.

  “Thank you,” I said, realizing after a moment that it was a very bad idea to offend this man, whoever he was.

  “No problem,” he said.

  As my eyes adjusted, I started to see the man standing in front of the open door as more than a murky, threatening shape.

  He wasn’t what I expected at all. Only a few years older than me, if that, with thick brown hair and full lips.

  He was fucking built. He looked like he could bench-press a truck. No wonder he caught me so easily, he could probably lift me above his head with one hand. With the glistening muscles and five o’clock shadow, he looked like he would have been stunningly handsome if it weren’t for the scars.

  An ugly welt, old and healed but still shocking even in the silvery half-light, gleamed across his face, disappearing under his hair.

  I tried not to stare, but I found that I couldn’t pull my gaze away.

  I looked up and my eyes met his stormy blue-green orbs. Something about them captured my attention and held me, filling my world.

  Those were eyes I could have fallen into and never wanted to leave, any other day.

  Any other place.

  “Come on in,” he said, finally, turning and leading the way into the house.

  It was a pretty typical place. It wasn’t the bare-bones trash-filled tweaker den I was afraid of. There was a flat-screen TV on an old coffee table, wires disappearing into it and a few cases out that showed me that someone was playing video games on the old couch.

  Throw blankets, an old quilt, pictures on the wall… it didn’t look as threatening as any of the places my father had sent me before.

  It didn’t look bad at all. Homey, really. Not like the overawing and plastic-coated house where my father lived. He and Kandy loved the McMansion, with the glittering lights and brick front, full of Laura Ashley furniture. It didn't look like where you thought anyone on meth might live.

  What the hell was going on?

  “Tabitha?” the young man asked.

  I nodded, trying not to look at him. I didn’t know which I was avoiding, those scars or those captivating eyes.

  “I don’t know who the hell else you’d be, but… Good. Good. Hey,” he said. “My name's Cory.”

  "I was told to ask for Beast?"

  "Yeah, that's my nickname. I'm Cory Pittman, but... everyone calls me Beast."

  I nodded, staring at my feet. I was standing next to a baseball bat leaned up against the wall by the door. The old paint was chipping off the wood.

  “Let me get you a glass of water before we get started,” he said.

  I nodded and lifted my still-shaking hands fo the hem of my shirt.

  When he came back from the kitchen, I was naked, still looking at my feet.

  “Woah,” he said. “What the fuck, Tabitha?”

  I looked up and met his eyes again, finding only confusion there.

  “I thought you wanted-“ I started.

  Tears of humiliation were starting to sting my eyes.

  This was just like my father, setting me up to make a fool out of myself.

  He swallowed.

  “I think we need to talk,” he said. “Would you please put your clothes back on?”

  When I was dressed again, I joined him on the couch, sitting on the edge of the cushion that was the farthest from the one where he was sitting.

  “I asked your father if I could hire you to help me out,” he said. “Cooking, cleaning, maybe some paperwork.”

  I swallowed hard before I could speak.

  “He probably didn’t believe you,” I said. “Probably thought that you… He couldn’t think why anyone would want a girl alone in their house if they didn’t want to fuck them.”

  “And he sent you anyways?” he asked. “What a piece of shit.”

  I wanted to nod fervently, but I was afraid it was some sort of trick. Maybe this man would tell my father and my father would – well, whatever he did, it would be bad.

  “I dunno,” I said, shrugging, just to fill the silence.

  “I didn’t hear his car pull up.”

  “Yeah, he dropped me off right by the road,” I said. “I walked up.”

  “He knew damn well that that was more than a mile in the dark. Fuck. I’m sorry, if I’d known, I would have picked you up.”

  I shrugged again.

  “Okay,” he said. “Right. Can we start over?”

  “Sure,” I said. Whatever he wanted. He held all the cards – if he told my father I didn’t do what he wanted, I might as well not have come after all.

  My pitiful store of courage wasted for nothing.

  “Hey,” he said. “My name’s Beast.”

 
He held out his hand and I shook it, tentatively.

  “My name’s Tabitha,” I said.

  “Not Tabby?” he asked.

  I shook my head. That was what my mother had called me.

  “I need to hire someone to help me do housework and keep me company. No hanky-panky. Twenty bucks per night. Cash.”

  I nodded.

  “Would you be interested in the position? You’d have to cook and clean, but, I promise, nothing else. If anyone who comes over so much as makes you uncomfortable, they’re out of here.”

  He must have seen the doubt on my face.

  “Seriously. You don’t have to have sex with anyone here, or let them touch you. If one of my buddies tries anything, I’ll kick their ass for you.”

  Yeah, right.

  That would happen.

  Sure.

  I mean, if he chose to, I was pretty sure that he could beat up anyone he chose.

  I was still trying not to look at him.

  The scar was even worse in the brighter light. Not the clean cut of a slash with a knife, but the noxious bubbling and puckering of an old burn.

  He saw me looking, and turned away.

  That was almost better, but I couldn't escape the scars. I could see another rising out from under his collar at the nape of his neck, even more distorted than the one on his face.

  “I’m sorry you have to look at me,” he said, gruffly. “That’s why I have been having so much trouble finding someone to come out here. I tried Merry Maids and the other places in town first. None of them wanted to come out this far, or be with me.”

  I didn’t ask why he couldn’t keep the place clean himself, or just leave the house when they came by.

  “Your father doesn’t know about the money,” he said. “He said I had to pay him direct. I won’t tell him about the extra for you, okay? If you need help opening an account without him, I’ll make sure you can get to a bank without him knowing.”

  I didn’t even know what to say.

  Money my father didn’t know about, a few nights a week away from that house, and no sex required?

  Sounded way too good to be true.

  I didn’t trust this guy for a minute.

  Anyone my father knew, anyone he’d want to build goodwill with, had to be bad news.

  I was waiting for the snake in the grass – and I wished I could think of a way to phrase that that didn’t sound like a dick. I was waiting for the trick, the trap, the other shoe to drop.

  “It’s late, why don’t we both get to bed?” he asked. “Do you have classes tomorrow?”

  I shook my head.

  “My father said he’d pick me up on Thursday morning,” I said.

  Beast nodded. He stood up and offered me his hand to help me up, too. I didn’t take it.

  “There are two bedrooms you could have,” he said, leading me into a hallway off the living room. “Come pick which one you want. This one’s mine.”

  The bedroom he gestured at through an open door was plain, but looked nice enough. A double bed on an old wooden bedframe, a plaid comforter pulled up to the messy pile of pillows, a battered wooden dresser.

  It looked lived-in. Not too pretty, but nice enough. There were even some pictures on the walls.

  He showed me two bare bedrooms. Each had a twin bed on a matching wooden bedframe, painted white. The bedroom by Beast’s had white sheets and a pink comforter, the bedroom across the hall was identical, but yellow.

  I took the yellow room. It was a lot smaller, but it was just that little bit further away from Beast. There was not exactly a lot there to choose from as far as decoration went, and both bedrooms had a dresser and tiny closet, so who cares if I was losing out on some floor space?

  Besides, it wasn’t like I wanted to be here.

  Beast offered me dinner, but I couldn't take it. I was too tired and afraid to be hungry.

  “Okay, well, I've already eaten, so,” he trailed off. “Tabitha?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you testify against your father?”

  “No way,” I said.

  That was his angle. My father had done this before. A cop came to the door, full uniform and badge, and said that he'd heard a little girl was being hurt. I let him in and sat down and spilled my guts, sobbing about all the things my father made me do.

  He'd laughed at me before he'd pinned me to the couch.

  My father told me that he knew almost everyone in the town. He did their plumbing, built their houses, went to their parties, donated to their charities. He said if I told anyone, I had a really, really good chance of it being one of his buddies, and he'd let them do whatever they wanted to me. Just like the cop did.

  Another time, I thought I'd been taken away by social services, and lived with a couple for almost two months before I told them that my father hurt me. That night, the man sent me back to my father, laughing again, saying I'd failed his test.

  I passed a fitful night's sleep in the comfortable twin bed. Every time I heard a strange sound, I woke up. I wondered when Beast would come in and tell me that he'd changed his mind, all I was good for was sex, I should go ahead and strip and let him do whatever he wanted to me.

  When I wasn't worried about that, I was thinking about the question he'd asked me.

  Would I testify against my father?

  No way.

  It had to be a trap. It had always been a trap.

  Even if it wasn't, there was no fucking point. He'd punish me. He'd punish my sisters. He'd probably even punish Kandy. He didn't, usually, I'd never seen him hit her, but I knew he did. She'd never seen him hit me, either, but it happened all the time.

  In the morning, I'd apparently finally went to sleep, because I woke up to bright light streaming in through the small window and the sound of birds.

  I woke up and put on a different shirt. I had slept in my clothes from yesterday, too afraid to change into anything else, but I had a clean shirt in the bottom of my backpack.

  I opened the door and crept into the hallway, visiting the bathroom he'd pointed out the night before.

  It was clean enough, but not immaculate. I wrinkled my nose, catching a whiff of old pee smell. I guess he really did need someone to help him clean.

  I padded softly in my bare feet down the hall towards the living room.

  “Oh, good, Tabitha, you're awake,” Beast called. “Come on into the kitchen.”

  The little room was bright and open, with cabinets painted white and a tiny table for two in the center of the room.

  The huge man was standing in front of the stove, a dishtowel tossed over his shoulder, stirring a pan of eggs.

  He didn't look any better in the bright morning sunlight.

  He didn't look any worse, though.

  The scars were still livid and angry, but his broad shoulders and bright eyes still grabbed my attention. I felt something in me want to respond to them, want to melt into his arms and tell him all my problems. I hadn't felt like that about a guy in years.

  “I hope you like eggs,” he said, looking a little sheepish. “I can make any kind you like.”

  “I can do it,” I said.

  “Yeah, but I'm already right here. Scrambled okay?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Why was he being so nice, so friendly?

  After a few minutes of silence, he put a heaping plate of eggs and toast in front of me, and one in front of himself. He pointed out the butter and jam already on the table.

  It all looked delicious. The eggs were overflowing with mushrooms and ham, the toast was buttery and fresh.

  I could hardly take a single bite.

  “You don't like it?” Beast asked.

  “It's good, thanks,” I said. “I just don't eat a lot in the mornings.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense,” he said. “I'm sorry if it's too rich, I also have cereal and stuff.”

  I shook my head and picked up a piece of toast.

  We didn't speak much at all that day.r />
  I still wasn't really sure why I was there. He showed me where his cleaning supplies were and asked me to make a list of anything else he should have.