A Beautiful Nightmare: A Novel

by Shana Vanterpool

  I should have just eaten the damn eggs.

  I pressed my lips to his ear. “I’m never going to love you the way I did.”

  His body nestled even deeper, as if his subconscious were defying me.

  “I lived for you. I’d wait for weeks for you to make an appointment. Now I want you to disappear.”

  His fist grabbed a handful of my shirt, holding on as I pushed him away.

  “Why did you do this to us?” I let my tears loose. “Even when I slept next to Denny, I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like if he were you. How you’d never treat me like ice. You’d never forget me.” I pressed my tear soaked face against his shirt. “Now you’re forcing yourself on me.”

  His fist let my shirt go.

  “Too late,” I whispered breathlessly, as the loss of Dash came over me.

  The first two months after our hour together were the hardest. I was avoiding Denny and I couldn’t have Dash. To look at him for an hour and know I had to pretend that deep down he wasn’t my choice killed me, it annihilated him—those hours were both torturous and coveted.

  He ruined it. To want something seemed unfair, until that something forced you to have it.

  “How could you?” I hugged him to me, cradling his head as my sobs ripped me apart. “You were my salvation.”

  I held him so hard it felt like we were one. Man and woman, heartbeats in synch. It was one more illusion. There were so many around me I couldn’t find a truth. I was in a mirage rather than watching one from afar, existing within the clear ripples as they danced away from me.

  “Do you want to know a secret?” His snore rumbled. “I’m more upset that you bought me, than Denny selling me.” I shook my head at myself, at the man in my arms, at the gold I knew in his eyes and the lies they pretended were truths.

  For hours he lay on top of me. Soon his breaths and snores lulled me to sleep. When I awoke, he was gone, and I was tucked beneath the covers. All my plates were cleared. The door was closed. The ropes that had draped my bedframe were gone as well. I felt guilty and ashamed.

  I rolled out of bed and stood, catching myself when a rush left me dizzy. I needed to eat. I supposed kissing him back was worse than eating his damn food. I entered my bathroom hesitantly. It was still marvelous. Gleaming tile and sunlight. I got a towel from the closet beside the sinks and then walked over to the shower. The moment I took my pants off, I felt the bristles of my leg stubble against my hand. I was a prisoner, but that didn’t mean I had to be a hairy one.

  I undressed, and then padded over to the drawers. After initiating the sensor, I found that the drawers were stocked to the brim with everything I’d ever need. I found a new pack of razors and a tube of raspberry shaving cream. I spent so long in the shower that when I came out, I felt slightly less like a prisoner. I was smooth, shining, and my hair glowed.

  The illusions were starting to rub off on me.

  In my closet, I dropped my towel and sifted through the panties. I wanted an ugly pair, some form of truth, but they were all cute, sexy, or girly, even the cotton ones. I snatched a pair of yellow bikini style, ripped off the tags, and plunged my legs through the holes. I ignored the bra drawer and instead searched until I found a black long sleeve shirt and paired it with the first pajamas I touched, a pair of dark blue and black checkered bottoms.

  My hair hung damp down my back. When I got to my door, I didn’t know what to do. We pretending he hadn’t humped me? We were forgetting the part where he came in his pants? We were overlooking the tiny second I kissed him back like he’d save me from this nightmare, even after putting me inside of it?

  I ran my finger over the sensor, and then stepped out. The light flooding the living room looked like it was mid-afternoon. My head pounded when I met the light, making me shield my eyes.

  The sound of screaming men startled me. Dash had his headphones on, and the huge screen a game was playing.

  “Get the guy coming up on my right. My right, idiot!” he hollered, pressing his finger repeatedly on a button. The screen erupted in flames.

  I sighed in relief. He was preoccupied. I tiptoed behind the couch and then into the kitchen. I opened the fridge to find it half empty. There wasn’t any milk or spoils left but some yogurt and a tub of butter. How were we going to eat? I moved on to the cupboards, and sighed. Food that could last a war was crammed into every space. I searched every cupboard, finding everything I could imagine, even vitamins. I guessed that would make up for the lack of vegetables. The amount of preparation made me ill again. With shaking hands, I took down a box of granola and the yogurt from the fridge.

  “There’s soymilk in the cupboard.”

  I looked over to find his headphones were off, but his face was still on the screen.

  I met his eyes in the reflection from the windows. The look in them made my legs even weaker. Shit. He was still hungry. Now he had a reason to be. I turned around and ignored his suggestion.

  “Third cupboard over the sink.”

  He was watching me.

  “Yogurt’s fine,” I mumbled.

  The shooting on the screen restarted. But I was stuck. Where were the bowls? Not wanting to ask him, I searched until I found the dishes below the sink in a bin. I sifted through them and came away with a ceramic bowl and a spoon. I poured the granola into the bowl, the rich smell of hazelnuts and chocolate swirling around me. I brought the bowl to the bar and ate with my back to him.

  The taste of food after so long without it was vaguely disgusting. I forced it down anyway. In the bathroom mirror I’d noticed my hip bones were poking out. I had always been on the thin side, having two parents who eventually gave up on me long before they gave up on themselves, and had struggled to sustain my own existence. I found it sexier for a guy to buy me dinner than roses. In college, I just found it sexy to be noticed.

  A loner for the better part of my life, living off of emotionless relationships and doing my best to ruin them, Denny was a spot of light in my darkness. The son of a high profile lawyer and a stay-at-home-mother, he was a perfect golden boy. I should have despised him. He was so everything I never had, and I was so everything he was supposed to ignore, but we clicked. I shared my dreams of being a therapist, and with the help of his father and a loan, I was able to open my own practice. I owed him so much and gave him so little.

  The guilt of my actions returned full force. That’s why I picked Denny. He gave me my dream, and all I gave him was heartache. I wanted to see him, to apologize, to beg him to let me make it up to him. Even if the spark was gone, I’d spend the rest of my life searching through the embers for him.

  That I had let Dash once again alter my desires sickened me. But Dash was right. I lied to myself all too often, because beneath that lie lay a truth that was far less impressive.

  The yogurt hit my stomach like a brick. I spooned it into my mouth, tasting nothing as the salt of my tears dried on my face.

  “There’s coffee,” my abductor announced. “I know you love your coffee.”

  I nodded sadly. “That’s how you were going to drug me, right?”

  “Right,” he grunted. “I checked Denny’s account by the way. You want to know how much he’s spent?”

  My eyes closed in misery. “How much?”

  “A quarter is already gone.”

  My heart wailed. “He’s not the bad guy.”

  “I am?” he guessed, his tone acerbic.

  “And so am I. We’re both the bad guys here. I cheated and you hogtied me to the bed. Everything you do is exactly what I deserve.” I let my head hit the counter.

  “You’re right. It is. What I plan on doing to your body, the ecstasy you’re going to feel, you deserve. The gifts I’m going to shower you with, you deserve. No one could put a price on you. No one could get in the way of me having you. Don’t you deserve that? Don’t you want to be deserved?” A sad sigh sounded from behind me.

  I ignored him. Why had Denny sold me and spent a quarter of a million
dollars on?

  “Do you know what he spent it on?”

  “I do.”

  “Do I want to know? This is from the woman in my office and the man across from her. The same you and me who made love. Do I want to know, Dash?”

  A pause, and then, “No.”

  I fell face first against the counter. Was the first three years a lie, or did my one act of betrayal ruin them all? It seemed simple, maybe I just didn’t want to be responsible for the destruction around me. But I was, and Dash was wrong. I would never deserve anything other than the illusion.

  “Did I do it?”

  Another pause, a longer one.

  “I loved you,” I promised him, wanting the truth.

  “Yes.”

  I stared numbly at the silver granite countertops. “You saw that? You saw that he was done with me because of you?”

  “He promised to drug you and help me get rid of you forever. I think that’s pretty done.”

  I grabbed my bowl and launched it at him, getting the back of his head. He roared in pain and jumped up, but in an effort to turn, he tripped and fell, hitting his head on the coffee table. I watched it all unfold in a rage. After the blood began to pool around his head, reality settled in. My mind cleared from the enraged fog it was wrapped around. Blood. Shit. Blood.

  “Dash?”

  I ran around the couch and kneeled down beside him. He lay on his side. There was a small puddle of blood beneath his head. I fumbled with him, carefully lifting his head to find the gash. It was lost in his hair. Blood coated his dark locks and my fingers.

  I looked around helplessly. But of course we were alone. In a skyscraper. With our mistakes, our lies, and the illusion of beauty. Even blood couldn’t shatter this lie.

  “Dash?” I patted his cheek, moving to cradle his head in my lap.

  Still, I was stuck within my rage at his comments. He had rubbed the shattering of my life in my face. Pretending I felt bad would only further the illusion that this was going to go back to abductor and captive.

  All Dash had right now were his illusions.

  He clung to the beautiful picture he manufactured in his head. Probably had been longer than I’d been aware of. I ran my fingers through his hair, over and over again, losing myself in his silky dark strands. There was a time when I’d yearned to have his head on my lap than that of any other. A salvation as my relationship stopped giving me what I desired. My selfish wants had started long before Denny, but they’d blown up the moment I met Dash. Maybe deep down my selfish wants knew this was a man who wouldn’t mind feeding their starving little appetites forever.

  For hours I cradled him, rubbing him, staring at the burgundy pool of blood beneath his head. Now that was fitting. A nightmare should be dark, dirty, and disgusting.

  Finally, he roused. His eyelids fluttered open. His pupils dilated, and then the gold spread into a warm amber.

  “Why am I in your lap?”

  “You’re were unconscious.”

  “Why?”

  “I threw my bowl at you,” I explained unapologetically.

  He grabbed for his head, his eyes filling with discordance as he recalled what led to his ground level position. He tried to rise, but wobbled, leaning heavily against me.

  And because I was beginning to wonder which one of us was the patient, I wrapped my arms around him, holding on so he wouldn’t fall. “Don’t touch me again,” I whispered darkly, pressing my lips to his ear. “My body was never yours and it’s never going to be again.”

  He nodded against me. Not a nod of understanding. But a nod of defiance. “Your body was mine the moment you let me have it on your desk. It will be mine again. That’s why you kissed me in that bed, why you let me feel you, why I woke up in your arms. Fight it, my queen. Fight me. Fight whatever you want. I will take your blows, because I will take you.” He pulled from my grip and struggled to his feet. He turned before he got around the couch, pointing at me as I sat on the floor by his blood. “Touch me again, and I have no problem loving you through the walls.”

  I gawked up at him. “You—”

  “Don’t touch me again!” Dark incensed anger settled over the room. My heart fell at the unhinged look in his eyes. This was bleak, a black land ravaged by grotesque souls. My anger was gone. I stared, terrified again. “I have never touched you with any other intention than to have you. I won’t go through that again.” He stumbled back, looking down at me in disgust. “You should make yourself an appointment if you think that’s what love is. Don’t speak to me until you figure out how to treat me.”

  He stomped toward his side of the skyscraper and punched his fist into the sensor. His door slid open, and then I was alone once it slid shut behind him.

  I wanted to treat this like every other incidence. He was the bad guy. Not me. But this time, it didn’t feel that way. I tried to rack my brain for any indication that Dash had been abused. I plowed through our sessions, ignoring our spark.

  His father wasn’t a pleasant guy. Dash grew up around horrendous people who did horrendous things. The things he’d heard alone could push anyone over the edge. But the things he’d seen were one more block in his insane foundation. His father transcribed pressure and guilt on to him that no child should have to endure. Most sessions weren’t dedicated wholly to him; I could admit that now. Most times I had a hard time not attacking him, let alone listening to him speak. I had listened to enough.

  He’d gone to live with his father permanently after his mother left him alone when he was four. From that age on he could remember everything clearly, but the years prior he could not. There were extreme abandonment issues that he struggled with. It translated into his relationships all too often, and coupled with his mental illness, he thrived on toxic for the majority of his life. A series of up and down relationships that shamefully mirrored my own.

  But there had been no abuse.

  It didn’t surprise me that he kept things from me. Most patients kept their insides so close to their heart. Therapy was supposed to dig deep, but it only did so if you were willing to sweat, to rip yourself apart to heal your insides. Bring the darkness to the light so it knew it existed.

  “You’re so full of shit,” I hissed under my breath.

  I had things close to my chest that I clutched with all my might, things I refused to let go of even now. The moment I did someone would crush them. They would take joy in watching them shatter the way Denny had when he cashed a check for my heart.

  With confusion as my new friend, I got to my feet and cleaned up my mess. I used my towel from my shower to clean up the blood, depositing it into the tub to soak. I cleaned up the pieces of broken ceramic from my bowl and piled them into the trashcan I found wedged between the fridge and the cupboard. I frowned at its presence. Why was there a garbage, but no way to toss it?

  Its presence made me want out suddenly. I wanted out of this place. If I had to follow the garbage, then so be it. I searched for a shoot. We were in a skyscraper, and if things could come up, then things had to come down as well. I ran my fingers all over the walls, searching for seams, where there might be another door with a sensor. I stared into the garbage can. The ceramic glass pieces were the only items inside. There had been trash. My uneaten food was trash. I eyed the garbage disposal.

  I rose from my hunches where I’d been crouched by the floor, running my fingers over the crown molding. There were drafts. Things had to come up somehow, someway. With his father’s influence, I could only imagine who built the place. Dash could have done so on his own. He was intelligent enough to fabricate such a prison with technology.

  I thought back to when I awoke in this place, but my brain had been clouded with too much. My attack, my lies, the overwhelming acceptance that I had done this to myself. But most of all the fact that he thought we were going to stay here until I wanted to be here? Through my muddled state, I recalled one statement.

  “But there is only one way out in this place and you can search for
a hundred years and never find it.”

  Why? Why couldn’t I find it? Why did he think it was safe?

  I spun around the room. There was a way out, and he was so cocky he thought I’d never find it. Imaginings of me finding it and running began to fill my mind. I didn’t know what I’d do when I left—probably a life spent running—but it was better than being locked inside of a mirage with a man who thought my past desires were his future wants.

  I stooped on my heels and began searching every crack in the kingdom. I searched for air drafts, finding them only where there were windows. I got on my hands and knees and spent hours trailing my touch over every hardwood piece of flooring. Nothing. I was dizzy, unable to see past my hunger. Still, I pushed. The sun had set hours ago; the light of the moon gleamed silver on the floors, guiding my search.

  Coming up aggravatingly empty, I put my hands on my hips. My mind was hyper focused on the exit. It knew it was here, and the fact that my intelligence was being stumped and ridiculed, was maddening. I moved on to his side of the floor, pressing my ear to his door. I could hear nothing, but I got the impression he could see everything I was doing. And suddenly, I was no longer searching for an escape, but his eyes.

  “Where are they, you sick bastard?” I scoured the room all night looking for a camera. By the time I was done the place was a wreck and I was no closer to figuring out his mind than I was before I ended up in this place.

  I plopped down on the cushions on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. It was a smooth white, fresh-painted ceiling. So fresh I could spot a few paint drops that had dried slower than the rest. How do you paint a ceiling when there are no walls to leave through? I struggled with this maze. It wasn’t a typical maze. There were no twists or curves, or a piece of cheese at the end, just one long line to nowhere. But there must be a trapdoor somewhere, a way out of this place, and a way in.