Fiendish Play

by Angela Richardson

  There was no mistaking what I should do next. I marched up to the tree trunk where the two guys still had their backs turned, fastening the ropes against her body, and I yanked one of them by the shoulders. The action caused them both to jump and swing around to look at me.

  “What the hell are you doing to this girl? Let her go...right now!” I yelled at their faces that I could barely see in the soft illumination of the night. They both had on jeans and black T-shirts with a weird white emblem on the pocket on their chest. I squinted at the logo, but couldn’t make out the picture, although something about the emblem seemed familiar. One guy had short spiky hair that I could just see in the darkness and the other, a buzz cut. They were the only two differentiating differences between the two.

  The guys looked at each other and then back at me before responding. “Best you ignore what you’ve seen, and get on your way,” Buzz Cut said in a deep menacing voice. Spiky Hair cracked his knuckles anticipating the obvious. That it wouldn’t be that simple and that a fight was brewing.

  “No, I won’t do that. Now untie her. Now!” I demanded.

  The guys started laughing at me which only made the girl start sobbing more loudly. She probably thought she was about to witness a beat down along with what horrible things they had intended for her. Little did she know of my capabilities. Yes I was an artist, and to some people that was a stereotype, meaning I was weak and probably too sensitive, but my step-dad believed I should have more than one skill to make myself a man and never ever become someone who could be so easily pigeonholed. It was the reason he taught me everything he knew about cars. It was also the reason he got me into boxing at a very young age. I had been boxing since I was eight years old. My step-dad, Colton, had said to me when he took me to my first boxing class that, “James, a real man should never be violent, but sometimes, situations will come up when it’s the only way to keep someone safe or to protect yourself from the hate and cruelty in the world. You might need to use your fists. But a real man only hits if there is no other choice. So you need to be prepared for those choices which may not be yours, but will be choices that are made for you.”

  I didn’t want to hurt these two guys, but given they had no intention of letting the girl go they didn’t give me any other choice. Spiky Hair approached me first. He stalked over to me, his fists already raised. I anticipated his first blow and then the second by sideswiping both of his attempts which caused him to stumble on his feet. He cursed himself under his breath. I could tell he didn’t like to miss. That made me smirk to myself. When he shifted on his feet trying to regain his footing again, I applied one full blow to the side of his stomach. I knew exactly what a simple, yet powerful punch would do to him. It dropped him to his knees, gasping for breath. Before he could get any air into his lungs, I clocked his face, smashing his cheek, knocking him out. His limp body dropping onto the ground. “Two hits. Just two,” I counted in my head.

  Buzz Cut didn’t wait to check how hurt his crony was. He tried to come up behind me, grabbing onto both of my arms, trying to pin them back so I didn’t have use of them. But someone who knows how to defend themselves also knows that you don’t need your arms to win a fight. You just need to know how to use the rest of your body, like your legs or your head. I angled my head, pulled it forward and swung it back full force, hitting Buzz Cut’s face, forcing him to let go of my arms and put them on his nose. I knew it was broken and gushing blood by the way I had hit him. The moment he freed me, I walked behind him and kicked his legs out, making him fall to the ground, still clutching his nose. When he struggled to get onto his knees, I clocked him in the face, knocking him out too.

  Two hits each. Two knockouts. Two...just two. I watched my hand shake from the adrenaline, but I also knew it was from something else that was embedded in the very fibers of my skin. My reaction to violence had always caused these shakes to surface. I wasn’t sure why my body reacted this way, but I figured it had something to do with my peaceful nature. I hated hurting people, even in a situation like this. But I figured the fewer hits I had to make, the more I would feel okay with what I had to do when it crept up into my conscious afterwards. Being violent is not something that sits well in my stomach, or my head. There was something about my reaction that felt like it had been created from something in my past and not part of who I really was. But it had never been clear where the tremors in my hand stemmed from and why. I even had a doctor check me out, and his words to me were, “James, there isn’t any physical reason for your shakes.” This meant only one thing. It was psychological. But from what mental anguish...I didn’t know.

  There was a still silence in the air now that both the guys’ bodies were lying lifeless on the ground. My mind took a second to regain a clear train of thought. I couldn’t let the guilt of what I had to do take over. My shakes had stopped, and I realized I had to focus on making the girl feel safe. My head lifted to where I could hear her crying again. I ran over to the tree and started loosening and untying the ropes that had her secured to the trunk of the tree. I could tell she had put up a battle against her attackers because there were defensive cuts and scratches all over her arms and chest. “Hey, you’re okay now. I’m going to get you out of these ropes. Then I will take you home. Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

  The moment she was free she buried her face into my chest, crying hysterically. I think all her emotions had finally erupted and were being emptied onto my T-shirt. She clung to the fabric wailing, and saying things that weren’t making any sense to me. “I can’t do it. I don’t want to do it. Never. No. I can’t do it!” I could only assume she was just letting every painful word tumble from her mouth like she was exorcising her demons. Then she moaned into my chest, “I let them! I let them do this to me!”

  I pulled her off my body, looking at her confused, wondering what the hell was going on, because nothing she was saying was helping me to understand this weird attack or abduction or whatever the fuck it was. “Hey...” I whispered, trying to be calming, trying to find out what was wrong. “Hey...why? Why were they doing this to you?”

  She grabbed me again, holding me close, speaking into my chest. “Because...I’m a virgin.” Then she passed out in my arms. It was all too much for the poor girl. I stood in the darkness, holding her frail and unconscious body in my grasp. I was still a little stunned by her confession and the reason this had happened to her, but I scooped her up, and carried her back to Marcus’ car.

  {4}

  When the girl’s eyes burst open on my bed in my bedroom, my first move was to try and comfort her, using humor to downplay the situation. Not the smartest decision, I’ll admit, but it’s the first thing that came to mind. I had never been in this type of predicament before...and really, what does one say when they rescue a damsel in distress? Cause I’m no fairytale hero, and I had no idea how to even begin.

  “So...is it the norm to tie virgins up to trees here?” I asked, smiling awkwardly, sitting next to the wild-eyed girl on my bed as she sat up looking around in all directions. I had hoped she had calmed down and was in a much more rational state of mind. Maybe even laugh at my attempt at humor. She quickly moved, crawling off the bed and backing herself into the corner of my bedroom like a frightened animal. I made a mental note to never use humor in this type of situation again. Yes, even I can have moments of pure idiocy.

  “Hey, are you okay? I’m sorry for saying something so stupid. I’m James. I was the one who helped you. I brought you back to my room when you passed out. It’s okay. You’re safe now.” I tried to move closer to her as I said those words, but she seemed to shake where she stood. Instantly I felt angry all over again at the people who did this to her. My rage for those guys I had knocked out was bubbling and boiling over. Suddenly I didn’t feel so guilty for hurting them the way I did, but I felt gratification for beating them senseless. They had made this girl so scared she couldn’t even stand up straight. I saw one of my hands begin to tremble again, like it did after I had knoc
ked out those two guys. The reaction was from the violent re-enactment playing over and over like a movie in my head. I gripped both hands to keep them still and focused back on the girl.

  We stood motionless, not moving. We were both at the opposite ends of the room and I was trying to figure out if she was about to run or not. Staring at such an angelic-looking creature, I couldn’t help but wonder how anyone would want to hurt someone that looked so sweet. “Perhaps looks were deceiving,” I thought to myself, knowing I was making too many unrealistic assumptions already. I barely knew the girl after all. I took a step towards her, and she took another back, defensively. I shuddered again seeing her face contort in fear, knowing my instincts were right. She was an innocent in all this. She didn’t want any part of what was happening to her back at that tree. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold her, but in seeing this girl’s reaction, I knew I had to respect the space she obviously needed. Perhaps I could try and reassure her again with my words. The right words.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I said slowly, trying to make my voice sound genuine and calming. She drew in a short breath. Her eyes darting all around my room and then back to me. Her breaths began to slow, like she was finally regaining her bearings.

  “You shouldn’t have done what you did,” she said, shocking me. But she had said it so weakly, almost like it was someone else’s words coming from her mouth. It’s didn’t sound like the truth. It sounded like delusion. But even if she had been conditioned to think what was happening to her was normal, hearing her say that still stung all the same. I couldn’t help but bite back.

  “You mean I shouldn’t have stopped those two guys from tying you up to that tree with the probable intent of raping you?” I asked, still confused by her lack of appreciation for me coming to her rescue. A rescue, she had asked for. I held up both my hands into the air. “Whoa! My bad. Sorry for setting you free from something you clearly wanted. I guess when you mouthed the words ‘help me,’ I misinterpreted what you really wanted me to do.”

  She stared at me once more, still not backing down from what she said. What it felt like she was supposed to say. But I could see her eyes well with tears, and her face fighting back the urge to let them fall. For such a fragile-looking thing, she showed strength in keeping herself together. Her strength felt real, like it was part of who she really was.

  “You don’t understand what you’ve done. You just don’t understand the repercussions. I...I have to leave.” Her head went straight to the floor. Her long brown hair shielding her face as she tried to shuffle past me. I already knew why she moved her head the way she did. I could already hear her whimper as she walked past. She didn’t want me to see her cry. I reached out and grabbed her shoulder as she slid past my body. I didn’t grab her hard. It was just enough for me to stop her from making an escape.

  “Wait,” I whispered into her long brown hair. I didn’t want to make her look at me. I don’t think I could handle those big eyes filled with tears knowing she was doing her best to stop me from seeing them. From seeing her pain and the weakness she was trying to hide. They were the same eyes that screamed to me for help only hours ago and had floored me for the first time in my life.

  My gaze shifted to the nasty scratch near her collarbone. “Please don’t go. You’re hurt. Let me clean up that scratch for you.”

  Her head straightened and her hair fell to the side of her head, revealing her face like a curtain coming up off a stage. Yes, she was crying. A single line of dampness appearing on each cheek. My heart tightened. A weird feeling of protection and uncertainty biting my insides. Then she looked at me and then to my hand on her shoulder, touching her skin. “Please, let me go,” she pleaded. She didn’t move from my hold but waited for me to release her. I did...let her go, but she didn’t move. We stood there for a few seconds before I realized she had given into my request to have me clean up the scratch.

  More nervousness filled my gut, but I wanted to be strong and show her she could trust me. I needed her to trust me. “Take a seat on the bed please...uh...” I paused. I realized I didn’t know her name. She must have seen the question in my eyes as they examined her face.

  “Anais,” she breathed. “My name’s Anais.”

  I turned the corners of my lips up, in a show of thanks for the information. “Anais...my name’s James. Please take a seat on the bed, and I’ll get some antiseptic from my bathroom and clean up that scratch. Will that be okay with you?”

  She nodded and went and sat down on my bed. When I was confident she wasn’t going to bolt from the room, I took off to my bathroom and retrieved my first aid kit. In having a motorbike, I had been involved in a few burns and the occasional close call. It just made sense to have a first aid kit handy. If my Mom had anything to do with it, I would never have had a motorbike in the first place. But in my eyes, it was no different to having a nice car. My step-dad had come to bat for me when I insisted it was what I wanted when I was old enough to get my license. He could see how much I gravitated towards the machine. We love what we love — right? I guess motorbikes seemed to represent more freedom to me than cars. It was no wonder they appealed to my carefree artist-type personality.

  I came back into my bedroom, red case in hand, and kneeled down next to her as she sat on the bed. The tears I had seen before had dried up on her cheeks. I was happy that she had relaxed a little, but I knew she must have still been very afraid. She was in a strange room with a strange guy after all, half-naked. In the commotion, I hadn’t focused on the fact she was only wearing tiny white shorts. The kind featured in lingerie magazines made for sleeping. She had a matching singlet with a frill along the neckline. In the light of my bedroom, the white silky material looked see-through. My gaze noticing the dark tinge of her nipples hardening underneath the sheer material. There was a chill in the air for this time of year which wasn’t helping her from staying covered up. I swallowed, trying not to make it obvious I could see her nakedness, and tried to focus on the scratch on her pale white skin. It was hard, because there was a part of me which couldn’t help but notice how beautiful this girl was and how much I wanted to stare at everything I wasn’t supposed to be able to see.

  I reached into my kit and pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton wool balls. I dabbed the cotton balls with the liquid and then looked at Anais. Her eyes widened, knowing I was about to touch her skin again. “Can I touch you now?” I asked, holding up the cotton wool ball in my hand. I needed to know I had her permission before putting my hand back on her body.

  “Yes,” she said. This time her voice was clearer when she expressed what she wanted. There was no weak cover up.

  I moved slowly, so she could watch my hand get near. I began to press the cotton ball onto her skin. I felt her body pull back quickly from the sting of the antiseptic hitting the cut. I instinctively moved my head close to her collarbone and blew onto the scratch to stop the stinging sensation the antiseptic was having on her. I remembered my mother doing the same thing to me as a child when I grazed my knee. I looked up to her face as I blew warm air onto her skin, and she closed her eyes, like she enjoyed it. One of my hands reached up and rested onto her thigh as I leaned closer to angle my face better so I could blow directly onto the cut. It was then that I suddenly felt her skin change. I looked down to see that goose pimples had risen up on her legs. Her eyes burst open and looked to where the raised dots appeared everywhere. She shifted away from me quickly, standing up and forcing me back on my knees. I stared up at her from the ground. Her hands going to her cheeks, shielding them from my view.

  Oh my God, she’s blushing. I made her blush. In that moment, I knew...I wanted to know this girl more. So. Much. More.

  “I need to go home,” she announced, staring down at me, wondering if I’d help. “Will you take me home?” she questioned. She must have realized she had no idea where she was right now and didn’t know what I intended to do. I got up and off my knees. Standing face to face, although
with my height, I was staring down to her. Again, her big brown eyes shifted my inner axis. I felt the shake in my body and the somewhat natural pull to want to get closer to her. The compulsion to want to touch her skin again. To hold her. The surprise need to want to reach out and run my fingers along her body, forced me to step away from her as well. I didn’t understand this mess of emotion from inside me, and I still had a thousand questions about what exactly I saved her from. Who was trying to hurt her? And why?

  “Of course I’ll take you home,” I said walking past her and towards my closet. I reached in and grabbed one of my large black T-shirts and brought it back to where she stood. “Here, put this shirt on. I promise it’s clean.”

  She didn’t question me or my request. She slipped the shirt over the top of her undergarments. Her shoulders shifting once more as she breathed a huge sigh of relief. Like the hope she had been holding on to was right. That gesture itself made me turn away from her face so she couldn’t see me smile. I loved that I made her feel safe.

  I grabbed Marcus’ keys and opened the door of my room and let her follow me out of the apartment. I could have taken her home on my motorbike, but I figured now was not the time to scare her or make her anymore uncomfortable than she needed to be.

  She pointed to roads and mumbled a few words here and there giving me directions. It was close to dawn, the hue of pink and orange on the horizon. I had to meet my new professor in less than five hours. Finally, we came to a long road where a huge set of gates were and where there were security guards positioned out front in a tiny booth. She touched my shoulder with her finger. A gesture which told me we were at her home.