The Beauty's Beast

by Eddie Cleveland

  Ashley and I both look over at the radio I have resting on the counter and I cock my head and listen.

  “This is an extreme weather warning. For the entire San Miguel region. The icy nor’easter continues to decimate most of Colorado. Millions are without power as lines are downed from the weight of the snow. There is no end in sight for this treacherous weather and authorities are advising to stay indoors.”

  As the radio goes back to speaking in Morse code, Ashley looks at me suspiciously. “Where did that come from?” She nods at the red, crank radio.

  “I brought it. Sometimes, when people head off on adventures in the woods they actually prepare for it.” I talk to her slowly, like she’s incapable of understanding the basics of life. Maybe she is.

  “See?” I pick it up and hold it in front of her face with mock enthusiasm. “When you crank this magic lever here, you can either use the radio or, prepare to be amazed,” I sneer at her, “when you push this button here,” I flick the switch, “it’s even a flashlight.”

  “You don’t have to be such a dick all the time!” She sticks out her bottom lip and storms over to the fireplace.

  “Yeah, well, what kind of dick are you? I’ve spent all day trying to get you something to eat and you won’t even try it!” I roar, my anger finally getting the best of me.

  “Oh yeah, well what kind of guy spends all his time trying to make some woman he doesn’t even know feel bad about herself?” She trembles as she yells back, clearly not as used to the anger welling up inside her.

  The radio cuts back in before she has a chance to say anything else.

  “Due to hazardous weather conditions the search party for Ashley Young has been postponed today. Search and rescue crews aren’t happy to report that this delay is necessary for the safety of their staff. With each hour that goes by, it is less likely that the social media darling can survive these extreme conditions.”

  Ashley crosses the floor and flicks the switch muting the man predicting her demise.

  I breathe her in. That sultry scent of summer strawberries ignites my soul and I close my eyes to imagine the two of us naked on a lazy July day, spending the entire afternoon fucking and picking berries.

  “Listen,” I reel my tone back in. You attract more flies with honey, right? “It sounds like you’re going to be stuck here for a while. Who knows how long this is going to take to blow over. You have my word that once the weather cooperates, I’ll take you back to Telluride, ok? But in the meantime, you’ve got to eat. You look like if you miss three meals you’ll die of starvation. Please, just give supper a try.” I point back at the sprawling mess of pots on the stove.

  “I think I’m just going to go to bed,” she answers, defeated and disgusted. As if I just offered her cockroach stew or something.

  Ashley makes her way back to the room she’s been hiding out in all day. Her shoulders are slumped forward and her head is hanging.

  “Fine! Go to bed hungry. I don’t care. Maybe you’ll get a gourmet dinner in your dreams!” I growl angrily. “Don’t come out here in a few hours and try to eat this because I won’t be sharing it with you!

  She slams the door shut for the second time today and I’m left staring at the same empty space I’ve been occupying all afternoon.

  So much for playing nice. Or for having some company to eat with for once. Or for controlling my temper.

  All in all, I’d say it was a huge failure.

  9

  Ashley

  I’m cold, so cold. I look down and I’m barefoot, walking down the hall of my childhood home in my nightie. It’s threadbare and I outgrew it a year ago. The arms stop midway between my elbows and my wrists, but I don’t care. It’s my favorite. It has the most beautiful picture of my favorite princess on it, Belle. Sometimes, I like to pretend that I’m Belle. That I’m locked inside a huge stone castle and that my worn paperbacks and library books are like the leather-bound books she got to read. I like to imagine that my empty bedroom is that beautiful library she went to in the movie.

  Sometimes, I like to pretend that my parents are like the Beast. That they’re just rough and uncaring on the outside because they’ve been cursed by an evil witch. I let myself imagine that, on the inside, they’re really aching for my love as much as I am for theirs. That their abuse, or even worse, their neglect, isn’t really them. It’s not how they really feel about me. It’s just a spell they’re under.

  In a way, it’s true. They are under a spell, I think. I mean, it feels like a curse. Caused by the crystallized mixture they make in the bathroom. It looks like shattered glass, or maybe more like ice. Ice seems right, since it froze their hearts.

  In my gut, a dull pain spreads. I never know what I’m going to see when I check in on my parents. I never know if they’ll be happy, sad, or freaking out. I don’t even know if they’ll be alive. That’s what scares me most. Finding them. Their bodies. They might not need me, but I still need them.

  I can hear them fighting tonight. They’re alive. Mom is screaming again. Something about money. They always fight over money or drugs. Sometimes, Dad hits my Mom. Sometimes my Mom throws our plates and stuff at my Dad. They crash down into jagged piles on the floor that they never clean up. I sweep up the mess. Not because it might hurt me, but because I hate how much it looks like that stuff they make. Meth.

  “Well, what the fuck are we going to do, John? We need to pay him tomorrow. To-fucking-morrow, you asshole!” Mom screams.

  Dad puffs up. Sometimes, he looks like he is inflated. Like, most of the time, he’s a popped balloon. Just lying flat against the couch all the time, like he’s trying to become a part of it. Then, when they’re fighting, he blows up. His arms and legs seem to grow and his chest rounds out.

  “Fuck, Marj, why is this my problem? You’re freaking out at me, but you spent the money too. We’ll just have to pawn more shit and make up for it,” Dad looked around the room for something he could sell to the old man at the pawn shop who always rolled his eyes when he saw us. Dad always said that guy was a con artist, ripping him off for his good stuff like our dining room set and my dresser.

  Standing in the doorway of our living room, I look around for what he could sell. However, I see the same thing he does.

  Nothing.

  His eyes rest on me. It’s like looking into the eyes of a dead fish washed up on shore. Glassy and damaged by too much exposure to the sun. “Maybe we should just sell her,” he nods at me.

  I feel my eyes go wide. I know better than to talk back. I know better than to make a peep. Instead, I silently beg him to change his mind. I try not to cry.

  “Just kidding,” he finally answers my prayers after looking like he gave the idea some serious thought.

  “You know, that’s not a half bad idea,” Mom stares over at me. It’s the first time I can remember her looking right at me, and seeing me since… well, I can’t remember.

  Where Dad’s eyes look like a dead fish, hers are like a shark. Dark, muted, dangerous.

  “Oh, come on, Marj. No one is going to buy your bucktooth, bruised up kid. What are you going to do? Put her on Kijiji?” Dad mocks her.

  “You fucking idiot, that’s not how you would sell her. I mean, by the hour.” She smiles at me, but with her blackened, cracked teeth and the flash in her eyes, it’s far from the happy face I once knew. She’s far from the mother I need.

  I run back down the hall, not sure what she means, but knowing I don’t want to be sold. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to be thrown out like a bag of trash. I just want them to love me. Why don’t they love me?

  I slam my door and bury myself in my thin blanket. I don’t care if I’m cold anymore. I just don’t want them to sell me.

  I sit up in bed. Tears streaming down my face and sweat broken across my forehead.

  I’m cold, but unlike the child who froze while her parents discussed whether or not to sell her, I’m an adult. It’s in the past. It’s all far in the past. I swing my feet o
ver the edge of the bed. There’s no way I’m going back to sleep. I might as well go try to warm up. I wipe away my tears, but fresh ones are already in their place.

  I’m an adult.

  It’s over.

  It’s okay now.

  I lie to myself. Just like the little girl who pretended to be Belle, I still tell myself that I’m ok. But, I know deep down, I’m not.

  10

  Ashley

  I stand by the bedroom door and listen with my head tilted. I don’t hear anything. Not a peep from the other side. Pulling it open gently, the door protests with a long creak that sounds like a car alarm against the silence.

  I cringe and look across the darkened room, still wrapped under hues of blue as the sun struggles to rise in the early morning sky. Sawyer is asleep in front of the fireplace. Just like he was yesterday morning, except this time I’m not with him.

  Disappointment swirls inside me. It catches me off-guard to realize I miss feeling the heat of his body against mine. Not to mention his thick, hard cock.

  I slap my hand over my mouth like I just spilled a deep secret, even though I haven’t spoken a single word. Even allowing myself the thought feels like a betrayal though. Not to mention dirty. I don’t know Sawyer, besides, what about Ben?

  What about him? He fucked Kate, remember? My voice of reason reminds me with the subtlety of a punch in the face. You know what they say, the best way to get over a guy is to get under another one. I slowly slink my gaze over Sawyer’s sexy body. He looks so peaceful when he isn’t yelling at me. Not that I’ve been easy to deal with either.

  Ben and I are history. All I need is to delete his smug face from my account to make it official. He might be rich and famous, but I’m not here to wipe his boots on. I hope Kate can find satisfaction with his little dick.

  Sawyer is lying on my fur coat, using it as a mattress and has his parka covering him from the waist down. The disappointment I was feeling earlier just doubled.

  Stop being such a perv, I chide myself silently. However, I don’t look away from him. I realize my breathing has quickened and my heart is beating faster. My eyes slide over his wide chest, his muscles are clearly cut, but covered under his dark hair. He looks so manly. Not like Ben’s waxed chest that would look okay for a day until his hair tried to break back through the surface and made his skin rashy.

  With Sawyer’s brown beard covering his neck, he looks like a wild man. A man who could do whatever he wanted to me… and I’d love it.

  I shake my head. Woah, where is this all coming from? You’d think I’d never seen a guy before from all these repressed desires bubbling up inside me. The truth is, I’ve never met anyone like Sawyer before. Not only because of how strong and big he is, but also when I look into his eyes I can see a depth that I never see in my social circle. I can see he has a past. He has his demons. Why else would someone go live in the woods by themselves? I can’t help but wonder if we don’t have more in common than he thinks.

  I creep over to the kitchenette and open the cupboard. The instant Folgers isn’t my first choice in coffees, but it will give us a caffeine fix. Grabbing the big teapot on the stove I feel the water inside slush around. It’s more than enough for a couple cups of joe. I light the propane stove and turn it up high.

  My stomach rumbles, reminding me of the supper I skipped last night. I’m regretting my stubborn decision to go to bed hungry. I rummage through the cupboards and take stock of our limited supplies. Cans of beans, saltines, condensed milk, a box of rice, spices. Not exactly the makings of a farm fresh breakfast here.

  Beggars can’t be choosers, my stomach growls at me as I reach for the crackers. I rip open the plastic and grab a handful. They’re stale and not unlike eating salted cardboard, but they’ll stop me from starving.

  I can hear the water bubbling inside the kettle and I remove it from the heat before it whistles. I don’t want to wake Sawyer. I have no idea how late he was up last night, but judging from the fresh bed of coals in the fireplace, it couldn’t have been too long ago that he was doing his best to keep us from freezing to death.

  I stir the hot water in with the powdered coffee and look over at him. He still hasn’t budged since I opened the bedroom door. Carrying my mug, I tiptoe over to him. There’s a book on the floor lying next to him that I hadn’t noticed before. A paperback.

  I inch forward, trying not to make a sound. I know I shouldn’t be sneaking up on him, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me. I’m dying to know what kind of book keeps Sawyer up reading throughout the night?

  I lean over to get a closer look, but the cover is half torn off.

  “What are you doing?”

  I jump, almost spilling my coffee. Instead it just splashes against the sides of my mug a little too high and lands on my fingers.

  “Ouch. Fuck!” I walk over to the counter and lay the cup down, examining my hand.

  “Are you ok?” He jumps up immediately and leaps over to me.

  “It’s nothing,” I blow on my fingers.

  “Are you sure?” Sawyer grabs my hand and looks at it closely. I can’t help but smile at the concern etched into his face.

  “I’m sure. You just scared me, that’s all.” I answer.

  “I scared you? You were the one standing over me while I was sleeping,” he drops my hand and stares into my eyes.

  “I wasn’t watching you sleep or anything!” I blurt out unconvincingly and heat burns in my lying face. I twist my head away from him, looking back at the book he abandoned on the floor. “I just wanted to know what you were reading,” I refuse to look back up at him. I can feel his intense gaze on me. Looking at me closely. Like he’s trying to read the pages of my book. The story of my life.

  “It’s The Catcher in the Rye,” he finally answers and drops his eyes. He turns on his heel, crossing the floor to the stove and makes himself a coffee. “Heard of it?” He doesn’t bother to look at me when he asks. He probably thinks I somehow haven’t. Like he’s the only one between us that’s ever read a book.

  “Of course I’ve heard of it! It’s my favorite book. Oh, I haven’t read it in a while though. It’s so good.” I ramble on enthusiastically. It’s strange how, no matter how little you know about someone else, no matter how little you can relate to them or their lives, when you find out you share the love of the same book, you instantly feel closer to them.

  “Congratulations, you do know how to read,” Sawyer puts a pin in my elation as he turns around and frowns at me.

  I look down at my dwindling coffee and try not to show him that he’s hurt me. It’s obvious that’s what he wants. I won’t give it to him.

  Maybe if I was a bit kinder to him yesterday he wouldn’t be so bitter today. I realize that he went through an enormous amount of work to try to keep me safe and fed yesterday, and I turned my nose up at him like a spoiled brat.

  “Hey,” I force my voice to stay steady. I glare up into his angry face. “I’m sorry, ok?”

  I watch as his eyebrows slide back over his eyes. His lips fill back out from the straight line he always presses them in. He looks less intimidating. He looks… hot.

  “I never said thank you for everything you’ve done for me. For saving my life,” I whisper, “so, uh, thank you. Sincerely. I mean it. I know you don’t like me, but we don’t have to like each other to be civil, right? I’m sure I’ll be out of your hair soon and you’ll never have to put up with me again. So, can we just try to get along?” I breathe in deep and wait for anything except the sound of silence. I swear I can hear the soft snow falling outside.

  “You’re right,” Sawyer finally answers me, standing up tall. “The last I heard, it sounds like we’re still going to be here for a couple more days, so there’s no point in being at each other’s throats the whole time.

  He holds his coffee cup and it looks dwarfed in his grasp. All I can think about is how I want to feel those big hands on my body.

  He smiles a genuine smile that makes m
y heart fluttery and my cheeks heat up. Sawyer clears his throat and gulps the last mouthful of his instant joe. “I should get out there and chop some wood,” he jerks his head to the winter wonderland waiting outside the window.

  “Wood?” I glance out the window but don’t see what he’s talking about.

  “Yeah, I found a tarped-up pile of dry logs under the snow yesterday. And a dull ax to cut it with,” he shrugs, “but it’s better than nothing, right?”

  “I guess so,” I agree.

  “Ok, well hang tight and I’ll get that sorted out,” he pulls on his boots and parka, looking over his shoulder at me quickly before opening the door to disappear into a sea of white.

  I can feel the usual tension between us shift. It changes like tectonic plates that normally shatter the earth with deep quakes, then merging together to form an entirely new land. One forged just for us.

  11

  Ashley

  The air around me has never felt frostier. The heat that radiated out from my body as he smiled at me has faded, leaving me colder than if I would’ve just stayed passed out in the snow.

  The tiny cabin looks drearier, like it’s been painted from the dullest, greyest pallet of the least inspired artist. I never realized before how much more vibrant this place feels with him in it.

  How much more vibrant I feel, is more like it.

  I watch from the window as Sawyer trudges through the snow and makes his way to a mound. I’d never think there was anything under it, but obviously, his observation skills are better than mine. He digs into the drift and tugs on a black corner that, the more he yanks on it, pulls back like a big blanket revealing a messy pile of logs underneath.

  He wastes no time setting up a huge log as a stump and placing the first log on top. Thwack! His ax slides through the piece and the log explodes into two. So much for it being dull. Either that or his sheer strength doesn’t make a difference.