Escaping Pink

Echo

Dusting. Check.

Vaccum. Check.

Bookshelf? Organized.

Toy collection? Organized.

Clothes? Folded.

Walls? Scrubbed.

I pick up a stray shirt and chuck it in my hamper. I sigh and brush my ridiculously long hair out of my face. Father loves my hair. I thought about the sole time I asked him if he would cut it and winced remembering the beating I took. That's all it would take some days. One question, one sentence, one look. Other days he was kind, telling me stories of his wife, his son, and his childhood. Laughing as I asked him what certain words meant or what something looked like.

I paused, putting down the rag I was using to polish my table and chairs. He told me they were alive. His wife, Ava, and son, Thomas. I wonder if he hits them too. I wonder if they know I'm here, or if they've been here. I wonder whether he keeps them locked in a dream prison as well. Or, he could treat me better than he treats them.

I shrug and go back to my polishing as I hear the buzzer. Father has a remote that activates it. When the buzzer goes off, the timer on the wall starts. I have thirty minutes to finish what I'm doing, dress in suitable clothing, and get to my assigned position. I begin to rub the table down faster when the buzzer sounds again. I drop my rag in alarm and watch the timer reset. That's never happened before. I bend slowly to pick up my rag. Nothing happens. I shake my head and continue what I was doing.

Ten minutes later, as I'm finishing, the buzzer sounds again. I watch with wide eyes as the timer resets. The buzzer goes off three more times consecutively. The timer blinks as it resets each time. Something must be wrong. I run around the room, putting up cleaning supplies and straightening things. I rip the hem of my shirt trying to get it off and trip out of my jeans. I always feel fearful when the buzzer sounds, but at least then I knew what could happen then. This time, I wasn't sure at all. I had no idea what was happening.

Maybe I was crazy to hope that someone had found out what he was doing and was coming for me. Or that he was being fought, and the other person was winning. Anything that could give me a chance. I carefully pulled on black, lacy lingerie. No rips, or he'll be angry. I then pull a short black house coat out of my closet and shrug it on, the satin cool against my skin.

Hurrying back to the bed, I climbed to the middle and sat down. Glancing at the timer, I saw that there was still 25 minutes on the clock. More than enough time to do other things, but with the way the buzzer keeps going off, I wasn't at all sure what could be going on. I take a deep breath to calm my thoughts, and walk over to my vanity table.

I almost smile, thinking of the day he taught me how to apply makeup when I turned ten.

"I have a special gift for you," Father said in his deep, beautiful voice. I watched as he set a huge black case on the new table he had brought in last night. I had felt excited, seeing the new piece of furniture. It had smooth dark wood, four drawers with really pretty handles, and a three oval shaped mirrors. I had run my fingers along the wood all day, knowing I would have to polish it tomorrow.

I stood stock still by his side, my hands clasped behind my back as he opened it to reveal three shelves, filled with jars, tubes, and weird looking containers. He motioned me closer. "This," he said, "Is makeup."

"Except those, those bottles are nail polish," he smiled, pointing out the weird containers. He then proceeded to tell me what everything else was, and point out where it goes on my face.

"Not that you need it," he murmed. I closed my eyes as I felt his thumb on my cheek. "You're so beautiful Baby Doll". His breath fanned across my face as he placed a chaste kiss on my lips.

I loved him then. It didn't matter that he had taken me away from my beautiful mother and father. It didn't matter that he'd taken me from my new baby brother. I wasn't thinking about what I had then, I was thinking about what I have now. I guess that was a smart move. If I'd focused on the past, I may have gone crazy by now.

But even as I said it, my mind moved to the reasons why I really began to see him for the monster that he is. The reasons why I began to hate him.

"Father," I whispered. His eyes remained closed. "Father, please," I whispered, and touched his arm. His amber eyes opened slowly and stared, expriossionless. I gulped but quickly blurted, "Father, there is something wrong with my body."

His expression didn't change as he replied, "Your body is fine. The insecurities are only in your head. Lay down, now."

I quickly laid down, my head on his chest and a leg draped over his thighs. As suspected, his hands ran up my leg slowly. I took this moment to tell him. "Father, my period is missing. For three months."

He sat up quickly and glared at me. I hurried on, "And my stomach feels hard and is no longer flat. My breasts hurt. I'm really hungry a lot. I'm hungry now. And-" I quickly hushed as he held up his hand. I was scared, I didn't want to be hit. Of course I knew what was happening, I read lots of books. But I didn't want to say it out loud.

"What are you saying? Baby Doll, have you forgotten your pill?" He said in a steel-like, hushed voice. Apparently, he didn't want to say it either. "No Father. Never Father," I said and bowed my head.

"Please don't hurt us," I whispered, and began to cry silently.

~~~

"Fater," I coughed. I was in bed, I had been bed ridden for four days. My body pulsed in pain. My cheek felt weird, swollen. As I remembered how I got here, and a tear slipped.

His eyes met mine and softened. He got up from his chair across the room and hurried over, carefully wiping the tear from my face. "I know it hurts baby, I'm sorry. I overreacted. Please don't cry," he said softly, almost lovingly, and kissed me.

"Why, Father? Why did you take him from me? I would have kept him silent. I would have loved him. We could have been a family. Why did you take him, Father? Why?" I sobbed, croaking out the words and gasping at how dizzy I felt from speaking.

"Baby Doll, sweetheart. Please stop crying." He kissed my lips, my forehead, my chin, and my swollen cheek. "I did it because I love you. A baby could ruin us. Don't you want to stay here with me? A baby could have ruined that. I let you give birth to him. I let him live. Is that not enough?"

The words that he was saying didn't make sense. They didn't go with the compassion and sadness in his eyes or the barely there pout or the loving grip on my hand. And even if they did, it wouldn't matter now. I hated him. That was the second child he's taken from me. Nothing could ever be the same.

I shook my head and began to braid my hair. Two plaits down the sides, as Father liked it, when I heard the sound of the keys in the lock. I bit my lip to hold back a gasp and ran for the bed. I came to a halt as I saw a high heel on the stairs. Not him. Not Father.

I backed up slowly. Had she seen me? What was she doing here? The foot did not move. I quickly turned and ducked into my closet, closing the door as silently as possible. In the darkness, I steadied my breathing. I just ran from a person who could help me. Why was I so scared? My thoughts, as well as my breathing, came to a halt as her heard the mysterious woman decend the stairs.

Her footsteps were much lighter than Father's, making it very hard to pinpoint where she was in the room. My room.

"What the-," a light voice started to say. I wanted to describe her voice as sparkly. Happy sounding almost, if she didn't sound so utterly shocked. I strained to hear.

A cabinet opened and closed. "Fully stocked," she murmed. More movement, more things opening and shutting. "Snacks.... Art supplies... That's a lot books. What the hell is going on here?"

I stiffened as I heard her come closer to where I was hiding. No no no-

"Hello?" Father's voice boomed. I almost sighed in relief. He would know what was going on.

"Carl? Honey, what's going on here? What is all of this?" She demanded.