Girl made of Beast

The Confession

There is a brutal look on her stoic face. She does not look me in the eyes, nor even in my direction. I try speaking with her, but her replies are simple and compliant. The beast is fully activated as she squeezes into her jeans, tugging the ankles over her heels.

Her expression has become evidently mean. The pout of her lips has turned permanently down, her once curved and round eyebrows now rest flat and hostile. There is menace behind the glare of her opal eyes, and the soft curve of her nose has become straight and defined.

I want to speak with her, hear the sound of her angelic voice, but she won't even look in my direction. To make it worse, her neck tilts back at a peril angle. She is dangerous and threatening, strikingly beautiful but I know better than to converge with the beast.

Later I sit on the red velvet couch, bare feet propped up over the coffee table. I'd asked her to make myself some lunch just for reason to speak with her, but all I received in return was the soft gruff of her vocal chords. She was still angry from yesterday, and I doubted today's actions will make a difference.

The shirt she wore was grey and tied in the back to reveal an inches diameter of skin around her stomach. I wanted to tell her to unravel it down so my friend would not see so much of her, but the fact it was my shirt from high school I adored the way she belonged to me.

"Hey sweetheart," My friend with black spiraling hair spoke without even looking over his shoulder, fingers ablaze against the game controller. "Could you make me something too?"

"Of course," She promised and left the room.

I lose concentration at the peak of her voice, my thumb slipping and the televisions audio reacting. It was strange to see the screen on, actually serving purpose instead of collecting dust. I knew it added stress to her mind, however. The electricity bill would go up this month, but it wasn't like we couldn't afford a few hours of luxury. She was just highly cheap, and so rather instead of staring at my darkened reflection, I actually maneurved the disks around the screen.

"Man she is the best!" He exclaimed without too much enthusiasm.

I'm quiet, shuffling my character across screens. "Why do you think that?"

He continues to play, but tosses me a side look from the corner on the sofa. "She's the perfect girl?"

I shrug, listening to patters of foot prints stretch across the floor. The division of his screen sounds battle grunts and weapon clashes. "Yeah, but why is she so perfect to everyone?"

He wins his battle, and I wander around aimlessley. I hadn't played this much since my high school days. Since I'd moved in with her, the set was never plugged in to practice. It served little engrossment now. "You don't think she's perfect?" He scoffs.

"I, just," I play around and set my controller down, figuring I'm not doing anything. "I don't think people really know her, is all."

"Hard to believe she's not good in the sack with a body like that," He comments.

Notifications pop up in the screen, but I disregard them. Most of them my matured brain doesn't understand. "What? No, its not that."

"So then she is perfect?"

I sigh and he chuckles. "People only see the exterior her, and I don't think they really know what they're seeing."

"Aw, c'mon man," He grumbles. "Don't get all nerdy on me!" It ends with a laugh.

"I mean it," I hinder. "I think she's crazy."

He laughs before realizing I'm serious, and clears his throat. "You for real?"

I nodded. "Outside, she's so beautiful, and perfect, but when we get inside . . ."

His head turns to me, abandoning the screen. "She hit you an stuff?"

I shake my head and he begins to laugh, blowing it off. "I mean inside she shuts down." I lower my voice in case she's near. "It's like there's nothing there, like she's empty inside."

He just laughs again. "Aw shit man, that's some fucked up shit." His eyes return to the screen.

I pick up my controller, subsiding my thoughts. If he wasn't concerned about it, perhaps I was only overanalyzing her behavior. She seemed to be all there, normal. She was perfect, and I just couldn't get it through my head how perfect.

"Here you go, boys." She brings out her pageant smile, setting the plates onto the table.

"Thank you so much," My friend sits up from his lounge and begins to eat.

I run my hand down her arm as she walks past, but that menacing look is still vivid on her face and I retract, moving onto the sandwich. She'll be mad about the crumbs later too, because she'll have to plug in the vacuum.