I Think About You Ronnie Anne

11

       She watches me come in and she already looks terrified. She can't even see what I brought with me because it's in my back pocket. Is she scared of me or what I might do? Seriously, is she trying to defeat me by making me feel more insecure about myself? Her face scrunches and her eyes tear up. I shut the door behind me. "Are you excited? I have another surprise for you." She screams at the floor, too afraid to look at me in the eyes. My cold dark eyes... like a Rottweiler. I'm not a beast, Ronnie Anne, but you just won't give me enough time to show you that. I reach behind me and whip it out: A small battery-powered hair clipper, popping out to reveal itself before the big performance. "You know, Ronnie, I was watching your friends today at school. They seemed to be talking about you, but I was surprised by how easily they got along with your absence. I even asked a friend of mine if he knew you were gone. He said that he didn't even notice. How's that make you feel, Ronnie Anne? Sad? Alone? Good. Now you understand how I feel." She yells back at me and that's when I realized that her voice had a rasp in it. She must've torn her vocal cords up from all that screaming yesterday. Maybe it got raspy because she was crying a ton while I was gone. "What do you want from me? I'll give you all my money... I'll give you anything. Just, please..." I scoffed. "I don't want your money, you silly goose. I want you." I switch on the hair clipper and it buzzes like a large insect, flying through the air and landing atop its prey. In this case, the prey will be her hair. "You must feel upset your friends betrayed you," I say. "No... I love my friends. I don't believe you. I bet they're looking for me right now! They love me enough to be worried!"

       "So you think they still care about you? That's not what I saw today." She insisted, "SHUT UP! THEY'LL FIND ME AND THEY'LL CALL THE COPS ON YOU!" I laughed at that. "That's what I thought you'd say." I walk up and squat down in front of her. The hair-clipper growls and taunts her with its hum. "I'm gonna make a change. Try and keep quiet, will you? You don't want a botched job again." I look at the giant inked name on her arm. "Lincoln," it says to me, almost as if it's saying with fewer words, "You are in control." After a few minutes of struggles and restraint, I'm able to hold her still for a long enough time to buzz off all her hair. While I buzzed it, clumps fell together and dispersed on the floor. She cried through the whole thing, and I'd never heard a cry from her like this one. It wasn't so much one of desperation, but tears of loss and humiliation. Just another connection being made between us, facilitated by the secrecy of this basement. When I finish the process, I stand up and look down at her sad, hung head. Not a patch of hair left. Her cries quieted down and all they were now were small snotty whimpers. All she asked was one small question. "Why?" I patted her on the shoulder like a good pal would. "Now you're only beautiful to me." I smiled with all my brilliant teeth showing to her. She avoided eye contact, only tending to herself with a swift wipe of her sleeve against her nose to rid a small trail of snot from her face. I decide my work is done and turn my back to her, ready to traverse the steps back up to the free world. "Wait..." her faint voice murmurs. I turn back and ask, "Yes?" She sniffles, and tears are still drying on her cheeks. "I have to use the bathroom," she says.

       Crap. I forgot about nature's necessities. It would be apathetic and horrible to ask her to just "deal with it," so I suppose I should find a better solution. I look up at the stairs again, climbing up the dark back to the light. "You can use the restroom in the house." As stupid as it is, I believe she knows what's best for her. If she makes any sudden movements, I'll trip her or push her back down. She has rope around her arms and legs, what can she do? Getting her up the stairs will be hell, but it's doable. I help her up to her legs and she wobbles a bit, struggling to hold her balance. After some effort and my assistance, she hops up the stairs next to me, my arm around her for support, and we make it up together. She hops up the last step and nearly falls backward, but I catch her. If she did fall on her back, tumbling down all those steps, no doubt she would be dead. I can picture it so clearly and it breaks my heart. I hug her, and she uncomfortably shuffles, trying to escape my embrace. We hop around the corner, up the steps, and take a left. "That's the bathroom." She briefly views it and turns to me to ask, "How do I use the bathroom with rope around my hands?" I push her and she stumbles into the room without tripping. "Figure it out," I tell her. I close the door and stretch my arms. "God, what a life" I mutter. The silence of the empty house would be haunting to most, but I love the quiet. It allows me to close my eyes and take in the simplicities of life. Drifting away into a daydream, where I float gently through the sky on a puffy white cloud... soft... so soft. Then, something horrifying screamed in my ears. The shrill of a doorbell. My heart freezes. Nobody is supposed to be home until an hour later! Who could that be? A voice calls from the front porch, asking "You there, Lincoln?" Of course, I should've known. It was Clyde. He found out where I live.