The Beast And Me Page 2

  However, the only amazing thing was that I got light. I mean like real light with a switch in my cell. No natural light of course. So, actually I don’t need my flashlight writing this. They gave it to me along with the diary, did I mention that? No, I didn’t. I need to be more exact.

  The artificial light feels like some kind of reward, in addition to them treating me more nicely. I’m pretty sure it is meant as one.

  I really have just a small cell, but it’s enough to fit in a mattress a basin and a toilet. It’s like one of these typical prison cells and somehow, makes sense. But I am imprisoned without having committed any crime. Unless being nobody is a crime.

  So, maybe I should write something down about myself, in case I forget who I am. I have read that victims tend to not only lose track of time, but also of who they are. Apparently I am not that kind of person... yet. I never expected myself to be that calm. But I don’t think that I am really calm. Am I? No, I really don’t want my thoughts going in that direction. I want to distract myself and not think of what might be. It drives me insane, the possibilities, the unanswered questions, thousands of them turn their circles around my head like flies on a dead corpse. And that corpse might be me soon. No, I should keep some facts about me.

  My name is Meg, that’s short for Meghan. Meghan Singer. I am an only child. My parents are divorced and I spent my teens traveling back and forth between them. Still, I am now spoiled kid, they never used me against each other and neither did I.

  Will that help me remember who I am? There is nothing interesting to tell about me, nothing that I will be remembered by. I am average.

  Of course, my mom tells me that I am pretty, but I am not one of those girls who are able to make the best out of their appearance. Then, I am no tomboy either. I am not that good in sports, but luckily I am not that bad that someone might think of me as the loser.

  So, right now this actually is a bad thing... if I hadn’t just started university where no one knows me.

  I shouldn’t have started like that. My name is Meg. I am a cat-person, and I love the sun, preferably alone in the garden, because I don’t like crowds. Marvel movies are my favorite, just like Jane Austen books. Maybe I should try to write down one thing about me every day.

  I still ask myself what I am doing here. But when I am honest with myself, I already know. It’s the only logical explanation. Because it is the only thing out of this daily routine that they are building up for me that has nothing to do with me: as in keeping me distracted, busy or training. I am here because of that creature, this beast. I mean, it’s like they are presenting me to it. This... this thought alone is already terrifying.

  Day 8

  Okay, it’s the 8th day and the fourth day of me actually doing something. Is it wrong to feel like there’s some kind of routine? Like cereal, juice and then an hour later workout till Lunch. Of course I am not that fit that I wouldn’t need a break every fifteen minutes, but still, they give me that much time. I like that. I never expected that workout actually feels really good, almost better than the shower afterwards. I feel stronger and healthier every day. Is it really just the workout?

  I know better than that because, seriously, four days of training doesn’t make an athlete. It is the distraction, doing something productive, not thinking about my situation, the possibility to ignore, being oblivious, and pretending to be at some sort of sport camp, because my Mom finally made me do something about getting in shape.

  This is the next thing about me to remember: I do not have a model figure because I always resented moving more than necessary since I hit puberty. And since Dad allowed me to eat everything it worked contrary to the diet my Mom had put me on, since the divorce.

  Isn’t it ironic that now working out is the one thing I look forward to? Even though I try to ignore that lingering question in the back of my head why they let me do this?

  After Dinner they came to me again. Not like yesterday, but the day before that. The only difference was that they didn’t blindfold me this time. It felt like a test. And I tried to be a nice girl, like they demanded. It felt easy. They just touched me on the shoulder to which direction I had to turn. Somehow I felt like Katniss; and that idea, pretending to be a Tribute, hiding in a fantasy, made it even easier.

  Again, I counted the steps in my head, just like my heartbeats in my chest. While walking down that corridor, past the shower and gym, I began to memorize the way again. Now I tried to add the visual aspect of my route to that map in my head, even though there was nothing really flamboyant to remember. The corridors seemingly were the same kind of color: a dirty white, like the paint had been stained before it was spread on the walls. We passed a few doors, and I was annoyed with myself because I didn’t count them instead of my steps.

  I will next time. Maybe then I will be able to memorize the whole way; at least until the first steel door. One cannot really call it a door, rather an air lock.

  For me at least.

  After that, everything just went dark, or rather gray, not because there were fewer or no lights, no, but because the concrete walls weren’t painted anymore. At least that was what I thought.

  Yet somehow, now that I think about it, they really looked more like wet concrete, or wet ash, and they seemed to swallow most of the light from the ceiling.

  Here were fewer doors, but they were still made from bare steel. From now on it didn’t look like a mental institution anymore. This part of the complex really was a prison. It even smelled different and the air was... colder? Or am I just making this up right now? I do remember having goose bumps.

  After we had made another left turn to face one of these heavy steel doors, I knew we were at our final destination. Only when that one was closed behind me, the second one was opened. This really was an air lock. And then, there I was again in that room divided into one smaller part, where they showed me the chains on the wall where they had first put me, and a larger part, which was the beast’s cage.

  It’s really a cage, larger than mine. It had a metal door at the left side in the back. So it didn’t seem to be the place where it spent its time. Was it? – I wonder how they keep it busy. It is a predator after what I could guess. – Yet, I didn’t dare ask, just allowed them to chain me, at the wall again, not the bars. Strange how my thoughts kept me from panicking, maybe because they gave me a feeling of not really being here, like I was reading about Katniss again. And she was a fictional character.

  They blindfolded me. It took me off guard at first. My heart hammered in my chest until I tried to make sense of it, reminded myself that I was away from the bars, that there were bars and it was only because I obviously am not allowed to see it; and I didn’t want to see it.

  But I could hear it. And how displeased it was that it couldn’t reach me because I was held shackled to the wall. It was a growl that raised my hair. I pretended to hear frustration and not anger. – Of course I can distinguish between that. – And I told myself again that I was safe because of those bars separating me from that creature. Somehow I managed to stay calm.

  Some time passed and they told this beast to back off again. It did, growling once again, lower this time. It sounded like resignation. Seriously, how can I tell?

  I guess it’s pretty late now and I would usually sleep, but I need to write this down.

  Someone else came to my cell and spoke to me through the door. He knew my name. Not that I was surprised, but he addressed me directly, telling me that it was important that I was cooperating, because right now they would be able to replace me easily. He told me that it was important not to fight or struggle during what would happen tomorrow. If I would do something like that, they would dispose of me. He used that verb. Dispose. So, they would kill me if I would fight.

  I don’t know what to think or do, or even expect. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep. Just when I thought I could get used to this.

  Day 9

  How could I sleep after this monologue? I can’t te
ll.

  Got my cereal with juice and coffee the way I like it. It’s creeping me out. I have no idea how I managed to just ignore this the last few days, without crawling up the walls or banging my head against them. How can they know that I love my coffee with one big shot of milk and one stroked coffee spoon of sugar? They did it right just from the beginning. How can they know?

  They must have read my diaries. Of course! If they really took everything from my dorm room they must have found my last one. Still, I can’t remember if I wrote down that information. Did I? Or didn’t I? This is so random that it can’t be something else, right? I bet they will read this too. Fuck you. Thanks for invading my privacy. ...

  Or did they watch me? Did they take my stuff the same night they took me? Was all of this scrupulously planned? This would mean they had me under surveillance for some time. Maybe even before I got there?

  I think I might throw up.

  Understandably, I couldn’t really concentrate on my workout. So I just showered in lava. It felt good and numbing. Maybe the water would become hot enough to disintegrate me, or wake me up. Yet, I know I’m not dreaming, as much as I wish to.

  Now I’m sitting here and wait for them to take me. Just like that guy promised me the other night, warned me, or prepared me, whatever his intentions were.

  I guess they know I’m on edge, but they still keep me waiting, probably, because they don’t really care.

  Lunch. Like I would be able to eat veggies and chicken right now. They expect me to but my stomach and mouth feel frozen. I don’t taste anything, but I stuff and chew and swallow until my plate is clean. Surely it was delicious, but I don’t even know what it looked like.

  They still keep me waiting.

  I... really don’t know... They put me against those bars again. This time with my hands through them, bonded on the other side. The only way to stand comfortable was for me to rest my face against the metal.

  I recalled what that man had told me before, so I remained still and right there where I was, not struggling, just fighting to keep my breath and heartbeat even, and with that my head occupied. Who knows what I would have asked myself about what would happen next.

  I could hear it approaching, and how it breathed unevenly, deeply and shallowly at once. Like... yes... exactly like that. Like excitement, uncertain excitement.

  I... I can’t write that down, can I? I mean it’s an animal, a beast, right? It... it cannot... want me, right? Why do my thoughts even go that way? How can I even imagine this? Am I sick? I don’t know that thing, and still I try to interpret these sounds it makes like I am some sort of expert.

  Stop that, Meg.

  The only thing separating us was these metal bars, which wasn’t really enough, because... I mean, I was blindfolded. I couldn’t see a thing, but I could hear it, and sense it... feel its breath on my skin. And... I don’t know, was it a paw? Some sort of skin. It was too rough for a cat’s paw, like a house cat, I mean, and too soft for a dog’s paw. It felt... like a hand, but that cannot be, can it? Are there such large apes?

  It was touching my face, with... if I wouldn’t know it any better I would say with the back of its fingers, non-hairy fingers.

  I promised not to struggle so I kept still. Now I was so grateful for my blindfold as I pressed my eyes shut, trying not to hold my breath but breathe evenly. Otherwise, I probably would have fainted.

  That touch was rather soft; still it was scaring the hell out of me. Even more as it changed, like it had turned its hand to brush across my cheek with its fingertips. Instinctively, I clenched my jaw, because... there were claws following those tips. They weren’t rupturing my skin, but they were effing claws. Apes do have fingernails, right? So what the hell is that beast?

  My heart did backflips and I did my best not to inhale through my teeth as I opened my mouth to bring in some air. And then, I was dead-still. I could feel how it touched my hair. Like... it was able to grab it. Fingers.

  Oh God, I really don’t want to think about where this seems to be heading.

  Day 10

  Something to remember today... What can I think about? I have no idea. All that is in my head is the question if I’m going to go there again and what will happen. I don’t want to think about it. I just can’t. I need to distract myself. Can’t I skip Breakfast and go to the gym now?

  Same. I try not to think about it. After Lunch there was waiting, and then being bound to the bars again.

  I could feel how it plucked at my hair again; and how it smelled at it. It didn’t touch me. I guess it has some kind of conscience. Or maybe it’s afraid of punishment. After all, it is imprisoned, just like me. But... I don’t know. That would mean it has some sort of intelligence. How doesn’t it try to communicate with me then?

  Why am I even trying to make sense of this? My mind is racing in circles, just like I am doing in my cell. My head is driving me insane.

  Can’t I go to the gym a second time?

  Why can’t I just stop thinking?

  How am I supposed to sleep?

  Day 11

  Somehow I know today will be different. Today is different. They are so silent. Like the whole world is silent. Even the hum of the light tubes seems lower.

  Everything appeared to the same routine – Breakfast, break, workout, Lunch, break – until they brought me there again.

  I was blindfolded after they shackled me against the wall again. I thought it would be like the days before, even though I had this strange feeling on my skin, because it was the wall, not the bars.

  Briefly after they left the room, I heard it: how those bars, which had always helped me pretend that I was safe, were moved away. Sliding to the side, like one of those typical gates, with that exact same sound. Just like that. Without any warning.

  That noise, the sound of the metal sliding on metal tracks, coming to a full stop, it was so terrifying. Such a simple noise, I never could have believed that it would crawl down my skin like an army of spiders, leaving a trail of goose bumps as footprints.

  I could hear it coming closer this time. Was it not stealthy because there was nothing separating us now? Like it was some sort of permission for it?

  Or did it want me to hear it? My cuffs felt like they were part of the wall. All I could do was to press my palms against the rough, uneven surface.

  It didn’t even matter. It stopped just being close enough so that I could hear it breathing. It seemingly didn’t trust the fact that there was no wall between us. And it was being all stealthy again.

  I SWEAR it was hands. Hands! Not paws that touched my sides, moving up my back. I mean, I was wearing my usual clothes – training pants and a T-shirt – but I still could feel its touch through the fabric. It was, like, exploring my body, every part of it. I couldn’t move, even if I wanted to. I felt paralyzed, frozen, as if had I wanted to move I would have to break myself. It was so scary and still, so still. All I heard was my heart in my head and its breath outside. The way it touched me, so cautiously and carefully, made me appear as if I was the most precious and fragile thing on Earth.

  I probably am, compared to it.

  Its hands slid up my sides and down my back, to my rear down my legs, to the knees, down the outside and up the inside. It made me hold my breath until I saw stars.

  At the beginning the hands moved slowly, but as I kept still it moved more quickly. God, I hate to admit it, but it felt good. Its touch was so gentle that it makes me doubt if it really was a beast, an animal with no empathy. Because, God, it felt human. How it moved its hands to my stomach and then up to my breasts, so softly. And despite the movements of its hand it didn’t move its body against me. I would have expected that. And for a moment I really was disappointed. How crazy is that?

  It has to be my inexperience. There’s no other way to explain it. This situation I am in. Why else would it feel like loss when it moved away? Why else wouldn’t I be freaking out being touched like that? If it had been a man, I would have been terri
fied, I would have asked to shower and I would have stayed the rest of the day there.

  Yes, I feel dirty, but it’s a different kind. I don’t feel tainted, strangely I don’t feel molested and that exactly makes me feel nasty, and foul. I should be disgusted, I should feel sick, but I don’t. Why?

  I do need a shower, but I won’t get one.

  Can anyone blame me for not being disgusted about having contact with someone after eleven days? And it’s not that. Yes, my parents do hug me, but only if I approach them. And they do touch me, but not all the time. The last time I saw them is weeks ago and since then no one has even given me a hand. So, can anyone really blame me?

  Day 12

  I wonder what will happen today.

  Will they take me to the cage again?

  Or do I get a break?

  Will this be added to my daily routine now?

  Or doesn’t it really depend on me? Does it?

  I’m not sure, I don’t know if I want to be sure.

  Lunch is over and now I am waiting for bad or worse. And I am not even sure which one is worse: being taken back there, or waiting and wondering, and worrying.

  My hands shiver so much that I couldn’t start writing until now. Still, I can’t...

  Fingers on my neck, fingers, I swear. Fingers were running down my throat, clawed fingers, with tips so strangely softer than they should be. I didn’t hear it coming this time. It was so fast. As if it had been waiting, lurking... I guess. And then, out of nowhere they were there, and I could sense how strong these fingers were, and these claws...