always red.

Chapter 11 - slave

Maria

The skies of Massachusetts were bigger than I imagined. Bluer, even.

I was told that it rains a lot up here but the days it doesn't, oh boy. I must have been one of the lucky ones coming on a day like this.

The streets reminded you of so much opportunity that you were missing out on.

At least, I figured I was.

"Sixty." Was all the driver said to me as we pulled up to my destination.

I wasn't expecting the cab fare to be so expensive, but I was willing to pay the fee. After all, my destination was twenty five miles from the airport.

I paid the fee and exited the car. He sped off before I could thank him.

I was in awe.

The house was immaculate and intense, tucked away in the corners of the city. I'm not sure if this was a suburb or not. The houses were perfectly spaced away from each other.

It looked spacious and open, with large windows to let in plenty of natural light. Perfect for the Mrs to read a book on a rainy day.

Contemporary architecture, clean lines and minimalistic design elements

Oh, Cyan. You have really outdone yourself.

—

I approached his front door carefully. I felt like I was walking on egg shells.

As my hands trembled closer to the doorbell, I wondered.

There are two cars parked out front. Is his wife home? Is he married? I could barely find any information about him or his family online. Does he have kids? How old are they? Would he be happy to see me? I bet not.

Before I could press the bell, a figure approached the door.

Blonde bob. Short. Like Naomi.

"Oh...hello? Can I help you?" She hailed, almost as a question.

She approached me carefully, like I was a child. I felt like one. Lost and vulnerable. In need of mommy and daddy.

"Is Cyan here?"

"He is! Cyan!" She called after, I'm assuming, her husband. "Who are you?"

"Forgive me. I'm Maria Redwood. Your husband and I were good friends in college. I was in town for work and thought I would stop by and catch up. We reconnected on Facebook."

The explanation felt wrong. It was wordy and partly untrue. I felt bad, like I used to in college. Hiding and being secretive. Oh, I admit it. I was loving it.

She motioned for me to enter the house.

She was comical and awkward. Paired with the interior of the house, she stood out. I could tell what Cyan was trying to do: replace Naomi.

New wife was almost like a doll or a clone he created to fit his life the way he wanted. Like a tiny little Stepford wife who did whatever he wanted. Somehow, I could tell she had a glitch. She was pseudonymous. She looked like a stick figure Barbie with a blonde wig. 

She introduced me to the home. We sat in the living room waiting for Cyan for a minute. She talked about their kids who weren't home. Then she apologized saying she needed to go get her hair done, that she was heading out the door anyway when she saw me.

She said all of this with a forged smile. The entire time, her chiclet teeth shining bright as porcelain in the sun. Her fake body headed out of the door, accelerating off into the distance in her BMW.

Cyan was definitely living the Barbie dream with this bitch.

I was alone now in his living room. A spark of dangerous curiosity urged me to get up and look around. I found myself touching things. Her vases. The pictures. The stones above the fireplace.

I really hoped they didn't have cameras inside the house.

And then I saw him emerging from the room adjacent to the kitchen. Probably his study. Probably where he did all of his important work and occasionally prepared his photography.

He still had the same dirty blonde tresses. His nose still upturned the same way. His eyes still deep blue and mesmerizing.

"Hey stranger," he croaked.

I opened my mouth to speak but words didn't come out.

I expected him to stare me down and order me to leave his house this instant. I expected him to walk closer to me fiercely and slap me hard. I expected him to hate me, to warn me to never show up to his house again.

But instead, he unmindfully grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water from the sink.

"Want some water?" He asked.

"Cat got your tongue." He joked with a smirk as he drank his water.

I didn't find anything the least bit funny. Amusing, maybe. But not laughable. Not smirkable.

He headed for the table, sitting down as if we were two good friends meeting up after so long. Like it was normal.

"Would you like to sit down?" He asked.

"Your house is nice."

"She talks. What else does she do?"

I didn't want to sit down. I didn't feel worthy.

"I went to see Poppy." I blurted out. I didn't know what else to say.

It was like something clicked off in Cyan's brain. His entire demeanor changed. His face twitched into an angry expression.

"That's what you came all this way to tell me?"

All this way? How did he know I traveled to see him. For all he knew, I could be living right next door to him.

"She lives in las Angeles."

"So, you just all of a sudden met up after twenty years?"

"Yes."

The house was silent. The tick of the kitchen clock bombarded the house with its noise. I shuffled my feet. I swallowed loudly.

Cyan sporadically jumped to his feet, causing me to jolt in fear. He walked past me towards the living room. He retrieved a record from the chest and placed it carefully on the record player.

Transmission by joy division seeped through the speakers.

He waltzed towards me. I clutched my purse tighter, the whites of my knuckles showing.

The closer he came, the further I wanted to run away.

But I couldn't.

He had me enslaved.