Being Beauty

To Live or Not to Live

The clock in my room chimes three with a loud bong, bong, bong. It used to startle me. Now it scares me that I'm used to it. How long have I been here now? A month? Maybe a little more. Some days go by quickly especially when I can spend them in the garden. Other days last a week themselves when I have to stay with Adam. He doesn't even seem to like me all that much so I don't understand why I have to stay here. This place, it is hell. Not physically, not even emotionally. It is the mental torment of never knowing what is going to come next. Will I get to spend the day alone? Will I have to spend it with Adam? Will I spend it with Dmitri? I never know.

"You better not be sitting on your bed when I get in there!" I hear Dmitri shout from down the hall. I jump up off the bed and hide the book I've been reading under the pillow. I straighten out my sheets so that he won't ever know I was sitting there. I race over to my closet- the closet- open it, and pretend to rifle through the clothes.

"Why aren't you getting dressed?" he moans as he steps into my . . . the room. I have to keep reminding myself that this stuff is not mine. This place is not my home. Familiarity is not good.

"I couldn't find anything to wear," I lie. I stuff my thumbs into my tiny jean pockets and stare down at my black converse. I'm comfortable in these clothes. They are the only clothes that are mine. And I hate dressing up like a doll every time I'm around Adam. It's not like he or I care anyway.

"We are having company. Find something!" he says. Company? We haven't had company before.

"Who?" I ask, a little hopeful.

"Someone who isn't going to be impressed by your Avengers T-shirt," he answers. He rubs his temples as he starts to walk toward me. "Back in my day, women didn't wear pants. They always looked lovely and always wore dresses and pearls and they behaved themselves! I can't possibly fathom why he chose you! Of all the ladies we've hosted you are the absolute worst! How could you do any better than they did?"

He moves me out of the way and mumbles incoherently to himself as he rifles through the closet. He always says things like "back in my day" and "the other ladies" and "I thought the Roaring 20s were bad? Ha!". He can't be more than thirty himself. He sounds like he thinks he's The Doctor what with his apparent talk of other ladies and time travel. Or maybe he thinks he's The Doctor's friend. Either way, he sounds like walking fan-fiction and it really weirds me out.

"What about this?" he inquires. He pulls out a yellow dress with a huge hoop skirt and ridiculous amounts of tulle.

"What do you think, Einstein?" I retort.

He grumbles at me and puts the dress back. "What do you think?" he mimicks. He makes a bunch of high-pitched murmurs and shakes his head back and forth, mocking me. "I think I'd make you wear it if it was up to me."

I watch him look through the numerous dresses and skirts, hoping to spot one I like. Most of them look like they are from the 1800s or something. I've worn several of the big ones that weigh a good fifty pounds and are hard to sit in, but if I have the choice not to I like to wear the lighter, less attention-drawing dresses. And since Adam isn't here to pick one out, it means I get to choose.

Dmitri throws several dresses over his big, burly arm and turns away from the closet. "Pick one," he commands, holding out his arm to me.

He looks rather annoyed and not just because I'm being "picky" about the dress. I've noticed it in the days I've been here, the hours I've spent with him. He isn't a guy that likes to be cooped up inside looking at dresses and babysitting me. He needs to be outside chopping wood or working in a garden or doing something physically exerting. He's a tall, muscular guy with dark, tanned skin and wise, blue eyes. He has the model physique of a working man and his time and energy is being wasted on an apparently useless girl like myself.