Rabbit Hole

Part One: Elise

“Please, just answer once, you don’t understand how hard this is for me.” His voice is monotone, hard, and drained of all emotion. I clench fists around the soft tan blanket that swaddles my slender body. My fingers glide swiftly across the red wine stain on the blanket as I continue listening to the voice mail.

“You don’t understand what its like for me,” anger laces itself in his words. “You’re making me upset. I need to make sure we’re okay,” his, Robert’s voice, is hard and full of malice.

It’s dark and raining, no one is home. I’m alone. I quiver with fear of Robert, I have only been in contact with him for 48 hours and already he is trying to control me. He is abrasive, possessive and physically much larger and more muscular than me. I told him to stop speaking to me altogether, though he didn't receive the message. He’s harassing me. I feel threatened and scared.

There’s a knock on the back slider door. My body stiffens. I peek my head around the corner to try to get a view of the slider, it’s no use, I can’t see it from here. My eye catches on the block of large kitchen knives that rest on the counter beside the stove. My mind turns in an attempt to conjure up a way to grab a knife; without being seen from the outside. I need something, anything to arm myself. I throw my body to the floor, crawling, using the gloomy day to my advantage. My dark clothing works well as a camouflage and the counter as a shield. I hear another impatient knock on the glass. I move my head quickly and see Robert smiling and pointing to the locked door. I immediately divert my eyes to the floor and rise from the hard wood, resting my palm on the door frame beside me to steady myself. I walk slowly, at first, testing my shaking legs. Keep calm. Do not act afraid. I straighten my posture and walk with strong, confident movements towards the back door.

“What do you want?” I say loudly, but not loud enough to be considered a yell.

“Why are you getting angry, Elise?” He looks confused. He is acting as if him, whom I barely know, showing up on my doorstep is as normal as a bee buzzing in the heat of summer.

“I will repeat myself again, what do you want?” I spit out the word “you” out as if it tastes sour in my mouth.

“Why are you mad?” He asks the same stupid question again, with the same confused expression plastered across his face.

“Because you're harassing me!” I scream. I scream it so loudly, anger and frustration is the only emotion I feel. I swear they are the only ones I have ever felt. Happiness and sadness seem foreign and incomprehensible when I see Robert’s face. I am so fed up. I don’t hate him. No, that gives him too much power. I don’t want him to think I hate him, I want him to think that I am totally and utterly indifferent about him. I will prove to him that I am. With a tight, yet arrogant grin I flick the latch on the slider door. I pull it wide open. He grins. The door’s gap looks prodigious and daunting; like a monster opening it’s wide pallet. Rain droplets hit my face, they string my wide eyes. Although, they do not smell like water, they smell foul, the monster is spitting on me. The spitting becomes more vigorous. From the depths of the monsters stomach something arises. It’s ugly and dark. It’s appearance strings my eyes and causes me to cower. It stands at the edges of the monsters tongue and flashes me a braced smile.

“Can I come in, Elise?” I nod slowly, I don’t know why but it feels like the right thing to do. That’s when he finally moves, almost as if he, Robert, needed to be invited in.

“Thank you for agreeing to this.” He flashes me an empathetic smile. “You should sit, you don’t seem...uh… stable.” I glare at him. He’s acting as if I’m the crazy one. I don’t say anything to him, I have nothing to say. My cool demeanor is gone. I simply hitch my foot on the leg of the kitchen chair and sit. He reaches his hand out and caresses my arm. I tense my body, but do not move. My thoughts are clouded. He smiles again, and I don’t know why. Light glimmers off his braces. Disgusting, is the only word that is clear in my mind. His hand moves farther up my arm, slowly. Is he trying to placate me? If so it’s a failed attempt. His large hand travels up my arm. I look at his fingernails, jagged, from not being cut off, but broken off. His hands are brown with dirt from rarely being washed. There is blood smeared across his left palm. I grimace. Soon he has both his arms around my shoulders forcing me into an intimate embrace. He loops his finger in my black pant belt loop and thrusts my hips forward so that my body is completely flat against his. I try to turn my neck but soon realize I cannot, my whole body is being squeezed tightly. I am enmobile. I let out a high pitched shriek. I keep screaming and flailing in his arms, loosening his grip. Finally, I spill from his embrace and when I look back up at him anger flares in his eyes. I try to crawl away. He picks me up from under my arms. He throws my body across the kitchen table, my head smacks the wood hard. I am so calm, I move my hand up to feel my soft locks. Although, they’re no longer soft, a sticky goo covers them. I bring my hand back down so that I can examine it. My nail beds and every crevice in my skin is dyed vermilion. The color reminds me of the red wine stain on my soft, tan blanket. I move my neck just slightly to see that the pooling blood no longer appears vermilion, but black. I turn my head so that my cheek rests against the dark liquid. My thoughts blur, I’m loosing too much blood. I let out a silent giggle, this is not blood, but a whole. A dark hole is forming in the middle of the wooden table. I wonder what is down there. It is almost as if the liquid that is surrounding my limp body engulfs me and drags down into its hole. From that moment on all I saw was darkness.