Being Beauty

There Are No Words . . .

"Excuse me?" I ask with a panicky sort of laugh. I have no idea how to react to this. Is he testing me? Is he trying to prove a point?

"All those things Emily said are true. I want to prove that to you."

"Why?"

"Maybe then you won't end up like the other girls." Dmitri looks serious. Of course, he always looks serious but this is different. He holds the knife out further to me, urging me to take it, but I refuse. Finally, he grabs my wrist and shoves the handle of the knife into my hand. He wraps my fingers around it and holds onto my hand. "Stab me."

Every inch of me has wanted to cause Dmitiri pain since I arrived. Well, when I arrived. Lately I've been more focused on escape. But now? Given the actual chance to harm him? I can't do it. Of course I can't do it. That's not who I am. All the crazy scenarios I've considered where I killed someone here, I know I could never go through with any of them. I couldn't even cut the palm of my own hand back in the 7th grade when we tried to make a sisterhood blood pact at recess behind the jungle gym. I can't do this. And he knows that.

I drop the knife and shove my chair my back. I quickly jump to my feet and race to the door. But nothing happens. The door is locked which I already knew and Dmitri doesn't chase me because I can't go anywhere anyway.

"Fine," he mumbles, more to himself than to me. "Be difficult. We will do it your way. . ." He picks up the knife and sits down in the chair. "You know, I thought it might be therapeutic for you," he says to me. Then under his breath I manage to catch him saying, "Yes, let's teach the girl we are holding captive that murder is therapeutic. That'll fix everything. Probably a good thing she didn't take the knife. Yeah, that was probably a bad idea. Adam doesn't have to know." He shakes his head and starts taking off his shirt. He tosses it to the floor. "Bare with me, okay?"

He stares hard at me. After a moment, I realize he is waiting for a response.

"Oh. Um, yeah."

He nods at me and then inhales deeply. I see his muscular chest rise and fall and then go still. Every muscle seems to relax except in his arms. "Here goes."

He grabs the knife with both hands, holds it in front of himself, and then stabs himself directly in the center of his chest.

I scream immediately and sink to the floor, pressing myself against the door as if I could sink through it and away from this. I hear the knife clatter to the floor but I'm afraid to look up. Finally, I convince myself to open my eyes and look at him. There is blood everywhere, dripping across his chest, splattered across his pants and arms. I'm frozen again, watching him. Waiting.

"Dmitri?" My voice shakes. I shake. I lean forward and move to my knees. "Dmitri?" My lip quivers and I think I might cry. What crazy sort of hell is this? What sort of mind games are these people playing? I slowly get to my feet and I'm hesitant to get any closer. "Dmitri?"

Suddenly, Dmitri gasps to life and looks around the room. He seems shocked and confused. Then his ocean blue eyes settle on me and he seems to remember what's happening. "That wasn't so bad, right?"

What? Wasn't so bad?

He looks down and feels the hole in his chest. I can see his finger disappear inside the crevice in his chest and he winces a little. "Not bad," he mutters to himself.

I don't believe it. This has to be a game. He could not have just stabbed himself and be fine now.

I watch as he stands up and goes to the bed where he retrieves a few towels. Next to the bed, on the floor, is a bucket of water. None of which I had noticed before this point. He starts wiping the blood from his chest which makes the wound in it quite visible. There is a gaping hole, all pink and fleshy that keeps pooling with blood. But as I stare, it begins to heal before my eyes. Within a few minutes, it's completely gone. There is no hole. There is no more blood. Dmitri finishes cleaning himself up and cleans up the floor. I can only stare in disbelief, eyes wide, as he mops up a significant amount of blood from the hardwoods. That much blood loss should have killed him.