Love's An Excuse to Get Hurt

Willow woke up at about eight in the morning, not that she could tell. She could remember some of the night before, dancing into oblivion, accepting drink after underage drink from strange guys; she just wanted to lose herself.

She remembered red and blue plastic cups, filled with vodka and Pepsi, straight, lemony tequila, and bitter, strong beer. She remembered the taste of cherry Chap Stick, tobacco and pink lemonade. She remembered tiny coloured tablets and disgusting brown mushrooms being passed around. The smell of marijuana, alcohol and sweat overwhelmed her. Annoying music ranged from Akon to Weezer and back again. She remembered the sights, the smells, the sounds, the tastes, the feelings.

She just didn’t remember what had happened. There were all of these details, but she couldn’t piece it together, couldn’t figure out how it had landed her there, wherever there was. Where was there, anyway?

Willow felt around, maybe her senses would help her figure out where she was, if not how she got there. They had to help, this time.

She was sweaty. Or was she crying? It was hard to tell, but thin, wet, salty liquid covered her face, which she would have bet anything was smeared with make-up, no matter how waterproof. Oddly, she wasn’t in any pain, maybe a little stiff. She moved her hands, slowly, cautiously, feeling herself down first. Clothes on, though she wasn’t sure how intact they were. She felt a rip at the thigh of her jeans, but it was small, no biggie. She felt her zipper undone, but the button done up, it could mean anything.

She felt thick wires, about six inches above her head, trying to figure out just where she was. She felt the floor around her, finding two nickels, a dime and two pennies, a smelly sock, a clean sock, a plastic ring, and a slip of paper. The air was warm, but when she spread herself out, her fingers caught bits of cool air.

She was under a bed, she realized.

Willow would have just gotten out from under the bed, but she needed to figure out, under whose bed was she?

She smelled around, flipping herself quietly, doing her best not to hit her head. She smelled the socks, and then threw them away. Willow sniffed the carpet, which smelled like animal scent freshener substance, and faint, old tobacco, as though the person who lived here no longer smoked inside, or didn’t at all, and had moved here after someone who had.

The scent of sex, sweat, and pizza were revealed when she sniffed the mattress above, and it could easily, sexistly, be concluded that it was a man’s bedroom.

Willow silenced herself, listening intently to whatever, if anything, she could hear. She heard cars outside, definitely from down below. Was it an apartment building, a hotel? She heard a high-pitched alarm clock going, presumably from several rooms away, most likely a different apartment, or hotel room, or whatever, apart from this one. There wasn’t much else she could hear, but for her own thoughts and the vehicles outside.

She figured it was safe to assume no one was on top of the bed she was under, but what about the rest of the place? The room seemed pretty safe, for now, and Willow peeked out from under the bedskirt. The door was a closed, in a manner that looked careless, with the door just resting, mostly closed, and not quite ajar.

Willow rolled out from under the bed. Hey, if someone was going to torture her anyway, why not bring it on now?

What she saw wasn’t really surprising. White walls, white duvet, slightly off-white cat on top of completely not white, black television. She sat, on the ground, looking around a while. A sliding door, revealing a balcony, clouds, and the tops of other large buildings. She lifted herself to her knees. A double bed, perfectly made, except the messy pillows. No pictures hung on the wall, a single picture of a man and a pretty young brunette on the dresser.

Willow cautiously lifted to her feet, stretching her limbs individually, smiling at herself, though she wasn’t sure why. She stared at the bookshelf on the other side of the room, slowly walking towards it. Harry Potter, Narnia, Lord of the Rings, and Twilight. Was it like, a teenage girl’s room? She chuckled to herself, a little confused. There were also CDs, on the floor beside the shelf. All different kinds, the Goo Goo Dolls, Sarah McLachlan, Regina Spektor, Avenged Sevenfold, Motley Crue, the Kinks, Emily Haines, Silversun Pickups, Marcy’s Playground, Mayday Parade. That just about covers it all, Willow thought.

Just as Willow was moving on to the DVDs next to the television, the phone on the night table started ringing. She dove under the bed, being terrified, of course. But, the phone just kept ringing, thus confirming Willow’s assumption that no one was home.

She rolled out from under the bed, heart still thumping, and decided it would be a good idea to leave, to find her way home.

Where’s my purse?[/] is what came to mind next. Willow never left the house without her purse, never. She searched the room, up and down, ready to scream, she couldn’t find it. She left the room, despite her paranoia, to find it.

The rest of the apartment wasn’t too big, another bedroom, a washroom, a kitchen, and a main room. Plus, several little closets, Willow decided to start there.
She checked the closet by the door for her purse, without success. On the other hand, she found her shoes, black, strappy heels, which made her look indefinitely gorgeous with her dark blue denim skinny jeans and black strapless shirt. The whole ensemble made her look older, older than the only sixteen years she was.

After thoroughly checking just about every location she could get into, Willow collapsed on the (white) couch, exhausted. She had found her thin white cardigan, which would have been located in her purse, unless she had put it on. Had she put it on? Who knows?

She petted the cat beside her, as she wondered, suddenly irritated, what would come next. She thought of the worst, and she thought of the best. In the end, she decided she would try to find something in this place for her massive headache, look over the house for her purse again, and then call a cab.

Willow found some orange juice and aspirin, and quickly downed six, ignoring the half of one suggested for her someone her size’s dose. Afterwards, she lay down on the couch for a while, and slipped out to the balcony to enjoy the view.

After seeing just how high up she was, she went back into the house, her head feeling better, but her stomach suddenly not.

She looked through the apartment again, as well without finding what she was looking for.

Then, Willow decided to look in the room she had twice passed, because it looked like the room of a girl no older than her own age. She had thought about how she would feel if a total random walked into her room, when she was, say, at school or something. She didn’t like it one bit, so she had stayed clear.

But desperate times call for desperate measures, and Willow opened the door, cautiously.

The room was organized, though not particularly neat. Half a coffee, loaded with cream, sat on the bookshelf beside her. The bed was unmade, and dirty clothes were in a pile. Though there was a closet in the room, Willow just couldn’t see anyone putting her purse in a little girl’s closet.

With that, Willow decided to look under the bed. She looked on the bookshelf, behind the mirror, and in the dresser.

When Willow started to put everything back that she had moved, making it look as though she hadn’t disturbed anything at all, there was sudden movement in the room. She remained still, crouched behind the bed, listening for the sound she had heard moments before.

She hoped she was hidden, she even hoped she was just insanely paranoid, but something told her neither was going to help at this moment. Willow heard the closet door creak open on the other side of the bed, on the other side of the room. She thought about whether she’d be able to make it to the door before whoever was in the closet noticed her presence.

Was it a girl or a boy? An animal, a monster? What was it?! Willow couldn’t decide; her curiosity was overwhelming. She crept towards the door, quickly, quietly, crab-walk style. One foot wrong, and I’m gonna fall, she thought to herself.

Suddenly, a skinny, blonde figure appeared. It happened so fast, then Willow had tape on her mouth, collapsed on the floor. A girl stood above her, and Willow felt a panic attack coming on.

The little girl, Willow thought she couldn’t be more than twelve or something. Holding up a black bag, Willow’s black bag, she said, spicily, “Is this, what you’re looking for?”

Willow tried to breathe deeply, tried to calm herself down, and nodded to the girl.

After that, the girl began to rant, starting with, “What the FUCK are you doing in my house?!”

“Oh, that’s right, you can’t talk! Silly me. But that’s okay, because I know perfectly well what you were doing in my house. With my father. In his bed!

“The sad thing is, darling, you aren’t the first, you aren’t the only one. You aren’t special, and there’s nothing different about you. You’re nothing more than a slut, a nasty, young one too!”

She went on for a couple more minutes, stating that she was fifteen, and her name was, “Veronica, Nicci,” until she finally stopped, and said, “How old are you anyway? And why haven’t you fought back at all, why are you just laying there? I didn’t do shit all with your arms and legs, what the fuck is wrong with you!? How old are you?!”

Willow squirmed a little, pretending to fight, but the truth was, she couldn’t. She couldn’t breathe, her chest hurt, her head was pounding, and everything was going slower than usual. She was having a panic attack, and her pills were in her bag. Then again, she supposed it was working to the girl’s, Nicci’s, advantage.

Apparently it wasn’t, and now she was mad. “I didn’t skip school to sit on top of some dumb whore who won’t put up a fucking fight!” she said icily, “Get the fuck up, bitch! Tell me how old you are!”

Willow stood, her hands and legs shaking, her hair caught in the tape. She slowly moved her hands towards the tape covering her mouth, still wondering why she hadn’t yet done this. She supposed it was shock.

“What are you doing?” Nicci snapped jumping towards Willow, covering her mouth, “just, use your fingers!”

Willow was too scared to lie about her age, the way she had the night before. The night before she was beautiful, glamorous, and twenty-two. Today, she was a wreck, and only sixteen.

“Ahah, Jesus, girl, I know you're young, but you expect me to believe that?!” said Nicci, as she taped Willow’s still shaking hands together behind her back. She took her, violently, by the arms, and pulled her through the apartment.

Willow followed, because nothing in her brain was telling her not to, nothing was working at all. She followed her out onto the balcony, where the sun was shining brightly. She looked out, to the beautiful city, where, if she walked three blocks over, she would reach the club she was at last night. And one more block away from that, her own safe house, with her mother, and her brother.

She looked out at the parks, all the beautiful attractions of the medium-sized city. And then she thought of where she was now, and how some people got to see the beauty in all of this. But not her, she went straight to the dark side. And it was all her own fault. These bad things, they were always her fault.

“It’s an eyeful, isn’t it?” Nicci said softly, calmly, nudging Willow towards the rail of the balcony, “too bad it’s the last time you’ll get to see it.”

Nicci didn’t throw her over, much to Willow’s surprise. She whipped her around, and pushed her into the apartment once more. She pulled her quickly, painfully, through the apartment. Nicci threw her down to the floor, and Willow slumped against the closet door.

After looking from left to right in the hallway, Nicci brought Willow to her feet, and carried her a few feet into the hallway. Surprisingly, Willow was no longer panicked; she was calm, numb, though thoroughly surprised at the little girl’s strength.

Nicci began to talk, “You, my dear, are going to be the last of them, I promise. My father, who’s thirty seven, by the way, will never EVER fuck another little bitch!” she paused momentarily, at the elevator, “And who’s this fucker who keeps texting you?!? Jamie, or something? I’m getting tired of it, I’d shut the phone off, but his hysterics are making me hysterical.”

Willow couldn’t do anything but think. What is she texting me? It’s been so long… Damn, I miss her. Please, Nicci, please, if you can’t let me be, at least let me see what she’s texting me, please!

They got on the elevator, Willow’s eyes pleading with Nicci, doing anything in their beautiful power to get her to show the text messages. She moaned, she grunted, she made every sound possible in this position, and Nicci didn’t do anything.

At the bottom of the elevator, Nicci looked around the grungy lobby, like she had outside the apartment door before she had left it. And, again, no one was there, no one to save her, no last chance for Willow to grasp, no opportunities knocking. She had no choice but to be swept across the lobby, Nicci’s grasp occasionally tightening. She took her through a door, and down stairs.

Then she threw her in a room. A room, that was tiny. A tiny room, a closet. A closet, with a door. A door, with window. A window, with blinds. The fragments, the details, coming together in Willow’s mind, suddenly.

She had left with a guy. An older guy, but he wasn’t bad looking. She had slept with him, certainly. And, around midnight, a girl had come knocking at the door. The man sent Willow under the bed, where she had fallen asleep.

…but that’s so simple.

There’s no way that could’ve been it. There’s no way such a simple thing could lead to this, this terrifying, unknowing situation. Willow had no idea what would happen next, no idea.

Nicci began to laugh, started into some honest-to-God hysterics, while tossing Willow into the room easily. She closed the door, and Willow closed her eyes.
The lights are on, but I’m in the dark…
Who’s gonna find me?

It seemed like forever.

But ten seconds later.

Nicci knocked on the window.

Willow opened her eyes.

Nicci waved a key around.

Then she put it into her pocket.

She stuck her tongue out at Willow.

Then she put the phone up to the window.

Willow could read it perfectly.

Inbox: 13/46
Why aren’t you answering? – Jamie

Nicci began to shuffle through.

Inbox: 12/46
Are you mad at me?
– Jamie
Inbox: 11/46
Fine.
– Jamie
Inbox: 10/46
Willow?
– Jamie
Inbox: 9/46
You told me I could reach you all the time!
– Jamie

Nicci skipped a bunch.

Inbox: 2/46
I still love you.
– Jamie

Nicci grinned a wildly evil, cruel grin, as she texted her back.

She held the cell phone to the window, for about ten seconds, before dropping it. Ten seconds, before Willow dropped into an unconscious state.

But ten seconds was enough.

…You’ll have to love me when I’m gone.