Photographs

"Hey." He waves over his shoulder. "I bought the stuff you wanted." No answer. I sigh in defeat and sit next to him on the couch. He's watching porn. Again. I shift onto a single sofa cushion, and curl into myself.

Hours pass. The only time he moves is to put a new DVD in. Porn, porn, and more porn. The images burn themselves into my memory. I look away only to be met with more naked girls. Dirty magazines cover every surface.

When he asked me to move in with him, I thought it was because he loves me.

But I don't think he does.

I'm just here.

Another person to do all the normal daily things for him.

I'm like his live-in maid.

No longer am I the girl he saved.

I'm just a toy whose novelty has worn off.

"I'm going to make dinner. Is there anything you want?" Again, no answer. I sniffle and remove myself to the kitchen.

Preparing the chicken, I cut my finger. "Merde." I swear to myself under my breath and reach for a paper towel. "Stupide cul...."

I take his plate into the darkened living room. He's accepts it without a word. I wait for a 'thank you', for any type of acknowledgment. But I get nothing.

Why did I really move in with him?

I mean, he treated me like this before. At least before I moved in he spoke to me. Not very often, but he did. Now I'm lucky if he even acknowledges me.

I tried to leave once. I made the mistake of looking back. He was watching me with tears in his eyes. Those gorgeous blue eyes I had grown to love. I just took my bags back to my room.

I'm a prisoner here. I can't even remember how long I've lived with him.

Breaking myself from my trance, I shuffle to my room. The room he decorated for me. Gray walls surround the cherry wood furniture. He put up posters of my favorite bands: CKY, Collective Soul, Fall Out Boy, Avenged Sevenfold, Atreyu, and Good Charlotte.

So much love went into this room.

Why?

I throw myself into the mound of blankets and pillows. Looking at the ceiling, I see a new poster.

I know it's new because I stare at this ceiling every night. The spot right above my head is always empty. I made sure of that.

On close inspection, I see that it's not a poster, but an enlarged photo.

There I am, staring into the camera.

But where is he?

He's always around when we go out. He doesn't like it when I go too far unless he specifically wants me to do something.

I study the picture.

Oh.

There he is.

I stand on my bed to get a better look.

He's actually in the picture. Facing the camera no less. But he's not looking at it. He's looking at me. And he's holding a sign.

I love you, Alexandra. I really do.

Huh.

I settle back into my pillows just as my door opens. He looks up from the floor. I can do nothing except watch him. He hasn't come into my room since I moved in.

Slowly and stiffly, he makes his way to my bed. He sits next to me.

"I'm sorry. I'm scared. Help me get better so I can love you like I want to."

Shocked, I turn toward him fully. There are tears in his eyes again.

"I don't want you to leave me. I know I don't show it- ever- but I really want you in my life. I want you to be my life." His voice is so soft. The fear is audible. "I'll do whatever you want. Just help me get better. Please."

He's begging. That's something he said he'd never do. And he's begging me.

"I'll do anything for you, Bob."