Fortuity

6

The door stayed open for the rest of the night. I laid paralyzed in the bed, the sheet still wrapped tightly around me. I was scared to move. Scared that if I even twitched he would hear and come to violate me again. I didn't understand him. I didn't understand his mood swings, and how it seemed like he didn't realize what he was doing. It made him more dangerous than I thought he was, and I was already in enough danger.

Finally, my stomach growled and I had to move otherwise I'd probably die of starvation. Slowly, cautiously, I sat up in bed and grabbed my t-shirt from the foot of it. As fast as I could I slipped the shirt back over my head, just in case he was waiting outside the door for me to put myself in another compromising position. When nothing happened, and I heard nothing, I relaxed and looked around the room. Looked at the bed sheets that were tangled on the bed. Looked at the corner of the room where I huddled whenever I woke up beside him. Looked at the window where he pressed me against the wall the first day I woke up here. I don't remember how long I've been here anymore. I used to count the days, scratching little marks in the wall beside the shower, but lately I can't remember if I already added a mark or not. The days were blurring together, like one big nightmare that never ended.

My stomach growled again and I couldn't ignore it. I slipped out of bed and slowly made my way to the open door. The hallway light was on, shining a soft glow into the dark cabin bedroom. It was empty.

My heart thudded three times as fast as my feet traveled down the hallway, taking tentative steps in case something were to jump out at me and attack. Or rather, someone.

Finally I made it to the end of the hallway, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as if to hold my resolve together. As I got closer to the opening I heard the sound of a TV, some action movie it seemed like. I stepped further into the den, the TV screen and fireplace coming into view. The couch was empty, but there was a blanket strewn across it as if someone had thrown it off. As I got closer to the couch I heard sounds coming from the kitchen, like dishes clinking together and what sounded like a popcorn machine. I stood frozen at the back of the couch, waiting.

Sure enough, a few minutes later Matthew appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen, holding a bowl of buttered popcorn. He froze when he saw me, dressed in a red t-shirt and grey sweatpants. I didn't say anything, and neither did he. He just looked at me, as if waiting for me to run away. I considered it.

Eventually, he sighed and his eyes dropped down to the bowl in his hands. "Are you hungry?" He finally asked, holding the bowl out as if it was a peace offering. "I know you haven't eaten since this morning."

Yeah, I thought to myself. I haven't eaten because you were too busy manhandling me.

I just stood there, my arms still wrapped tightly around myself as if they were a shield. Matthew just watched me, and finally nodded as if my silence was an answer. He moved causally to the couch, sitting on it and placing the bowl on the middle cushion. My stomach growled again.

"You can come have some popcorn if you want," He said, it sounded like he was trying to hide a smile. "I made more than enough."

The smell of the butter reached my nose then, and it was hard to resist. Stiffly, I moved around the couch and sat on the farthest end from him, the bowl just within arms length. I grabbed a handful and stuffed it in my mouth.

He chuckled softly to himself, but kept his eyes focused on the TV screen. We sat like that for awhile, sharing the popcorn bowl. It seemed like he was making an obvious effort to stay focused on whatever movie he was watching, but I didn't even bother. I stared at my lap, reaching over for another handful of popcorn whenever I swallowed.

The movie ended, and the popcorn bowl was empty. I felt slightly better, my stomach less uncomfortable than it was before. Matthew and I sat in silence for a minute, him lounging against the couch and me sitting tight as a cord on the other side. Finally he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I wasn't always like this you know," he almost whispered, staring into the fireplace. "I wasn't always cruel and inconsiderate. You can blame my father for that."