Beauty and the Brown Eyed Beast

Chapter 19

Elizabeth's Perspective

"Do you think she's dead?"

Robert's voice is a soft something practically whispered into my ear as the nurses trickle in and out of the room, checking the last of my vitals and signing off on my charts. Curled up on my hospital bed beside me like some lovesick pup, Robert continues our pretend game of husband and wife with ease.

His index finger keeps tracing the inside of my arm and I'm so distracted by his feather light touch, I nearly miss his question.

"What?"

"She isn't, you know. "Robert says with a hint of what might be a smile on his lips. But it could just as easily be a sneer. "So stop moping already."

Poking at fun at me is his favorite thing to do beside threatening to end my life, I've noticed. There's something he finds amusing about me, like he can't believe I take him seriously. But, it's kind of hard not to sober up when he's shoved the barrel of a loaded gun into to my back.

He's a bit of a giggler, too. I didn't know it, but as my days in the hospital began to come to a close, Robert's tension has left him more easygoing. In that less-of-a-psychopathic-double-agent way, and more of a benign dictator kind of way.

Like tickling a toddler, his laughter will bubble up and flow steadily, infectious and disarming in a every way. And I hate him for it. I hate him for being this friendly, silly guy that sings when he's sad. I hate him for making me think I'm safe with him when we both know that isn't true. And I hate him for taking me away from my shitty life and placing me into an even shittier one that involves guns and kidnapping and blackmail.

"I'm not moping," I argue, lowering my head so that my hair comes down in an umber curtain, shielding me from those deceptively glorious cocoa irises. "I'm not."

His fingers have left my wrist and I chastise myself for missing his touch. It's not gone for long, though, and soon my shield is being swept away behind my ear. I can feel his eyes on me, an inquiry lingering there.

"How do you know?" I breathe, unable to resist the way my heart hitches in fear and relief with the prospect that Mama could still be alive. "Last time I saw her, she was in a gutter. Probably drowning in her own blood from that blow you gave her."

Robert doesn't seem too concerned with my accusation, though. "Never heard a thank you for that, by the way," his smile is gone when he says the words.

"Still waiting."

I'm saved from a nasty rebuttal when the nurse begins to remove the IV drip from my arm. I can easily pretend I'm flinching away from her touch instead of Robert's.

"You will be waiting a very long time, then," I bristle, grateful that the doctors and their staff have finally gone so I can shove him off me. He sighs dramatically when I scoot a few inches away from him. "I'll never thank you for what you did."

After considering my words for a moment, Robert frowns at his lap with a perplexed expression.

"You're incredibly sensitive about that woman, seeing as she beat you within an inch of you life every night after she'd had a few drinks."

Meeting his eyes reminds me of looking directly into the sun--endlessly dazzling and extremely dangerous when done for too long.

"You hit me, too, remember? In your right mind, sober," I tell him, delighted by the way his gaze falters and his mouth gapes open a bit. "Does that make you any better than her?"

We're silent for a moment, and I know he's wondering if he should apologize. My belief that he really is a monster fortifies when he doesn't.

His eyes flicker over my face with befuddlement. "Did you love her?"

He still wants to talk about my mother--the one we presumably left dead. She's become a topic of open discussion in less than a minute, and I'd be lying if said I hadn't thought about her before. It's possible, that she survived the assault, but I knew I didn't really want to believe that. As long as she lived, that hateful perra would rain hell down upon me for my father deserting us because she still believed it was my fault he left. And despite knowing all that, my eyes still filled at the image of her lying facedown in the gutter, a pool of black blood forming a dark halo around her head.

And Robert—he was the man who swung the bat into her skull before turning on me.

"Not that I have to explain myself to you—especially you—but i doubt you'd even understand." I finally answer, sliding off the bed and walking to pile of fresh clothes at the end of it. Robert must've gotten them from the gift shop while I slept. "Our relationship was--is complicated."

"Doesn't seem like it." Robert tilts his head as he lounges against the pillows, throwing his arms behind his head luxuriously. "How many times has she almost killed you?"

"Honestly?" I ask him, a wry chuckle escaping me, "about as many times have you almost have."

He's sedated by the unforgiving truth in my remark and I use the silence as an excuse to stalk away into the bathroom to change out of my gown. When I get a glimpse of myself naked in the mirror, tears spring to my eyes. A pale, bruised Latina stares back at me with sad, lifeless eyes.

I turn halfway, touching the yellowed bruises I'd been given gently. Almost gone, they didn't even hurt, and the five snitches near my nape were practically painless. I took some solace in knowing that my five days in the hospital was enough to almost restore me physically. But I hardly cared about my body anymore; I'd been crushed many times in many ways and I had grown used to scars.

My mind, however, was what I was truly worried about. What would a shrink say to me if they found out I had been romanticizing my relationship with my captor?

I emerged from the bathroom to find Alfie waiting for me, his hulking presence and cool eyes making me shrink backwards in surprise. Robert was no where to be found.

"He'll be back," Alfie boomed in front of me, sensing the question on my lips.

I can't smell the beer on him from here, but I find it doesn't matter. I don't think I'd trust this man even if he'd never had a drink in his life. "Where'd he go?"

Alfie doesn't like that I'm still asking him questions from the way his jaw sets in his mouth. His intrusive eyes flit over me and his upper lip curls in contempt. "He's signing paperwork, so I'm babysitting ya til he gets back."

My skin prickles under his intense watch and I lift an eyebrow. "Babysitting?"

Alfie's hard stare moves from my face to my breasts, pointing. "You've got a fucking My Little Pony on your tits, sweetheart," he laughs, shaking his head. "'Course I'm fucking babysitting."

And to my mortification, I look down to see that the red-haired giant is right. Three unicorns are frozen in mid-leap on my chest, their rainbow manes iridescent with glittering paint. Underneath the image reads: "Dreams Do Come True."