2009-11-14, 07:39 AM
Chapter II
Chapter II
The rain fell lightly upon shuttered windows, casting a pleasing staccato about the walls of the studio apartment. Mickey rested upon his recliner. He'd have been completely oblivious to the world outside if not for the brief intermissions of life the television presented. Nothing out of the average was to be seen of that day, and all throughout the town, it was a time of repose.
Mickey was helping himself to a jar of pitted black olives when he heard a truck pull up not too far from the closest window. He stuffed another several of the pungent things in his cheeks. Slowly rising from his seat, he wiped the residue on his raggedy jeans and went to peer out the window. An unfamiliar blue hatchback was parked in the driveway. There was no driver to be seen.
He sat back down, thinking they had come for someone else. Seduced by the television, he again found himself lost in its numbing glow.
The grate of the buzzer startled him. His figure twitched in his recliner, and once more, he was up and headed to the door. He opened it so the chain of the lock remained taught, and through the crack, he commanded “Who’s there?”
“An old acquaintance.” It was a young woman’s voice. By her tone of her voice, he thought she could only have just finished high school. “Please let me in.”
Sensing no danger and curious as to who this woman may be, Mickey undid the lock and swung the door open. He greeted the stranger with a strained smile. “Come in, just mind the carpet.” (A sort of lie, as he had never thought to maintain it until now.) “Can I take your jacket?”
“Yes; thank you.”
Mickey was instantly captivated by the stranger’s appearance, foremost by her figure. She was certainly ample, though the loose sweater revealed beneath her dampened trench coat did her no justice. She stood a few inches beneath him, making her about 5’6”. She quickly ran her fingers through her hair to void the rain. It came down and hung past her chest; it was thick and of darkened ebony. Her eyes were like coins of polished copper in the midst of the desert sand that was her skin. Her lips moved airily as she thanked him and handed over her coat.
Mickey would be ravished in comparison, the homely man he was. He knew this, and the fibers of his confidence rattled with every word she spoke. He regretted this position in the wayfaring of human attraction but accepted it just the same. Like any good host, he offered her a chair at his kitchen table. “It’s not much for comfort, but I suppose it’s better-’en standin’.” They sat at adjacent sides of the table. “Now what makes you wanna come up and visit ol’ Mickey, miss?"
The stranger explained that he had known her as she was growing up. He had apparently been an old friend of her father‘s, and used to be about their house often. She reminded him of what he used to look like, what he would do with his facial hair and such, as if he required proof of her sincerity. Her voice wavered and nearly stuttered on occasion, yet Mickey didn’t seem to notice. Expressionless, he continued to stare directly into those copper eyes, noting their warmth, and the unspeakable things he’d do to have them to gaze back with admiration.
She had apparently come from out of state to visit her father. She was a currently a student of an out-of-state university, and only had the chance to see him every few weeks. They no doubt put a good deal of effort into keeping up a healthy relationship, and she was proud of that. He continued to remain in his hometown, confident that he would never be abandoned.
Her voice intermittently trailed off and silence began to permeate the kitchen. There was a faint sound of the television left on, and the rain outside still trickled down the shutters, but otherwise, there was nothing. Mickey cocked his head in confusion. “Something wrong, miss?”
She didn’t respond.
Mickey leaned forward. “Why’d you come visit me of all people, anyway?”
The smell of olives was still fresh on his tongue; she winced out of her idle stupor. As she looked to the tabletop, her eyes flashed with new emotion. She cleared her throat. “I need to talk to you about something that happened long ago.”
Mickey withdrew his neck and curiously provoked her explanation.
“You did something to me that I’ve only recently come to terms with,” she continued. Mickey’s jugular sank into his neck and his tired eyes widened anew in astonishment. “When I was a girl, you...” Her voice trailed off again, though Mickey knew exactly what was to be said. His breath was lost to him.
“You took my innocence,” she finished. “You raped me.”
Mickey nearly convulsed in his seat. He couldn’t fathom it; that the girl from so long ago would someday live to accuse him of his transgressions, let alone remember them.
Sophie sat silently in her chair, though her heart beat like the drum of a kingdom under siege. Tears were scarcely held back by the ceaseless stare convicting and accusing the man who so wronged her. She observed his face twisting as realization battered his psyche.
Mickey rose drunkenly from his chair and stumbled towards the counter. His belly hit the corner and folded; his chin fell to its cool surface of faux marble. Sophie lifted off her seat and stood facing him. “I need to talk about this, and I‘ve never had the courage to until now. You owe me so fucking much. What the fuck were you thinking? What the fuck did you do?” Her voice now boomed with passion. The captive tears freed themselves of the corners of her eyes and cascaded down her flushed cheeks. She took a step towards her broken opponent.
Just as her foot hit the next vinyl square in the flooring, Sophie made a dire realization. Mickey wasn’t alone in his suffering. As a child will caress their dearest stuffed toy, he fingered his previously-concealed pistol with despair and excitement. He brushed the grip lightly with his fingertips, eyeing the barrel up-and-down.
She gasped and instinctively shrunk downwards as not to be noticed, to little avail. Mickey turned his focus toward her, though his hands (and weapon) remain positioned on the kitchen counter. He glared. “Is that right?” he mockingly inquired. The flushness of her cheeks fleeted in an instant; she was now a sight beheld of absolute dread.
With what courage lingered in her throbbing chest, Sophie made a break for the door, ignoring her trench coat along the way. Mickey pounced at her but fell short and stumbled over her chair. Her grasping hands seemed like they would’ve cleaved the hinges in twain, had they not opened so effortlessly; she sprinted down the stairs and to her car situated in the parking lot. She frantically searched herself for the keys, then realizing that they were still in the inner pocket of her trench coat. No matter, she thought (perhaps too optimistically for the occasion), for her father’s house wasn’t a great distance from where she then stood. She took off, the prey of a predator, with the sound of Mickey‘s hefty footsteps trailing her in the distance.
NOTE: I'll probably rewrite everything. I just can't think.