Now Showing (Horrors & Heartthrobs)

by Maggie Fern

Christian Ford doesn’t deserve my tears, but he has them anyway. I give my tears away like they’re nothing special at all, like the whole world is owed a piece of me.

Every time he’d take the sex a little too far, ignore my use of the safe word he gave me. I apologized to him for not understanding better. For not being good enough. It came so naturally I never even gave it a second thought.

My eyes stay trained on the flecked red paint of the Old Shack diner as my feet crunch beneath the gravel. I can’t help the chill that runs up my spine, the flickering light of the aged sign only adding to its creepiness. This would be the perfect setting for a slasher flick only I'm not being chased through the neighboring overgrown field by a masked man, his blade tinged red with the blood of my sexy, underdressed coeds.

This isn’t happening though, right? This isn’t real, I'm having a breakdown. What even in the ever-loving fuck is this?

I jerk around staring behind me as that familiar unease finds me again. I'm not alone. I can feel it as sure as I can feel the burning on my skin.

I try the small door to my left, jerking it open and slamming myself inside. Something I’ve cursed the main girl for doing in every horror movie I’ve ever watched.

I watch it the same way you watch a car totaled on the side of a highway, you don’t want to see the people inside but your eyes search for them anyway.

“If that scared you, you’re in for a rude awakening little bird.”

“It’ll be okay little bird. I can keep you safe here… if you’ll let me.” Little bird… “There’s no way out, is there?” I ask, already knowing the answer as tears fill my eyes. My hand clamping over my mouth again only this time to stifle the sobs threatening to escape. “No.”

“You’re going to get us fucking killed.” He grunts out as Christian screams, still violently trying to make it inside, “Whoever you think that is I promise it’s not. It's a skinner Felicity! It will kill us both without hesitation.” His lips brush my temple, “Rule number nine, it’s all lies.”

Professor Christian Ford doesn’t apologize. Not to anyone. Not ever. He told me once after he made me cry… after I apologized to him for crying that only the weak bother to do so. The ones on top of this world, the ones ahead of the others never have anything to be sorry for. Wolves don’t apologize to sheep.

My footsteps seem louder than before as I follow the length of the dark hall, stepping out into the living room. The evening sunlight nowhere to be found. A cold unwavering darkness has swallowed the world hole. Something is wrong.

He’s the monster from under my bed and my mom invited him in. He’s the worst kind of monster there is. And I am no different.

My throat tightens, struggling against him when he leans in, inhaling me deeply, “It’s okay little bird. I won’t let him touch you. None of them. My little bird.”

Calm down. You need to calm down. She can't know. You saw how she looked at you… “You’re okay. I'm here little bird. You’re safe. You’re safe.” I say it out loud but meant it for my own ears. Like holding her in my arms isn’t proof enough that she hasn’t left that this isn’t another cruel game. That I'm not alone.

If there’s a God that hasn’t completely forsaken a dirty undeserving thing like me, I pray I never see it there again. There is no pit in hell low enough that I wouldn’t sink to for her.