Chapter 1.1 – The Great Escape

Aimée

I didn’t step as much as a foot onto my new lot. I didn’t even blink.

I just slipped my hand into my bag and let my fingers brush across the top of my laptop. That was all I needed. My lot was useless and empty, unfurnished, with not even as much as a tea cup on it. There was no need for me to spend any time there. I had bigger things to worry about than my lack of furniture, anyhow.

I abandoned my bag on the sidewalk of my new “home”, now only carrying my laptop, like a precious, adorable little baby, in my arms. And it was my baby. That computer was all I had. I chose to spend my remaining money on it instead of a bed or a fridge. I even skipped out on a toilet for the crappy little machine that I loved so much. I hadn’t even used it yet.

My fingers began to cramp up as I began to dawdle down the sidewalk, looking for a place to sit. As undeniably cheesy as it sounds, I desperately longed to vent my feelings into a new book. There was so much I wanted to…express, to say the least. My fingers wanted to type. Now.

As I walked, I could feel dark memories beginning to tip-toe back into my mind. A wave of nausea rushed over me as the image of Claude with a butcher’s knife in his hand flashed before my eyes. A devilish smirk was going from ear-to-ear on his chiseled face. His russet brown hair was tousled slightly in just the way it had been when I met him. In the dim light, his blue eyes looked black and evil. Slowly and dramatically, he raised the knife at me.

Before he could do anything else, I shook my head quickly and Claude disappeared as if someone had flipped a switch. I wasn’t ready to deal with my memories quite yet, particularly that one. I just needed a place a to sit.

Soon enough, the soft clash of waves hitting sand filled my ears. I paused and turned my head. To my direct right was a beach, and my eyes instantly fell on a small table. No one was sitting there. Within seconds I was sitting and waiting for my laptop to start up. It was a painstakingly long wait. My fingers were cramped and gnarled into hook-like shapes, my fingernails looked like talons. Finally, as Word opened, I could move them. My fingertips tapped the tiny letters and my new book’s title opened on the screen before me: The Chauvinist.

Something in my mind clicked at the pairing of those two words and another memory took over my vision. I was in a dark, musky-smelling room. The floorboards and the planks of wood that bordered the wall were damp from the rain from the pervious night. The little droplets of water had trickled into the earth, through soil and clay, and found themselves being absorbed by rotting aspen. I silently fluffed my very solid pillow that Claude had been “so kind” to buy for me.

My bones ached and I could feel blood welling up in the gash on my head that had been created earlier that day. Claude… was all I could think. My lip now curled distastefully at the thought of him.  Why was I so…stupid? I should have known better than to trust him. I should have known better than to accept a marriage proposal from someone I barely knew. I should have known.

Creeeeeeak… The door I could never seem to find opened from me. How a half-ass wine maker could afford a secret door was beyond my knowledge.

“J’ai faim. Obtenez en haut maintenent et incitez-moi á cuire! Allons, la chienne! Ou voulez vous une autre gréve bouteille hors du verre avec la tête? Des autres frappent, puet-être? [I'm hungry! Go upstairs now and make me something to eat! C'mon, bitch! Or do you want another strike and a glass bottle to the head?]” Claude yelled. I couldn’t see him, but I could soon feel his hand slapping me across the face. I fell off the bed and onto the wet ground.

“Go!” He yelled once more. I got up with a whimper, clutching my cheek. I was lead out of my tiny, below-ground room and into a slightly lighter setting. Claude’s kitchen. My kitchen? I was “married” to him, after all.

As I finished making him a stew, I felt something sharp dig into the nape of my kneck. I knew the feeling. I was having another knife held to me. ”Bonne fille. Maintenant, si vous le verseriez dans ma cuvette pour moi. [Good girl. Now, if you would pour it inti my bowl for me.]” Claude said in his sexy, husky voice. If it weren’t for his horrid personality, he’d be the perfect man.

“Mais je ne suis pas fait… [But I am not done...]” I made the foolish mistake of objecting.

I felt the tip of the knife dig deeper into my skin. ”Puis finition! [Then finish!]” He growled.

I felt anger bubbling inside me. No, Aimée, don’t sink to his level. Anger isn’t going to get you out of here. I assured myself. But it was no use. I half-slammed, half-dropped the bowl that was in my hands onto the floor  and spun around to face my husband.

“Je ne suis pas votre esclave! [I'm not your slave!]” I screamed, slapping the large knife that Claude held loosely in his hand onto the ground. I wasn’t scared. I knew either way I’d get hurt. Now I was going to be in more pain, but at least I’d have done something, made some feeble attempt at sticking up for myself. Feeble indeed. If I had really wanted to stick up for myself, I wouldn’t have given my heart to Claude in the first place.

Claude grimaced and his eyes lit up. Not in a good way. It was as if his irises were gasoline and someone lit a match. “Oui, Aimée, vous êtes. [Yes, Aimée, you are.]“

In one quick motion, he picked the knife off the floor and held it in a firm grip. He made a slashing movement towards my middle. I gasped and held my breath, expecting to feel a surge of pain overwhelm me and see blood covering me, but nothing happened. Instead, I looked down to see that my blouse had been cut open to reveal my bra.

I looked at Claude and he nodded, his eyes hungry. “Oui, Aimée, vous êtes.” He repeated softly. Then he moved toward me and I was soon wishing he had cut me open instead of my shirt.

I shuddered.”You’re not in Paris anymore, Aimée, don’t worry.” I whispered to myself. The memory might be gone, but it had created an eerie feeling that I couldn’t shake off. Maybe venting my into a book wasn’t the best idea in the world.

“Damn.” I muttered. “I need a distraction.” I looked around frantically. If I didn’t focus on what happened back home, my past could fade away like I wanted it to. I saw an apple tree, a picnic basket and the ocean. The ocean and a beautiful sunset. I felt a warm breeze against my porcelain skin. It didn’t take me long to decide to take a walk along the water surrounding the tiny island of Sunset Valley.

I stripped down to my bathing suit and let sand fill the cracks in-between my toes. Seagulls flew above me. Tiny crabs skittered around below me. I could smell the salty sea as I walked. For the first time in months, I felt at ease.

My mind was, for once, tranquil. It was as peaceful as the ocean. It was-

Griopgnognrg.

The sounds of hunger interrupted my inner peace and I was forced to abandon the beach for the apple tree I had seen earlier, since the nearest picnic baskets were empty.

For half an hour, I plucked apples off of every thin branch on that tree. And then I feasted on them until my stomach ceased it’s uncomfortable rumbling.

I changed back into my clothes as the night sky faded from pink to purple to a deep, rather haunting indigo. The gray moon hovered over me and as I glanced at it, I couldn’t help but to yawn. Today had been so…boring, despite my memories. My memories. The single thought of Claude made my skin crawl.

Slowly I approached a lounge chair, my laptop in my arms once more. That lounge chair was going to be my bed for the night, since I didn’t have one back at the lot. I laid on top of my computer, my body a human shield from possibly burglars.

I closed my eyes and feared what horrors my dreams that night would bring back into my mind.

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