Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

It was scared, though. The world had done bad things to it, most definitely. It was missing an eye and its pretty white fur was all messed up. I reached my hand out but it balked, quirked its head and moved to jump out the window. It hopped up, paws trying to find purchase on the ledge.

“No…Please,” I begged. “I don’t have any friends either.” I put my head down, defeated. This was what I’d become: begging a stray rat to be my friend. I looked back up but its tail had disappeared around the corner.

I fell down to the ground and cried. I put my head in my hands, not caring that I was getting my face all bloody. At least with my head smothered in my palms, I could pretend I was somewhere else. I don’t know why I was crying over a rat. It was filled with disease, probably, but that was Russian roulette, and maybe I’d win. Maybe I’d get the plague and die.

Out on the patio, the morning passed by slowly. It felt longer, more sluggish, the way mornings do when you’ve seen the full extent of the night. Wrapped in a cashmere sweater over leggings and snow boots with a plush gray blanket thrown over my knees, I stared out at the iron-cast city. Without sleep, my thoughts felt trapped in a bog, my limbs drowned in slime.

I’d run out of physical tears but the action behind them remained. The labored breathing. The heavy lids. The headache. The deep, chasmic sorrow. My feet were propped up on the railing, the journal resting on my thighs, but I kept staring at the ledge, wishing a rat would run along it.

One good thing came of the previous night, at least. When Beast left, casting me away like a used plastic bag, I was able to walk back to the library, grab the journal, and take it back to the room. Eyes feeling tight as if the edges were glued together with dried tears, I looked away and down to the cursive lettering.

This journal belongs to Sofia De Luca.

I skipped past the part I’d already read, past how the woman, Sofia, wished to kill herself because her new husband was an asshole. Yeah, that wasn’t hard to relate to at all. I continued to the next part.

Not dead yet.

Feels like it.

I snuck out to see Alessio and got home too late. Dario beat me. I don’t mind the bruises as much as I mind the distance from Alessio. Alessio and I have planned to run away together. I can’t be certain, but I think his child grows inside me. I haven’t bled in weeks and am fatigued, all signs that Mama says point to being with child. The child could be Dario’s, as he takes me every chance he gets…but I don’t care. It will be Alessio’s even if the child doesn’t share his blood.

Soon I will have no use for this journal.

Soon I will be happy.

My head shot up at a sound, eyes darting over to the door and then to the ledge. My chest pounded, ears rushing with blood. I caressed the worn page of the journal, eyes scanning my surroundings. When I was certain I was alone, I returned my attention back to the journal. The next entry didn’t relate at all to what I’d been reading.

Today I overheard Alessio’s father, Lucio, talking with his sister Lucia. It was something I shouldn’t have heard and I fear for my life. If this secret got out, it could ruin not just Lucio and Lucia, but all of us.

If anyone finds out I know, I will not live long after.

This is something I cannot tell even Alessio.

The rest of the page was torn out. I skipped to the next part, but it was completely off topic. I flipped back, holding the page between my thumbs and comparing as if I could find some common ground. I was so engrossed in this process that I didn’t notice the patio doors open behind me, nor did I notice the sound of footfalls on the floor. When there was a presence behind me, it was too late.

“Mistress.”

I jumped, the journal falling from my thighs to the snow-dusted patio. I spun to see curly, blond hair. It was him, the boy who was like a ghost in the penthouse, bringing me food, cleaning up the food, always there and yet not. I should have realized he would see me; ghosts see everything.

His face was completely blank while inside I was a mess of emotion.

I’d been caught.

I’d lose my only weapon. My emotions swelled in my throat, threatening to suffocate me like the time Papa gave me peanuts and I had to be rushed to the hospital. My esophagus had swelled up. I’d nearly died. Distantly I wondered if you could suffer an allergic reaction to emotion, like when the peanuts had overwhelmed my system.

“I won’t tell him,” he said as if sensing my thoughts.

“What?” I gasped. “Why?”

“You aren’t the only one with secrets, mistress.”

“But…” I sputtered, swallowing spit and expelling breath at the same time. He stepped toward me, hands behind his back.

“The Beast will have company tonight. You will need to wear something special.” He bowed his head and turned around. I watched his apathetic exit, feeling even more confused. Then he paused, hand on the patio doorframe. With back still turned to me he said, “You should find a better hiding spot than under your mattress.”

“But—” I started again.

“You may call me Nikolai.” And then he left.