Belinda: The Beast WithinMature

Belinda Bertrand

“Kiss me,” his voice commanded, his body towering over my frail body cowering against the wall. The small flicker of candle that illuminated the murky looking room was wavering against the cool night. I compelled to his desires and stood on my toes to press my lips on his. He grasped my hips with great vigor and forced his lips deeper into my mouth, almost painfully. I gasped and restrained the tears from flowing out of my eyes; I faked several moans and wished he was over with it. He tore away and pinched me painfully in the cheek. Outside, the sun was slowly making its ascent into the sky, tainting the horizon with an ember color.

“Get out,” he said, stooping down he took my jacket and thrust it in my face. “I’m bored of you already, don’t come tonight.”

“But Beau,” my voice was shaking, “I really want to see you tonight, if we can’t see each other tonight then let’s be together during the day.” I pulled on my jacket, thankful that I had a piece of garment to cover my flesh exposed to the chilly morning.

There was something sympathetic in Beau’s eyes, “you know we can’t be together by day, I have to be a nice and dutiful son. It’s only during the night that I can become wild and have some fun in this wasted city.” He walked over to the window and pulled a loose wood aside, “take the window and GET OUT!”

His holler startled me and I quickly made my way toward the window. I climbed to the windowsill and placed a foot lightly on the torn shingles beneath me. I knew this roof very well; it had been several times my escape medium for when the sun peeked over the horizon.

“I love you,” I heard Beau said nonchalantly as he closed shut the window behind me. I inhaled the cool morning air and closed my eyes; tears welled in my eyes, stinging them due to the lack of sleep. All night we had been dancing in the night clubs, Beau had forged a fake id for me and many of the girl friends he brought along. At dawn he took me to his apartment, he slept while I was massaging him.

He was kicked out of his parents’ home when he turned eighteen and his parents helped him pay the rent for this dilapidated apartment in the low end of Montreal City. I clambered up the ladder with great care; the rusty metal was creaking with each step I took. The only way out was up through a ladder to the terrace and then down using the emergency staircase at the side of the building. Once in the terrace I had the most exquisite view of all and the perfect time to enjoy it, it seemed that after a rough night with Beau this was the perfect consolation: watching the sun rise lazily over the hazy clouds.

I paid for a metro ticket to take me home on the other side of the city: the high end. After stepping out of the metro I walked in a brisk pace toward my house in hope that my father was still sleeping. Upon reaching the sight of a white, stately mansion, I walked to the side of the iron-wrought fence and reached out for a gnarled branch of a towering tree. I became quite deft in climbing, I could tell.

When my feet touched the freshly trimmed grass I made my way rapidly toward the entrance. I opened the door and slipped in quietly, dashing for the stairs.

“Where were you all night?” a demanding and impetuous resonated down the hallway as I reached the door of my bedroom. I quickly turned, fearing the worst and faced my father. His head was clean-shaved and always wore transparent shades tinted with purple color; he had a toothpick between his lips. He sauntered toward me and placed a finger under my chin, lifting up my face. “Where did you get those bruises?” his eyes were scrutinizing me, turning my head sideways.

“I was in a dance club and some people got into a brawl and I ended up in it,” I lied.

He was silent for a while and dropped my head promptly, “you are not a good liar.” He turned on his heels and walked away, “I will have some businessmen coming in to dinner, I will appreciate if you stayed out of the way, they come from far lands, Colombia, ever heard of that country?”

“No,” I lied once again.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he sneered. “After all, your brain neurons are as good as dead.”

His cold laughter invaded my heart and turned it into ice. I entered my chambers and closed the door behind me. I made my way to the bathroom to examine my exhausted expression. I traced his finger marks on him face, tears began flowing out of my eyes and smeared the makeup he forced me to use. The price I had to pay to be accepted and with him.

There was a soft knock on the door and the little servant boy poked his head in, “good morning, Miss Belinda.”

“Chico, I’m so glad you are here. Please call your mother in, I need her to prepare me before going to school,” I said, emerging from the bathroom.

“Yes, Miss Belinda,” he said dutifully, his fairly darkened skin and black hair made a contrast to my physical appearance. “And Miss Belinda, were you beaten… again?”

“Just get her!” I let out a scream and regretted it. Before I could apologize he disappeared and I was left alone once again.

The End

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