Beauty and the Beast

As I lay in bed, hidden away beneath my façade of drawings and white tiger wool sheets, I sobbed silent tears. My breath betrayed me, however, as my lungs cried for oxygen and vacuumed the smoke laden air with bitter-sweet reluctance.
Honestly, I was young, I was naïve, and in the very word stupid—But that is what love does to those my age. Love binds the heart in chains of roses and love letters, mines into its’ arteries with picks of sweet whispers, and finally blinds it’s host in a sick dream of forever.
The sweet refugee of my flower printed pillow offered little salvation now as I burrowed my tear drenched face into it’s cotton embrace, my nails digging blindly into it’s fabric, and thoughts of my father filled my torrent stricken mind.
“None of that in my house!”
“You best learn to control yourself!”
“I had a daughter, not a tramp!”
“You best calm the fuck down!”

I could only scream in horror and pity when the last remnant of his slurred voice echoed through my ears, these horrible words my father had laid upon me in the presence of my love. In my father’s dilated, hazel red eyes I was nothing more than a child obviously infatuated with a Hell Hound lusting after a virgin. But what, pray tell, Hell Hound goes to church every Sunday, writes poems of love to the child, and holds her in a warm embrace that caters neither lust nor fantasies of the flesh.
Now the hour strikes 10, and I bid my day-life goodbye and wait for the terrors of the night. What dreams would visit Chris while he slept? Would they be dreams of erotic nature, or one of regret and sorrow? Perhaps his most recent: My tears pouring like a waterfall as I slowly drown in their salty pools and he is lost adrift and helpless to save me, or shall I vanish from his sight as though I were a phantom?

I recalled the previous hours and how my Father, if such a man can be called that with such beastly actions, ruined them with just the blow of drunken words. Finally I had my chance with Chris, as we lay on the couch, snuggled in the others arms while we watched the Disney classic Beauty and the Beast. He often recounted how he found himself in place of the Beast, seeing myself as Belle in more ways in one—And yet how his appearance would prevent me from loving him. In all honesty, my emotion mirrored his—For he didn’t see the beast lurking beneath my apricot skin.
The moment came, Beast was felled by Gaston’s blade and began to fade with the acceptance of death—Content to see Belle’s face one last time.
“Look at my thumb!” Carlon, my sister of 14, said.
Inner rage enveloped my being and I launched from Chris’s embrace and glared at her idle, almost uninterested form, “Carlon. Shut up!” I gnashed my canines together, but Carlon held my gaze and snapped back, “You!”
Utterly helpless and wishing to return to the master piece I slunk crestfallen back to his arms and sighed some, my love rocking me reassuringly. Eventually Belle confessed her love to the Beast and before the last petal fell and the monster drew his final breath he became his true form, for love had tamed the savage soul.
Chris mumbled something and I smiled, “She saw it in his eyes, the windows to the soul that it was—“
“Shhh.” Carlon hissed with a grin, causing my to growl with rage and foaming tears. How I hated that impudent imp! Eventually she scurried upstairs to report to mom about my behavior to her and how I crooned over Chris affectionately, but the worst was yet over, for my father began to speak in his drunken haze next.
“You best calm the fuck down!” He pointed his nub finger towards me—The finger he had lost to an ax when I was not even four.
My body shook rigid and I turned to Chris, before I could stop myself I burst into a sea of tears, more embarrassed and ashamed with rage rather than that of sadness and pity. Then he did something I never recognized until after the fact.
The young man of hazel eyes, oak brown hair, and acne-strewn features took me into his long arms and rocked my shaking, sobbing form. Then, he glared at my Father and I could hear his chest heave with misery—For he was beginning to become infected with my tears.

Later that night, when we took him home and my tears still drooled from my sockets, Chris stroked the hair from my eyes and kissed my forehead, whispering promises of eternal love and forever happiness, all I had to do was call him and he’d be there.
I wished deeply to believe such words, but Forever never lasted, not after tonight. For Chris was amazing in ever since of the word. He was Beauty in it’s truest from, and tonight he witnessed me shed my skin and reveal the savage Beast lurking beneath my skin.
The words of the narrator echoed in my soul as I slept.
For who could ever learn to love a Beast?