The Rose Diaries Ch. 08

"Isabelle, Amanda wants you to work on Doll. Maker her white." Zoey called out to her. Miss I. didn't look any closer. She just let her hands fall to her side with a solid smack and nodded.

"Yeah," She muttered nodding her head. "Sure. I'll get right on that Zoey."

"Ok. I'm going to go then. If there's anything else, I'll call." Zoey backed away slowly before briskly walking out of the salon without another word. Miss I. stood absent mindedly in the center of the room. It wasn't until the door shut loudly that life returned behind her eyes and she shook herself back into the moment.

"Huh, what?" A rush of alertness flooded through her voice. "Oh right. Get in the chair and I'll be with you in a moment."

He watched her pace circles around the salon muttering things quietly to herself. He didn't even move at her request. He just stood idly observing her madness. She worked tirelessly cleaning, rearranging, and stacking empty boxes in the corner.

"Do you need help?" He called out to her, but she didn't answer. With a shrug, he strode over to a chair and lay back. "Miss I.?" He called again. She didn't even look up from her bin carrying a veritable horde makeup. He watched her buzz around her hive for what felt like an hour before he simply lay all the way back and sighed deeply. He felt his heart begin to rest as his mind recovered from all the tension. If she was content to let him rest, who was he to argue? The comforting embrace of safety enveloped him from all sides and with a loud yawn, he fell asleep.

He was not accustomed to dreamless slumber. That was always a bit alarming when he rose from the near-death state of his sleep. He used to have many dreams. Many thoughts or memories that would leak out during the night to torment or entertain him. But ever since he entered the house, his dreams became more and more rare. He'd have to worry about it another day.

He could feel himself strapped to the chair now. His eyes slowly opened to reveal that to be fact. His mind had little time to adjust. He could feel Miss I.'s delicate touch as she played with another newer long blonde wig seated firmly on his head. His face had been transformed again. He now wore glossy soft pink lips, long curled black eyelashes, and a muted shimmering pink eyeshadow that complemented his dark eyes. The long blonde hair sat neatly on his head as Miss I. fastened to his head with a handful of golden bobby pins. His nails were now a shining pink with glittering jeweled flowers on his index fingers.

"Miss I.?" He turned to look at her as she raised the chair back up once more. Still no answer. He could see her gaze shift away from him as he called her name. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and sighed deeply.

"Good." She muttered under her breath before returning to a nearby vanity to shift through various colored bottles of perfume.

"So, why did Miss A. want me white?" He asked her. But she didn't look up from the vanity. Her movements were much stiffer than he remembered. She was so distracted yet focused on doing anything but responding to him. He watched her cringe at his voice slightly as she continued her tasks.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asked her again. Silence answered in her place.

"Are you okay?" Silence spoke up once more for her at his question.

"Miss I.?" His own voice trembled with concern. It wavered even further when she stopped moving and cast her gaze to the ground.

"Are you-"

"No." She finally answered. "I'm not okay. I'm never okay. It's not okay. Just be quiet and let me work." He fell silent at her words. He watched her stand still as she closed her eyes. She gingerly chose a crystalline bottle with clear liquid. She sighed as she cradled it in her hands and he watched her chest slowly rise and fall.

She whipped the bottle at the far wall with a guttural scream of rage. He could only listen to it as it shattered loudly on impact.

"NO!" She screamed as she clutched her head and fell to the floor. "I'm so fucking sick of this!"

"Miss I.?"

"That's not my fucking name! That's not," Her voice trailed off as she began to whimper quietly. "Somedays, I don't want to wake up. When I open my eyes and hear the birds sing so happily outside I can't help but think to myself: I want to die. But then I wake up, make myself some breakfast, and laugh with the others around the kitchen table." She slammed her fist on the floor.

"Meanwhile, one floor down we have twelve prisoners who haven't slept well in years. They eat what we tell them, they drink what we tell them, and they act how we tell them. But we just keep on laughing. Cause we've been told that somehow they aren't human anymore." Peter saw the teardrops slowing rolling down her cheek.

"Miss I.?"

"I'm so done with it. I can't keep closing my eyes and pretending that everything is alright. It's not fair the things that the others do with no sympathy. It's not right that I'm supposed to just go along without worrying. I can't even close my eyes anymore at night without seeing the crying screaming faces of every girl I've helped transform. It only grows worse with each day." She sobbed clenching her delicately manicured hands as she wailed.

"It's okay." He found himself offering his sympathy.

"No! It's not! None of this is okay! It's beyond awful! How can you even stand to look at me? I've done so much to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore."

"Miss I." He began again with heavy sigh. He strained his neck to look at her curled form. "Miss I., I don't think you're half as bad as you think."

"It doesn't matter!" She was nearly hysterical as she rubbed her face with her sleeve. "I'm still here. I'm still participating in this freak show for a fucking check. God doesn't care if I don't swing the whip. His judgement will still fall on me for being a part of it. I'm still going to burn in hell for everything I did. I'm still going to deserve that no matter what you say. I'm so sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry for everything." Her voice trailed off into silence. Peter was always a big fan of silence and there was never enough to be had here. But not so much a fan of outbursts of emotion. It made his chest feel tight, his heart race, and his mind to retreat further inside of himself. He couldn't rightfully ignore Miss I.'s state. Sure, she was a part of this never-ending nightmare he had found himself in but at least she was self-aware.

"You don't need to apologize." His own voice faltering at the prospect of consoling one of his captors. "It's okay."

"Thanks." She muttered. "But it doesn't matter if you forgive me."

"Hey," He tried the best he could to lean up. "You mentioned a check. What's that about?"

"I get paid for my services here. Like everyone else."

"So, this is your job?"

"Yes. What did you think?"

"Honestly," Peter tried his best to shrug. "I thought you just lived here."

"No. I get paid to be here or I wouldn't be here. The money that is put away for me when I can finally leave will let me live the rest of life anywhere I want in absolute luxury. I'll be able to afford the world's greatest therapist when I'm gone. It's enough that I can do something with my life." She sniffled as she wiped her face once more.

"That's pretty cool." His answer surprised her. Peter didn't care about the money. He lived from paycheck-to-paycheck anyway. If there was an easy way out of the grind of labor, he'd take it. In a strange way, he understood her completely.

"Really?" She answered quickly her mouth nearly agape.

"Yeah. I get it. But you shouldn't just spend it on yourself. You feel bad? Donate some money to some charities, bring awareness to this kind of shit, or y'know you could just go to the cops. You could end this place. Save everyone." His suggestions made her eyes sparkle. Her face, once a picture of despair, began to shift rapidly until the tears of sorrow that flowed from her eyes became that of laughter. Loud uproarious laughter that filled the salon air. Miss I. barely had time to breath between each howl.

He felt strongly otherwise. Her hysterics had brought his mind from the calm waters of compassion to the frothing depths of rage he held in his soul. He was sick of being treated like someone who was outside of the greatest joke ever told. She had come to him for empathy and yet she spurned anything he could say? What about his suggestions was so fucking funny? What about his ideas was hysterical?

"Miss I." He nearly hissed through clenched teeth. It took great effort to keep from screaming at her. "What is so funny?" Miss I.'s laughter slowly faded as she took note of his anger. She struggled to keep laughter contained within her.

"Whew!" She breathed loudly wiping her eyes with the back of her hand again. "Wow, that's hysterical. You want me to go to the cops?" She shook her wrist flicking tears on the floor. "That is amazingly dense. Do you really think I could do that? That they would let me even get that far? No. I'd end up dead or worse. I mean look at what they did to poor Roxanne-"She quickly clasped a hand over her mouth to keep from speaking another word as her eyes widened. She had made a mistake. One that caused Peter to stop thinking entirely.

"Miss R.'s scars are from the house?" It was a question that he received no answer to. Miss I. just avoided his gaze. She stood off the floor and walked away from him.

"Miss I.?" He called after her. "Wait! Come back!" But she didn't. Instead, she vanished into her office. Instead, silence took her place.

Next time: Breaking Point (Finale of Act 1).