i don’t get how everything i’ve built could be so fragile. just when you think your foundation’s set, an earthquake comes and shakes it. next a huge rainstorm. then a forest fire. or a tsunami. each disaster shakes the very thing you thought was solid. now my house is starting to crumble on contact. the walls a little less sturdy. the ground with a few cracks. but that’s why they call them natural disasters, because they have to happen. except they shouldn’t have to. you were a fire that didn’t naturally arise. you sparked something in me. i thought you were the soft ember in the fire-place, warming the whole house in a crisp, cold night. but you crept and crawled out, until the polished hardwood floor became singed beyond belief.
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you burned everything. engulfed the second floor, filled with broken-down cribs and pictures lining the walls. you exploded in the kitchen, where everything was black and it wasn’t bad cooking. you burnt the living room, even all the memories made there, the many late nights, turned to dust. you left the backyard, full of brand-new spring blooms, dead. except it wasn’t all you. my house wasn’t fireproof. my foundation wasn’t concrete, it was loose pebbles. my walls were made of rotting wood. you barely made a scratch on my already damaged surface. so, while you sleep in your warm sheets in your warm bed, I’ll be shivering under my army blanket in a foreign homeless shelter, because you destroyed my only home.
we let people change us. from the moment we are born, our lives have a certain path dictated by others, whether you’re premature and in need of immediate surgery or cozily wrapped in a pink or blue blanket. after you go home from the cold hospital, you were placed in a crib and kissed on the head. the people
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who brought you home soon tell you what to wear and how to act. this is only reinforced when your teacher tells you to raise your hand and to ask politely to use the restroom. after you outgrow the brightly colored chairs at kindergarten table to a desk at a high school, you start letting your peers decide certain parts of you. they decide where you sit at lunch and who your biology partner is.
and after that you start letting one person decide. this person is commonly known as a spouse, partner, or significant other. you share deep night conversations filled with painful memories or happy ones. what they do with this information is up to them, and you’re allowing them to decide that for themselves. so, what if they pull the trigger, let go of your darkness over dinner cocktails or lunch sandwiches. so what if your leg got bruised when i pushed you around, sweetie? don’t worry, i’m sure a haircut will cover up that broken jaw or that black eye. when you go home, make sure to wear a little more makeup there so your mom won’t notice. you listen to them, curl your hair that way or stop hanging out with that friend.
no wonder 25% of women and one in seven men will be victims of domestic abuse. if you’re shocked, don’t be. we train people from birth how to change for others, but some don’t learn to change for themselves.
Erasmus had left her there to rot. After everything.
She was following what she believed to be best. He was the one who had taught her to do that.
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Her eyes were closed but she knew, she knew that he was in her cell. Watching her. Waiting for something. Something that wouldn’t come. He wanted an explanation, but she didn’t have one.
She couldn’t explain to him that there was some deep tether in her gut that his plan would go wrong. He was too proud for her to say anything like that. She couldn’t explain to him that she threw away what he saw as his future on a “gut instinct.”
So he continued to stare and she continued pretending to sleep.
She could hear him shift, she could hear him breathing. It was making her nervous. She wanted to tell him but she couldn’t.
On Friday, audiences will once again revisit the “tale as old as time” when the Beauty and the Beast makes its live action debut. The movie, featuring the amazing acting abilities of Emma Watson and other Hollywood veterans, has already been featured in many famous news platforms. Why? In an interview done by Attitude, a British magazine, the director, Bill Condon, revealed that LeFou, Gaston’s trusty sidekick, will be gay.
While he didn’t specifically say what will happen, this statement was met with many different reactions. To some members of the gay community, this was a breath of fresh air. Finally, Disney, a huge media influencer, has validated the gay community with its first “exclusively gay” moment. The fact that a character in such a beloved classic is out, or at least exploring his sexuality, is the representation that many wished they had when they were younger.
However, some members of the gay community were upset by this update. Ryan Houlihan, a Teen Vogue writer, states his ailments in the following, “They made the gay character a villain, relegated him to being a sidekick, gave this explicitly queer role to a straight actor, and then muddled the issue by making him sexually ‘confused’ – just to hedge their bets.” It’s also terrible that Lefou’s entire “gayness” is him pining over his unattainable straight friend. What the LGBT+ community needs is a gay character who gets his feelings reciprocated and a meaningful plot progression.
No matter the opinions, the media has gone into a frenzy about this new additive to the plot, making it a hot topic for new interviews of the stars. Emma Watson, the actress of the remade feminist Belle, made it quite clear that LeFou’s gay moment isn’t extremely pronounced, on the other hand, she called it “subtle.” Apparently, it’s a mystery whether he is in love with Gaston, as it isn’t written in the script.
Bill Condon thinks the attention is “overblown,” as Josh Gad’s character is featured in a background dance scene with another man. Condon’s response to this attitude surprises me. Saying that this movie will feature the first “exclusively gay moment” in Disney’s history is a pretty big deal, so being shocked by the media outburst seems a little odd.
Nevertheless, I’m excited to see this moment for myself, as I want to experience this revolutionary moment on the big screen this Friday. Watch a preview of LeFou’s famous “Gaston” here:
Not a single tear escapes my eyes as I sit back up and slowly gain footing. “Is that all you need for now Madame Clarisse?” I ask, the pain becoming a cold and unwavering part of my voice.
Madame Clarisse’s lips curl into a snarl, her eyes glowing with disgust at the fact that I have the strength left in me to stand up. At this point, Magnum Damarion’s resolve against killing the rabbit has completely fled, he has given into society’s cruelness.
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I suppose it is easier that way, is it not Magnum? I think bitterly. I stand there, my heart beating faster as he gets closer. I know that if I move to defend myself nothing good will come of it, so I stand there and take it as he slowly moves toward me. I refuse to let myself shake, the only evidence of my pain and panic is my unsteady breathing.
Once he is within breathing distance, he stops and Madame Clarisse makes a repulsed noise in the back of her throat at the thought of someone of his status being this close to a servi. He looks back at her with ice in his eyes. One look from the mighty lion and the hyena is silenced, humiliated, unable to finish off one pitiful rabbit.
“Tell me, are you so daftly-idiotic as to mess up one small order?” He asks plaintively, as if this is not a kill shot.
Defiance rears its ugly head inside me. My mouth moves to say no and that I meant every gram of sugar I put in there, but my mind slams my lips shut and reworks them, “Yes, I am.”
He nods as if feigning understanding. His feet make little noise as he steps back, dragging his feet over the carpet, and as swift as a bullet he drives his steel-toed boot into my side exactly where Madame Clarisse’s heel push through my skin. I do not hear the impact but I sure as hell feel it. A cry escapes my lips as my head hits the side table, splitting the skin near my eyebrow. I hold my breath and let myself sag. I have failed myself more than once tonight, and I do not have the strength to face anymore failure.
I pull myself up and support myself on the side table slouched over, “Is there anything else you will be needing, Magnum, Madame?”
Clarisse takes a deep breathe, the hyena is too proud to let the lion have the final blow. Her fist zeros in on my nose, and with blinding pain her fist connects to the bridge of my nose, sending me careening out of control and into the side-table I was previously in alliance with.
I open my eyes a few seconds after the waves of nauseating pain pass. I can feel the blood on my mouth and dripping down my chin, creating rivers of deep red on my blouse. I look down at myself. This is what I would be in for, if I escape, if I make it to the next future, the next fate – one hell of a beating.
I crack my neck and swing my gaze between the Magnum and my Madame, “Is there anything else you will be needing? Madame, Magnum?”
I can see the vein in Madame Clarisse’s forehead pop out like a river in a smooth desert. I glance over at Magnum Damarion, he is looking mildly horrified at what he has helped do. His eyes linger on the blood stains dripping from my eyebrow and nose. Too late asshole. His eyes then stray to blossom of blood that is forming on my side as well.
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This will go well tomorrow: Female Runaway Servi Found: Beaten Badly, To Be Executed. What a nice headline, yeah? But somehow I still cannot bring myself to stay here in this damned house.
“No I’m no longer in need your services.” I am surprised Madame Clarisse managed to grind even that out.
I bow my head a sign of respect, but in truth I can barely keep myself upright. I take a shallow breath as I prepare to attempt to walk. I slowly tell my legs to move, and as if by some sort of disconnect they start moving moments after I tell them to. I can feel the heel of my shoes catch in the threading of the carpet, and the other foot continues to shuffle forward, missing its ever-important counterpart. I can feel my mind slowly winding down to a complete standstill, like eyes that are slowly closing for longer than the last time. I hear, more than feel myself falling. The air creates a tunnel and everything sounds like static.
All of a sudden the sound stops. I let my knees buckle and I hear a thud as another pair of knees hit the ground with mine. The Magnum.
My knees sting. And my face feels as if it is about to burst.
“Get up you worthless, idiotic oaf.” Now Clarisse is shouting, but it only registers as a faint ringing.
I slowly get to my feet. Biting back a snide retort, I grit my teeth again, ignoring the pain that shoots through my jaw. Survive this and you will not suffer the noose unless you are found out to be a runaway. Snap now and you will be sent to the noose with no chance to live. I play this on repeat in my head knowing in my heart that I cannot crack.
“Does it taste like a sugar-free cupcake?” She shouts, causing my head to ring even more.
Well seeing as it hit my face I did not really get to taste it, now did I?
“Does it?” Mangum Damarion’s deep cold voice rings in for the first time.
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I can feel him slowly creeping closer like a dangerous and powerful dark lion. His money-bred arrogance and inhuman power is painted across his face in wide bloody slashes. He does not dare getting close enough to touch me, for even a jealous hyena can take down an ignoble lion.
He throws his cupcake and it hits me just below the collarbone with enough force to push me back a bit. The pastel frosting flies up hitting my neck and chin, but also outward hitting him, and an already frosting-splattered Magnus Madame Clarisse. I clench my teeth harder, knowing it will be hell for whatever servi is tasked with getting the purple color out of the expensive fabric, and even worse to get it out of the priceless rugs and tapestries in the private dining room. I send a silent apology like a prayer to that servi.
Magnus Madame Clarisse’s eyes show with livid blood-lust. “Is. That. Sugar. Free?” She asks quietly, a stark change to the headache inducing shriek from a few moments ago.
She raises her hand to strike me again and I cannot help but cower, my body telling me my head cannot take more abuse.
“No – they are not.” I whisper, my throat rasping. I clumsily try to push my dark hair out of my eyes.
“They are not.” I repeat, knowing that I have cracked and with that realization I stop trying to stay standing, I let myself fall to my knees. I take a rattling breath, knowing that I failed myself.
“You. Brainless. Disgusting. Impudent. Daft. Worthless. Servi.” Her voice gains momentum and crescendos, “Can. You. Not. Follow. Simple. Orders?”
I can feel it. The lion is staring from his throne and his eyes. It feels like I am in the roman coliseum, thumbs are pointing down, but there is a small glimmer of possible guilt and shame in what he is doing in his eyes. But before that glimmer of guilt can take over, his eyes are back to guiling the hyena: impress me, hyena, and you will be a lion; and then there is the hyena, all too ready to comply. The white rabbit has been stained red and the hyena is ready to rip its heart out to give, still beating faintly, to the lion.
Photo Credit: Oriental Rug Bazaar
I feel the pointy stiletto drive itself into my side before my brain registers that she even moved to kick me. Her stiletto breaks through my uniform and my skin, sending searing pain between my ribs. I topple from my kneeling position to curl up in a fetal position looking at the fine threads, red threads, of the ungodly expensive Persian rugs.
“Is there anything else I can get you Madame Clarisse, Magnum Damarion?” I curtsey as she stares critically at the cupcakes.
She frowns down at the cupcakes and asks in an eerily silent voice, “Are they the sugar-free, I asked for –”
Panic and terror settle in my gut, I had not remembered that, I had been distracted all day wondering if I should escape or not.
“– well they don’t seem like it. Are they?” She demands after a bite.
I can feel myself ripping in half, if I do not say anything who will get hurt? If I say yes who will get hurt? I lock my jaw and refuse to even breathe.
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“Well are they?” She asks in a voice that promises blood.
My blood begins to heat as I go numb with panic. I wince. Confirmation enough.
This is not about the cupcakes. This is a show of power from the hyena to impress the lion, and I am the rabbit about to get its throat ripped out.
She hands a cupcake to the Magnum, giving the lion a taste of the prize that could come of this. A fleeting look of conflict crosses his face but just as soon as it is gone he takes a bite and the haze of bloodlust crosses his face.
“No, they don’t taste sugar-free now do they.” He chuckles at me, and frost shoots through my veins. The noble lion has joined the ignoble hyena to tear apart the rabbit.
He asks, his honey-like voice becoming the steel of a Magnum blade, “Are they the sugar-free she ordered?”
He asks, the shadows on his face becoming darker and sharper. The laughing purple in his eyes turns to a dark hardened grey. I stare at the candles on the table knowing that the two of them will not be nice enough to go straight for the throat. They will take their time, they will start with small bites and continue until I bleed dry.
I know that if I were to open my mouth to confess now it would only make it worse.
“Do you want to try one? Maybe you could really tell us if the baker of these followed my instructions.” Magnus Madame Clarisse says with venom boiling through her words.
I struggle for breath. She knows it was me, and now she is going to humiliate me. I suppose the hyena and rabbit scenario is not uncommon, seeing the number of servi suicides there are.
She picks up a cupcake and saunters toward me, but instead of handing me the cupcake she daintily unwraps it. “Open up,” she says in a cloyingly syrupy voice. “Come on, it’s not like it’s a command.”
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I clench my jaw trying to keep my pride, but I know that I will be put to death if I do not obey. I rigidly unhinge my jaw.
Her perfectly sculpted pink lips pout in a demeaning manner, “Oh come on, don’t be so stiff.”
The words drip from her mouth like the blood of some other poor rabbit she already killed. The lion remains stoic in the corner, his eyes glazed over, unfeeling. The arrogant-rich-boy is back.
“Well loosen up!” She shrieks.
Magnus Madame Clarisse shoves the cupcake into my already bruised cheek with the force of a punch. I watch as purple and white frosting mars my vision and sticks to my eyelashes. I am struck by how much the frosting looks like thick fat snowflakes.
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