In the Shackles of Love - Patrick S. (best color ereader .txt) 📗

with a few good movies. Now, he had the company of his soul mate, his love, his Renae. He had read countless romance novels, trying to predict what it would be like to finally find the one person whose life mattered more than his own, and he had watched a hundred or more movies about serendipity, true love, the power of faith, and the importance of selflessness. Since he was fifteen he had dreamed of finding true love--always in private, of course, because how manly was it to gush about love in front of your friends?--and now it was finally here.

“I love you, Renae,” he said aloud.

She might misinterpret his actions as being hostile, maybe even criminal. But the basement room was temporary, just long enough so they could talk and figure out their relationship, and for him to explain his actions. Then she would be welcome in his house, in his bed.

The world was an awful place, full of deviants and rapists, sociopaths and killers. In an instant, a life could be severed by the random cruelty of a stranger: a knife to the throat or a back-alley assault or a drive-by shooting or one of ten thousand other ways in which life was ended. Now that he loved Renae, they were bound together by that love. He would not let anyone hurt her. It was his duty as a man.

His logic was undeniable. His lovely Renae, who had a keen mind and a wit as sharp as a machete, would surely understand. This was the only way their love could flourish. She would see.

He searched through his collection of movies and found one of his favorites, settled in for a nice afternoon viewing.

#

At dusk, Eliot made two grilled cheese sandwiches and poured some milk into a canteen. Then he walked to the shed in his backyard.

He was pleased to see the sun peeking through the spent thunderheads. Its waning light varnished the landscape in gold and made a suitably radiant end for this terrific and most important of days.

He unlocked the shed door and removed the padlocks from the basement entrance. With lantern in one hand, platter of food in the other, he ducked into the stairwell, making sure to close the door behind him.

Renae’s body was gone. Fear rattled his nerves, but then he saw her huddled in the far corner. She cringed at the light and shielded her face against the sudden brightness.

He dimmed the lantern for her comfort.

“Hey Siren,” he said. “My beautiful Renae.”

She gasped when his voice echoed around the concrete, and through tear-streaked eyes she squinted at him. For a moment, she seemed incapable of acknowledging his presence: her eyes never came to rest, but darted between himself, the food, the lantern, the stairwell, lantern, stairwell, food, lantern, stairwell. He hoped again that she had not been rendered mentally unstable.

“It’s good to see you awake,” he said.

“E-Eliot? What the hell is going on?”

“You’re safe. You don’t have to worry anymore, because I brought you here. Where it’s safe.”

“What? Are you...what happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

She felt along her scalp, tracing the welt which must have risen from her smack against the windshield. “I...I remember driving home with you, and then...then we kissed, and...and...”

“And you told me that you loved me, remember? I love you, too, Renae, I do. That’s why I brought you here. So we could be safe, together.”

“You trapped me here? In the dark?” Her voice was rising, and he knew her well enough to see panic taking hold.

He didn’t want her in pain, so he rushed to explain: “No, Renae. We love each other, you and me, and we’ll be together. But the world is so full of evil! It’s everywhere, and now that we love each other, it’s my duty to keep you safe.”

“Eliot, what are you talking about? Where the hell am I?”

“You’re at my house. I apologize for these spartan conditions, but it’s necessary until you understand just how much I love you. Why I need to keep you safe. Look, I made you grilled cheese. I know it’s your favorite.”

He held out one of the sandwiches, but she shrank away from him, her entire body trembling.

He had been afraid of this. Society had brainwashed her against nobility and self-sacrifice. She didn’t like reading, rarely watched TV or movies, and thus was not aware of the subtleties of love as he was. Because he’d been enriched with knowledge from countless books and movies, he knew that the world cared little for a single woman’s life. He also knew that if love were to flourish, it must be kept where safety reigned--and it was up to him to keep his beloved safe. Somehow, he must try and convey this message to her.

She had begun crying. Eliot couldn’t bear to see her in pain, and he set the sandwich down so he could hold her in his arms. But when he moved toward her, she scrambled away, as though his presence was toxic.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Stay away from me, Eliot.”

He held up his hands. “Renae, it’s me. Your skinny fat boyfriend, the guy you’ve been dating for a month. Don’t you remember me?”

“I...I don’t understand. We were happy, weren’t we? If I did something to hurt you, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you didn’t do anything. Renae, this is because I love

you. I have to keep you safe so our love can grow. Before, I wasn’t sure if you were the one for me, but in the pickup...when we kissed...that

was love. You said so yourself.”

She raised both hands to cover her mouth, and a succession of wrenching sobs broke from her. “Please,” she said. “Please let me go.”

Seeing her in such anguish brought tears to Eliot’s eyes, but as much as he wanted to wipe away her hurt, he was perceptive and well-read enough to know that every relationship required space. Moments of solitude. That was a pervasive theme throughout the books and movies which he’d read and watched over and over. Women were more emotional than men, especially during their monthly period.

Perhaps that was the reason for Renae’s bewildering fear. If so, she would be inconsolable for some time. There would be no reasoning with her in this state.

Love meant sacrifice, and in this case he must sacrifice his own desire of physical intimacy in respect for Renae’s need for privacy.

“I’ll come back,” he promised, and circled around her toward the stairs. “I’ll leave the food and lantern here for you. Please try to understand. This is for your own good, to keep us together. I love you.”

She buried her face deeper in her hands, and the echoes of her sobs made it sound as though twenty ghostly accomplices shared the room with her.

Shaking his head, frustrated, Eliot went back upstairs and exited the shed after securing all the locks.

In the storm’s aftermath, the day was as hushed as a wax-filled diorama encased in glass. No breeze fluttered the leaves, and not even a frog or cricket dared disturb the intensity of this calm.

Eliot stood on his dew-soaked back lawn, frowning. Renae had acted so...so impossibly

. Did she not understand his position? His duty towards her now that she was his?

Was he

the one who was crazy? He realized his actions were bold, and in today’s society might be considered undesirable. Could it be his own mind which was loose?

No. He’d read somewhere that the truly insane never questioned their own sanity. That he had entertained the notion was evidence of his own sound state of mind. Besides, he was acting on the wisdom of the world.

His father hadn’t shared Eliot’s profound understanding of love. Michael Hardy and his wife, Cynthia, had loved each other for most of their adult lives. During Eliot’s life, he had watched as their bond grew stronger, and in a world where divorce and infidelity were everywhere, his parents were rock-solid, the definition of true happiness. They were as free from domestic violence as they were from ten-foot-anacondas. Then, when he was thirteen, Eliot and his father came home to find the front door ajar, the lock shattered. Muddy footprints on the carpet. Because they were a peace-loving family, they owned no guns, and Michel Hardy searched the house unarmed. He found their TV smashed, couches overturned, and picture frames torn from the walls. Eliot had followed his father in a state of shock. Cynthia Hardy was a stay-at-home seamstress, and they found her body in Eliot’s room. She was naked except for a half-torn bra dangling from horribly-slashed breasts. Her hands and feet were bound with fishing line. Her teeth had been knocked from her mouth; they lay like bloody pearls across the bed. Several swastikas of varying size had been carved into her skin, and the amount of blood suggested her heart had still been pumping when they were inflicted. The killers had used some of that blood to paint a smiley face on the wall above the bed.

In time, Eliot came to understand that the incident was his father’s fault. As he learned more about love, about relationships, he realized that his father’s inability to protect his mother directly led to her death. Michael Hardy had been too lenient with his wife, took her for granted. In fact, most couples suffered not because of internal problems but external ones: a chance meeting with an old flame, random burglaries and murders, the influence of selfish friends. The obvious answer was to shelter the relationship, which his father had not understood.

In this case, Renae must be sheltered, protected. She would not end up like his mother, who was left alone in a building no safer than a house of cards. He was a more seasoned and strong man than his father had been, and this love would last because of his precautions.

“Renae,” he said.

Suddenly he longed for her company. He could not leave her down there. Even if she was having her period, in which case her moodiness was explained, she was better than that room. He had made a mistake.

Ashamed at his own actions, Eliot entered the shed again. He was shaking so badly that he had to hold his breath just to open the locks.

What had he been thinking? She was not like the woman he’d always anticipated holding in this basement. She was smart, funny, uncaring about his quirky attitude, beautiful, and trustworthy. He would not shackle her with love, but would instead make her see reason by using compassion, forceful yet gentle physical restraint, and the safety his father had neglected to give his mother.

“Renae!” he yelled as he ran down the stairs. “Renae, I’m sorry. We can be together aboveground, if you’d like. Please, I love you, don’t worry, we’ll work this out, we can--”

Something slammed into the back of his head.

He was on the floor without remembering the fall. His head felt oddly hollow, as though the blow had curdled the grey matter of his brain down to the size of a pea pod. No pain yet.

Renae’s face appeared over him. She held the piece of plywood that had been covering the hole in the floor. He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t move.

She dropped the wood and fled up the stairs.

Eliot floundered to his knees, splotches of bright