I Think About You Ronnie Anne

9

       Lightning split the sky like a large crack, and the thunder exploded across town. I pedaled my bike as fast as I could, trying to avoid as many rain droplets as possible, though running isn't really a good way to escape a storm. Not unless you find shelter, which was where I was headed. However, it wasn't the shelter I was seeking—it was the destination itself. I halted, braking against the gravel's resistance, skidding against the side of the gas station. I hurried inside and my hair, still soaked, dripped onto my shirt. It made me shiver all over. The air and the rain were freezing, and it almost consequently froze my clothes as well. The man behind the counter had a brown baseball cap on and a stained grey shirt. "Hey buddy, looking for anything?" he asked me in a gruff, manly voice. "Uh yeah, do you have a Sharpie marker? A permanent one? Like one you can't erase?" He reached under somewhere and pulled out a pack of two. "That's perfect," I say to him. "Anything else?" he asks. "Yes, actually. Where's your soda at?" He points behind me at the far back where a glass sliding door protects a large and colorful selection of cans. I walk over, slide it open, and pull out an un-carbonated orange-cream flavored drink. I pace back and place it on the counter. "A pack of two permanent markers and a soda... your total is five seventy-five." I dig out six bucks from my pocket, he gives me back my change, and then bags up my items.

       I pedal back home and walk inside. I take off my shirt and get a new one from my room to wear. Now that I'm drier and warm, I can relax. I shift my eyes around the room and they spin over to the basement door. No relaxing is due yet. Not until I say hi and make a delivery. What seems like an endless stairway down seems even more endless when anticipating what's at the end of it. My love, are you feeling happier today? I hope your smile is the first thing I see when I open the door. At the bottom, stepping down from the last step, I push open the door. Ronnie Anne is there, but there's no smile. It's quite the exact opposite. She kicks the dog bowl at me, it glides across the floor and hits my bare toe. It hurt. I spout a short yelp which proves to emasculate and embarrass me. Why would she want to hurt me? Does she think I'm a monster more literally now? Like a beast? Does she imagine me as a Lovecraftian god that has transformed the world into my own basement? She's smarter than to think that. I put the pain aside and speak through my gritted teeth. "I brought you some presents. As ungrateful as you are, I'd still be happy to give them to you." First I took out the soda can and put it next to her. She growls at me like a dog and even shows her teeth like she plans to bite me. "It's orange-cream. I don't know if you like that but I thought you would, so I got it." Her angry face doesn't relent, and it stays unaltered in its vicious appearance.

       "For your second gift," I start. "I've bought you something a little different. It's less for you and more for the both of us." I rip a marker from the packaging which makes her flinch. I take the time to apologize to her and remove the marker from the bag. I hold it up to her like a small switchblade and she reacts to it similarly as well; bracing herself as if she were uncertain I'd take taken out a knife. I wave the marker in front of her like a hypnotist swinging a watch. "I'm gonna make a part of me—a part of you. Is that okay?" She scowls, but I don't cease my action. I grab her arm with force (I have to, she won't keep still) and inscribe my own name on her forearm in dark, black, permanent ink. I pull the marker up and take time to study my work. "I tried to be steady writing it, but you kept shaking your body so it's a little squiggly. I think it's good enough, though. Do you?" I shove her arm in front of her face and she grunts from the quick jolt. She doesn't comment on it, and her reticent nature is so petulant that it makes me laugh. I let go of her arm. "I don't think I have ever told you before, but you are so pretty." This either made her more scared or more angry. Either way, she tried to nudge herself back to the corner of the room. She's still tied up, but considering it's only her hand and feet, she's really adapting to her restraints. She's able to crawl and hop around pretty well. She can't get very far and she isn't very fast, so with her disadvantages, she could never escape despite her adaptiveness. That's something that she has to remember, or her confidence will make her daring. Dating people get foolhardy. Foolhardy people die. That's the basic principle of the Transitive Property of Equality. Utilizing that rule, a corollary is born. Simply put, if she thinks she can escape, then she will die.