Spiral-Bound

Erin placed her shovel down, salaciously stood up, and beheld, with a curled satisfied smile, another sunflower upon her earthly trophy shelf. She looked at each sunburst as if she were sentimentally connected and touched the petals of the newest memorial one-by-one as if a story was being told - open to close - right before her eyes. After a few sweetly vindictive moments of self-praise, Erin turned and walked with her head held high into her reclusive grey home on the very outskirts of town. She preferred it that way, alone and away from the masses, for she had no faith in finding any sense of companionship. When she did go into the center of town among the public, it was a rare occasion layered in cynical skepticism and discontent as men everywhere still turned their boorish heads as she passed by. And just like in her youth, these men still only wanted her body. This, she detested about people and was why she kept her distance; however, that is not to say that Erin did not keep company from time to time, but it was always someone who had already known her body, for she was afraid of the risk involved with new faces and new nightmares.

Once inside, she put her gardening tools back in their rightful places and moved into the guest room to tidy up from her last visitor. She cleaned fairly quickly, as she had grown accustomed to having guests that left messy reminders of their shorter than expected stays. As Erin floated around the room, she occasionally grabbed an old notebook off one of the many piles that covered the dressers, and would become momentarily entranced by a writing from her past before she continued her housekeeping. The piles of notebooks cluttered the room with their worn covers and overturned pages from years of obsessive rereading and reliving. After she completed cleaning the guest room, save the mountains of handwritten memories, she reached for a faded black spiral-bound notebook with yellowed pages. Erin just held this time capsule, gazing down at it with eyes glazed in sorrow and rimmed with burning tears. She apprehensively began to release the flashbacks as her hand guided the turning pages, but quickly shut the haunted passages and slammed the notebook of faded black back on top of its’ pile.
         
Just as the echo of the haunted reflections softened and silenced within the walls of the desolate house, Erin heard a car make it’s way up the driveway. Her red lips parted into a perfect smile, but her eyes flashed of a different, sharper emotion. She coolly glanced herself over in the mirror and prepared for another irresistible and insidious performance to bring her one step closer to complete closure. The familiar sounds of the slam of the car door, the crunch of gravel beneath shoes, and the steady knock on the front door were enough to place Erin in a world of no turning back.
         
She opened the door and welcomed her guest, Alexander Burman, with a flirtatious embrace, nonchalantly rubbing his back and pressing her body into his. They exchanged warm greetings and Erin expressed how pleased she was that he accepted her invitation, even though they had not spoken in years. Alex was a former high school sweetheart, now dating back 15 years, and their three year on-and-off relationship was everything but smooth. Their inevitable end came after the tower of yelling matches, sloppy apologies, and late night backseat romps collapsed under their own weight. Despite their turbulent past, the host showed no visible signs of animosity toward her ex-lover. Alex had forgotten all past hostility long ago and actually looked forward to an evening of catching up and reminiscing. They casually spoke of where life had presently taken them, how they got there, and beyond as they sat distantly facing each other on the couch.
         
As the conversation gained momentum and memories started to escape from their lips, the present inherently vanished as the past was reconstructed right before their eyes. Each of Erin’s movements associated with the recreations of their history became more and more tantalizing as she delicately slid closer to him. Her poisonously hypnotizing voice placed Alex in a momentary trance, for he started to feel the same rush he had 15 years prior. Unexpectedly, he jumped up, fearing the images of Erin’s bare teenage body in the backseat of his old Chevy Blazer. This reaction did not surprise Erin, though, because she knew and expected the effects of her intentional temptations. She laughed, got up, and went into the kitchen for some refreshments.
         
When she returned with a pitcher of iced tea and lemon squares, Alex appeared to have relaxed. As they sipped the chilled lemon tea and nibbled on the desserts, their conversation unnoticeably slid back towards the skeletons hung within their mutual closet. The now adult Alex eventually asked if Erin still wrote like a madwoman. He laughed as he swore he always thought her writing would go places and she would make a name for herself; for in all his memories, his early lover was always scribbling one thing or another in any one of the beat up notebooks she carried. However, to this, Erin only solemnly stated that she had given up that dream many years ago. She then nodded towards the guest room, where Alex caught a glimpse of the mounds of disorganized folders, notebooks, and papers. It was explained that even though she stopped writing, she still couldn’t bring herself to put her personal chronicles in the attic, fearing she would box up, forget, and lose her history.
         
Not understanding what she meant or why she was so unsettled, he kept prompting her to go deeper inside her head to reveal the secrets of her upsetting halt in writing. She spoke evenly, trying to keep her smooth voice from cracking. As his interest grew, so did her heartbeat, matching the intensity the subject produced. Erin knew the moments that made her mouth water were merely around the corner; but she held back, reserved, careful not to show her baneful white teeth. She divulged how pen and paper were her only true companions, as they never judged her uncensored thoughts and opinions; But they became a cesspool for darkness to grow and resentment to stay alive. As time went on, she wrote less and less, but reread more and more, becoming fully absorbed in all the angst she had ever once felt - until she finally broke. In her eyes, her breaking point came in the form of an epiphany, a solid solution capable of dissolving the web of restrictions she wove around her lethargic life.
         
Erin explained all of this to Alex, but one question still remained: How did she break out of the cynical obsession with her past? She told her guest that she had found a form of therapy and would tell him when he was ready; she first wanted to show him something in the guest room. Intrigued, and ultimately confused, Alex followed her, and when she handed him a faded black spiral notebook with yellowed pages, he obliviously accepted. Erin’s eyes fiercely locked and held his while she announced that this very notebook contained living memories of what they once shared. Of their three years. Of their passion. Of their anger. As he became absorbed in their past, Alex was casually guided to sit upon the end of the sun-bathed bed. She motioned for him to flip through the archives and really refresh himself on what they truly had. For pages, each word he read whipped viciously through him; these were not eloquent love poems, but savage accounts of purposefully forgotten occasions. While her guest was completely entrenched in documented thoughts from long ago, Erin rearranged piles of nostalgia and fixed her hair in the mirror trying to conceal the growing anticipation. As she flitted about the room, her hand came upon and grasped a canary vase arranged beautifully with sunflowers. She gracefully placed herself behind Alex, and startled by feeling her presence, he looked up with eyes of sheer astonishment. He needed to know why she had felt like this, why she never talked to him about how she felt, and he tried to apologize for the sudden guilt that had seized him.
         
Erin did not answer his questions, nor did she accept his apology, instead she pleasantly informed him that he was ready to learn how she coped with her demons. Before Alex could even raise a inquisitive brow, he fell to the floor with his eyes rolled back into a puddle of blood, glass, and golden petals.
         
Alex groggily awoke to a paralyzing headache, and when he reached to touch where the vase made contact, he couldn’t. His right wrist was bound to the upper right bedpost, as were each of his limbs tethered to the according posts. Through disoriented eyes, he could just make out the image of Erin standing in the doorway. He believed he saw a finger pressed up against her lips, motioning for him to be quiet, and obliged more so out of fear than out of respectful compliance. With her hands neatly clasped behind her back, Erin sauntered over to the bedside and paused for a moment to digest the divine horror so visible in her guest’s bloodshot eyes. Once she had her fill, she continued with the routine. When her hands began to swiftly tie a silk rope in his mouth, her full lips parted to produce the explanation Alex was so painfully waiting to hear. 
         
Erin’s tongue sharpened as her therapy began. She started off at a viciously slow pace, dragging out her victim’s agony by allowing each coarse syllable to linger, then sink. She expanded upon some of the memories from the black spiral notebook and interlaced the ruthless lecture with brutal examinations of their current position. The more fire that spit out of Erin’s mouth, the more she spiraled into a fury of manic flashbacks; combined with her rapid words, she blurred into one single, vengeful tornado. She was fully embraced and enveloped within the arms of power surrounding her revenge. She was God. The more rage and excitement she conjured, the more her heart hammered against her chest. The next thing to do was what really brought a twisted peace of mind.
         
Erin knew a euphoric sense of self-reliance was upon her, so she tried not to rush. To act without savoring the moment was not an option, so she steadied her speech as she executed her final words. As the last few venomous remarks cut through the air, Erin seductively crawled on top of her guest, settled on his hips, leaned forward, and held his face in her tender hands. Without words, she stayed this way until her mind perfectly painted this more-than-satisfying picture to remember Alexander Burman by. Delirious, he felt the gentle shift of her weight and heard the opening drawer of the nightstand beside him. Next thing he knew, Erin’s cheek pressed into his as she embraced his shaking torso. She murmured a few sweet nothings, gently kissed his lips, and raised her face just enough to meet her ex-lover’s flooded gaze. Her vile lips formed a perfect smile, her eyes glimmered, and in one elegant and unforeseen motion, her hand guided a delicate blade across his throat. The moment of release she was waiting for. She felt real. She felt alive. With this rush, the ghost of Alex Burman was relinquished. Her whole body tingled and felt at ease. Her therapy session was over.
         
In the morning sun the following day, Erin hummed gayly to herself as she finished in the garden. She rose into the playful wind with a crooked smile and allowed the beauty of her newest sunflower to settle and satisfy her mind.