Hansel 4(3)

The fullness in my chest and throat begins to choke me as I think of her. Pain stabs through me, swift and searing, and I have no choice. I have to move. To get away.

My feet hit the floor, and my knees buckle.

I see her face in the swirl of the ceiling.

“I’m not sending you to strangers. Shelly would never forgive me. I have a plan for you. You’re coming with me.”

The empty hallway swims in shadows. The torches are always a surprise when I come up on one of them. They’re bright, and I can feel their warmth on my bare shoulders. In between the torches, it’s a little darker, but not too hard to see. I pass a few windows, cloaked in curtains, and there’s light around the edges.

In between two of the doors—I think it’s Rapunzel and Snow White—I stop and try to stroke myself off. I’m tired of this boner. It gets in the way, and makes me think of pussy when I need to focus.

Why’d she let me out, I wonder again as I jack myself off.

Anxiety swells in me, and it turns straight to fear.

I can’t get off. I’m too dizzy. I turn around, facing the direction of the foyer—the direction of the foyer, I think—and I have to put my hand on the wall for balance. I’m so stupid. Mother is right. If she tries some funny shit, I can’t even run.

I move slowly down the hall, looking at everything. The doors, so tall and thick, with little metal keypads beside each knob. The texture of the curtains: fuzzy, almost like velvet, and the color of grape juice. I find a dry leaf on the floor and take the time to bend and pick it up.

I love this. Walking.

After a while, I come upon this statue of a naked man. I laugh when I see it and look from his dick to mine.

I laugh again, and slap him on the arm.

It’s getting easier to move now. I can see the mouth of the hall. Beyond it, a space that looks bigger and brighter. That must be the foyer. I know I’ve seen it before, but I don’t remember very well. Mother used to like to keep me drunk, back when I shared her room.

I walk twenty-one more steps, and I’m there—stepping out of the hallway and into the vast space of the foyer. It’s not like any foyer that I’ve ever seen. That’s for fuck sure. It’s at least two stories tall, with a bunch of paintings and shit hung around, and some weird iron balconies just stuck to the wall, going to nowhere. There’s a fancy lamp thing hanging high over what I think must be the front doors of the house.

I look to the left and right, drinking in the windows, framed by huge curtains; a couple of comfortable looking couches and chairs. I breathe deeply. The air out here smells good and fresh, like cinnamon. I amble across a rug and sink down into one of the couches. It’s soft, sort of like suede, with a bunch of big pillows.

I take my dick in my hand, prop one of the pillows between my legs, and start to work on my boner. A few minutes later, I come into my hand. My eyes are closed before I have a chance to wonder what the big surprise was.

*

When I come to, I’m freezing. I wedge my back and ass into the soft cushions, then freeze because I don’t know where the fuck I am. Nothing looks familiar. Because this is the foyer. Right. I start to shiver as I look around.

It’s dark and shadowy, reminding me of another vast, shadowy room. I nearly puke from even thinking of that night, and have to sit up and put my head between my knees.

I wrap my arms around my legs and just sit there, waiting for something. Thinking. I’m still hard, because at seventeen, I don’t need Viagra. After a minute, I lie down and try to pound another one out. Some of the curtains are still open, so I can see the darkness getting darker as I whack off.

When I’m finished, I wipe my sticky palm on one of the couch pillows and look around for a blanket. I don’t find one, but I do see some lights somewhere outside: twin beacons, like headlights.

My heart thunders. If there are lights outside, that means someone is coming. That…or Mother is gone. She left me here alone. I feel weird about that—surprisingly so. Almost like the way it was when she first left me in my room. As much as I hate that twisted bitch, I hate being alone much more.

Abandoned, I think bitterly. Even just the word rubs something raw inside me.

I get up and walk over to the doors, and listen as her tires crunch over the gravel. Is it cold out there? I go over to a window to the left of the door, because I want to know. It’s not summer. I know that much, because of the leaf I found in the hall.

By the look of a few aspens I can see, and the cool of the glass against my palm, I think it must be fall. I watch, holding my breath, as the lights in the car come on. I feel a rush of relief and disappointment when Mother emerges.

It’s fucking weird to see her outside. She seems pissed off as she opens the back door of her SUV. She leans over, and I see her wrestling with…a rug?