You know you shouldn’t be here. But again, you can’t help yourself. You’ve lost track of how many days you’ve come to this place. At first you told yourself it was the shade; you just needed a minute out of the brutal beating of the sun. The way it makes your skin blister and burn after only a few minutes under its harsh rays. You thought you might duck under the overgrowth of green tangles and knotted vines. You’re curious, but you need a minute to catch your breath, too.
Today, you tell yourself the same story.
The air is stifling. You trip on the uneven sidewalk covered in crawling fingers of green. That should be your clue that danger is hidden. The temperature drops the farther into the branches you go. You feel them close behind you, not a trap, but a protection from the outside. It’s darker here in the shadow of the house. Her soft brick is cool to the touch as you use her sides as a guide. You think to yourself that yesterday there was a broken sidewalk path along the edges of the house. But today it’s gone. Only thick, crawling branches cover where the concrete was. The bench is still here, vines climbing its sides, but the rough wood is untouched in the middle, open, just enough space for you. But today you wonder about the inside.
Something like desire churns in your belly as you think about what her insides might be like. Her windows stare into you. You both wait on the other to make the first move. Your heart beats in your ears, the silence heavy in your gut. Just when your foot begins to twitch in anticipation, she blinks. Movement in her eyes, a curtain ruffles in the breeze.
You know it’s your invitation.
You exhale in relief. She says you can enter, and you don’t wait. Her grand entry is everything you knew it would be. Ornate wood covers the walls in deep arches, you can smell the wood polish even with her draping of webs. If the sun could reach inside her walls, it would glitter with crystals dripping from the lights. You want to tell her how stunning she is, but you feel shy now that you’re finally in her presence. She waits on you. You can go no further until you praise her, admire her, give her the honor she is due. A distant memory tells you not to, but you can’t stop yourself. You find your voice; it squeaks out and echoes in her empty halls.
“You must have been gorgeous in your day.”
You know it’s wrong as soon as the words leave your lips. A shudder passes under your feet. Her anger vibrates through the walls. You can feel it in your feet first, a harsh buzz trying to knock you over. You stand still waiting for it to pass, longing to brace yourself or hold on to her walls. But she moves away from you, leaving you to shiver in fear until you end up on all fours. Your hands and feet burn and ache where they meet her floors. When she stops and slows her anger you sit back, and she lets you lean against her. Your breathing slows down and she cradles your head against her deep blue papered walls. The flowers and vines begin to comb through your hair, and you know she has forgiven you. You want to make her happy again so this time you tell her what she wants to hear.
“You are mesmerizing. Thank you for protecting me.”
Her pleasure at your words is immense. She pulls you deeper into her walls. You see yourself staying this time, you won’t leave when it gets dark. You will stay with her. You’re heavy, drowsy with affection for her. She surrounds you, and you are content. Her vines braid into your hair; her soft carpet becomes your bed. The wood of her floors and bookcases are your sturdy support. Can you ever leave? She has embedded herself into you. And you are happy in her cool darkness, until it’s too late.
When your stomach rumbles in hunger you remember who you are, where you are. You reprimand yourself for your curiosity about her. You tell yourself it’s dark, and people will worry or wonder where you are again. You push your hands down into her floors to hoist yourself up, but she has pulled you too far down for another day. Where the softness of her vines in your hair felt comforting before, now is tight and your head aches from the pressure. Panic begins to churn; your legs are asleep, twinges of pain vibrate in them. The floor, once soft and inviting, is now hard and dense. You know you must be sweet with her. Tell her you will be back tomorrow. Just like yesterday.
“Thank you for caring for me. I’ll be back. I promise.”
And even when she is pulling your hair and pinching your legs, you know you will return. She has captured you, and you both know it. She loosens her trailing vines from your hair, unwinding her fingers. She lets you stand up, your body aching from her holding so tight. You’re relieved, but sad too. You feel too free, too light, untethered somehow. You stand, waiting for her to hold you again. But she doesn’t and you walk out into the midnight air. You stand out on the veranda knowing you must go but longing to go back to her. She shimmers around you. She scares and thrills you equally. You search for your way out, the green tangles even thicker than yesterday. You tell yourself you shouldn’t come back tomorrow. But she knows you will—that’s why she lets you go. Your own hopelessness will bring you back. You catch your breath as you get farther away.
Tonight, you will tell him where you’ve been going.