This piece started out as an adaptation of Beauty and the Beast, although since then it's changed quite a bit. I'd like to think it stands alone now. I put a lot of myself into Valentine, and a lot of the hope I have for my future. The foreign girl and the five eccentricsIt wasn’t so long ago (although it seems like an era to those involved) that Valentine arrived at that house. She’d seen pictures, of course, but the images in the ad hadn’t done it justice. It was stunning. It stood alone and it seemed as though it was put there a long time ago by some sort of accident. It seemed regal, and the rosebushes that surrounded it gave it an air of mystery. Valentine looked at the receipt she’d received in the mail when she rented this place for a few weeks. Key under doormat, it read. Valentine approached the large double doors. She looked down. There was no doormat. There was, however, a note scribbled on an old shopping list, taped to the front step. Doormat behind fountain. Weird. Valentine looked and sure enough, the doormat was behind the large fountain, along with the key.
When Valentine entered she almost gasped. Almost. She wasn’t one for gasping or gawking or showing any emotion really, other than frustration and, occasionally, hunger. Still, the place was beautiful. Gold shone from every corner of the room. The ceiling was painted beautifully with a mural, and to her right, Valentine saw what she could only describe as a ballroom. Best of all, though, it was empty. Blissfully, peacefully, safely empty. Valentine took in a breath just to hear her sigh echo across the vast entryway. As she made her way upstairs, she reveled in the sound her shoes made on the hardwood floor, without yelling and crying and all the other human chaos that muffles such calming sounds. Valentine was alone, and that was her goal all along. She had come to the UK to start over, and isolation was the first step. Strangely enough, this was the least lonely she’d felt in a long time. Valentine entered a few rooms before deciding on one. It wasn’t the biggest, but it had the biggest windows and a balcony that looked out into the forest, which made it the best in Valentine’s mind. She opened the curtains and began unpacking when she felt someone watching her. She turned around and screamed. There was a person. A tall, gangly, black-haired person with an honest-to-god handlebar mustache sporting a vest and top hat was standing in the doorway watching her with nothing more than polite interest. “You found the doormat,” he said, sounding quite pleased with himself. Valentine didn’t respond. She was busy gawking (much to her chagrin). “The doormat,” the man repeated, as though Valentine was deaf. “They always do. Find the doormat, I mean. But I have to hide it, or else the Russians will break-in. They watch us, you know. They can’t see behind the fountain,” the man added. “I’m staying here. In this house.” Valentine said. “Well yes, I can see that. I’m not blind, you know. Not that there’s anything wrong with being blind, I’m just not,” The man responded. “I’m staying here alone.” “Perhaps you, miss, are the blind one. Because if you could see, you would realize that you are in fact in the presence of another person, therefore you are not alone. Then again, who is alone, really, what with the ghosts and aliens and such. Not to mention the cameras that the government hides in fruit.” The man entered the room. “I’m Henry. Henry Manchester. Henry Alistair Montgomery Edgar Manchester,” He finished. “Well, Henry, I rented this place, so I think you should go,” Valentine said. “I will,” Henry said. “I will go back to my room in this house, just as soon as you tell me your name. See, this big old house would be quite lonely for one person, so instead there’s five of us. Well, six, now with you.” “I’m Valentine. Goodbye,” Valentine said. Henry tipped his hat and exited. Only then did Valentine notice the fine print on her receipt. Roommates to be expected. She was almost certain that that wasn’t there before. ⁂ Despite her best efforts, Valentine became acquainted with the other five of her unwelcome housemates. As she snuck down the stairs to try and find food, she met Penelope, a woman who managed to talk and talk, despite the fact that she spoke very little English. When Valentine was in the bathroom, a man called Gregory Divus walked in on her. Valentine exclaimed “Oh my god!” and Gregory responded with a dry “there isn’t any.” and left. There was the CPS social worker who introduced herself as Aimie Vanderbilt, and finally, a woman dressed almost exclusively in black athletic wear, save for her leather gun holster, who’s name was Alissandra Aveyard. Valentine was immediately put off by the lot of them and resigned to stay in her room as much as she could until she could move out. ⁂ Days passed, then weeks, and each day the five would invite Valentine on some ridiculous excursion. Each day she declined. Each morning, Gregory would knock thrice on her door and deliver her breakfast. Gregory was an excellent cook, aggressive though he was. Aside from the breakfast, though, Valentine was doing a fantastic job of avoiding them. Alissandra would ask her if she wanted to eat with them every night (they ate at European times, which meant dinner was at 8:30 at the earliest), but after Valentine declined, she wouldn’t persist. Alissandra scared Valentine. More specifically, her guns scared Valentine. Another thing Valentine was succeeding at was starting over. She had changed her phone number, and no one knew where she was. She’d been going to bars and meeting girls who she’d go on dates with (though nothing ever came of any of it), and sometimes girls would even approach her first. She cut her hair short, which she liked a lot more, and she was even happy when Penelope told her it suited her. That same day, when Alissandra came to invite her to dinner, Valentine accepted, if only because she smelled freshly baked bread and cinnamon; an irresistible combination. All night the six of them talked, and though Valentine was still slightly unnerved by the other five’s eccentric mannerisms, she grew more comfortable as the night progressed. Around midnight, she heard her phone ring from upstairs, and she excused herself. When Valentine got to her room, she picked up her phone. “Hello?” She said. At first, there was no answer. “Who is this?” She asked. “Val. Come back,” The voice was all too familiar. Valentine’s stomach dropped and she sat down, feeling faint. “No, Markus. I’m starting over. Don’t call me back,” She said quietly, shaking with fear, remembering how he’d screamed at her when she had come out to him. How, when she told him she wouldn’t try and change, he told her he’d find her, no matter where she went. “Okay. Sorry,” He said. Valentine sighed of relief. But Markus continued. “Sorry. But you’re a horrible person. You’re disgusting and manipulative, and I hope you never find love,” He started. Valentine sat there, shocked. He threatened her and called her horrendous names. Finally, Valentine started to cry. “What do you want from me?” She said quietly, through her tears. “What do you want from me, Markus?” She was yelling now. “I can’t change. Trust me, I’ve tried. I’ve tried for you, and I’ve tried for me, and I’ve tried for everyone else who tells me they love me. But I can’t Markus, and they don’t. No one loves me and I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone, because I will never be enough,” She cried louder. Markus kept yelling, and soon all five of Valentine’s housemates were in her room. First, there were queries of “what’s going on” which were ignored by all parties. But everyone could hear Markus yelling over the phone. Aimie sat next to Valentine and Gregory told her to hang up. She didn’t, though, and Markus kept talking. “I’m gonna find you,” He yelled. “And when I do I’m gonna kill you,” he was screaming. Valentine was hysterical now, and Penelope took the phone and started yelling right back at him. Although she couldn’t speak much English, she knew how to say “knock it off, jerk,” in fifty different ways, each more profane than the last. Finally, Alissandra hung up the phone and for a while Valentine just sat there, crying and shaking. Henry was the first to hug her. Henry, who thought that the government encouraged physical contact in order to brainwash their citizens into feeling cared for. Then the rest of them followed, and Gregory, the man who would talk about the irrationality of a higher power at extensive length to anyone who would (or wouldn’t) listen, asked if she was okay. When Valentine couldn’t answer because she was hiccuping, Alissandra, the gun-wielding, American flag flying, all-black wearing woman with a penchant for fancy knives, brought her a glass of water and kleenex. Aimie refused to let go of Valentine, and whenever Valentine would start crying again, Aimie would hug her tighter, because she just cared so much about the well-being of every hurt person in the world, and the kids she separated from their parents were no exception. Valentine kept apologising, and Penelope would always tell her that she was guiltless in this situation and that she was safe, and that was exactly what Valentine needed to hear. Henry changed Valentine’s phone number immediately (he knew how because he changed his weekly), and Gregory brought her cake. All five of them stayed with her all night, and once she’d calmed down, Valentine realised something. Every one of these people was a little insane, and a little broken, and a little weird. And every one of them was strong and kind and beautiful, and Valentine knew it then. She knew something had happened that she never thought would happen in a million years. “I love you,” she said. “I love all of you. So, so much. And you saved me tonight, even though I’ve been nothing but tiresome and stiff and rude. I’m so sorry. And I’m so, incredibly lucky.” And in that moment, Valentine knew she’d be okay. Maybe not fine, but she’d be safe, and happy sometimes, and loved. She’d never been loved like this before, and she’d never loved like this before, and in finding these people, she realized she’d found the most important thing of all: family. She’d never had one of those before. ⁂ Matthew Ames approached the large Tudor house, with two suitcases in hand and a receipt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Key under doormat” it read. Matthew saw no doormat, but he did notice a Post-It on the front step that said “doormat in rosebush.” Matthew shook his head and read it again. A group of six odd people looked out the upstairs window and laughed, excited for what was to come.
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