Short Story: To Rapunzel, With Love...

 

It's hard to believe it's been two years since I moved into the house with no exit. Of course, I didn't know there was no way out at the time as everything seemed so normal. I don't remember much of my life before he came into it. I struggle to remember the person I was, either. All I  know is I was very different from the person telling you this story. 

We met for the first time one evening at a local bar. I was a marketing professional in her mid-twenties who had just earned her first big promotion to Marketing Executive. I was out with my friends to celebrate and we hadn't long popped the champagne when a tall, handsome-looking man came across to our table. Little did I know that the attractive appearance and gentlemanly manner were merely a disguise he wore to hide his true self. Caught off guard and swept up in the celebrations, I couldn't help but be mesmerised by him. So when he asked for my number, I found myself giving it to him almost in a daze, barely thinking twice. 

The first few months, he swept me off my feet. He was charming and charismatic, funny and kind. He would go out of his way to surprise me, leaving me entranced in every way. But all was not as it seemed. Soon his facade began to slip,  his true identity revealing itself. I wasn't aware that when he squeezed my shoulder or my arm when we're in public, he did so a little too tightly. I also hadn't noticed every excuse I made to friends when cancelling plans had come from his mouth first. He was smart like that. So I had no idea that when he closed the front door behind me one night, he had set an invisible lock to keep me in and the rest of the world out. 

So, my life has been much the same ever since. I gave up my new executive role not long after moving in here because who needs a job when your partner can provide most things for you? I waited each day for him to arrive home because there was little else to do hauled up in my ivory tower. I sat by the bedroom window and stared out at the neighbours as they did the most ordinary of things. I sometimes wondered if I had screamed, would they have heard me. Somehow, I knew they wouldn't. 

At 5 o'clock every day - almost to the second - he arrived home from work. Traditionally, I would be waiting downstairs for him,  but one day I lost track of time staring out the window and jumped a mile high when I heard the front door slam shut. I waited for him to call my name from downstairs, "Rapunzel!" I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing. His footsteps began to climb the stairs. Again he called my name "Rapunzel!" I quickly scanned the room for a reason, any excuse for my silence. I grabbed a pair of his trousers lying by the washing basket just as he entered the room. 

“Oh hi," I replied, putting on my biggest smile, noticing the strain in my voice and hoping he didn't. "How was your day?" He stared from me to the scrunched up clothing in my hand. I felt it close tighter around the fabric as I willed the rest of my body to loosen as I moved towards him. 

"What are you doing up here?" He frowned. "I've been calling you from the hallway." I could feel his eyes on me as I tried to move past him casually towards the door. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. I realised I missed your trousers whilst I was putting the washing on earlier and I ran up here to grab them. So, how was your day?" Again he ignored my question and grabbed me by the wrist. I knew he wanted me to look him in the eyes, as if behind them lay a lie detector that only he could read. I hesitated, but not for more than half a second any more than that would play into his paranoia which he wouldn't like. Come to think of it, neither would I. I met his gaze unblinkingly then when his grip on my wrist loosened I smiled, leaving the room and making my way downstairs to prove I hand nothing to hide. Of course, I didn't. I never did. I got to the kitchen and had put his trousers into the washing machine by the time he joined me, sitting at the table without another word.  I made sure not to let my relief show on my face. Again, I had nothing to hide, but it's like driving in front of a police car that just so happens to be behind you in traffic - you can't help but feel like you’ve done something wrong.

I had begun to notice that things were starting to change about a year after I found myself living here, although I tried hard to pretend that they weren't. I remember he got mad one night because I was messaging friends on my phone when we were supposed to be watching a film together. "You pay everyone else more attention than you do me," he shouted, pulling my phone from my hand, "You say I am the most important person in your life? So act like it. Everyone else can wait." I think they've stopped waiting now. He'd get mad when they would text, worrying where I was. So I pushed them away because it seemed the simplest thing to do. The trouble is that back then I didn't know any different. He would tell me that these rules were what true love was all about. He told me that it was him and me against the world and that I would never need anyone else. Eventually he got rid of my phone - “accidentally” dropping down the stairs one day - and that’s when I finally realised that there was no way out. No door for me to exit, no life to go back to, I admitted defeat. But then The Postman came.

It was a couple of weeks after the incident with the trousers. The postmen usually came every morning to deliver the mail. They would leave parcels outside on the doorstep and be on their way. But this one day there was a new postman who came in the worst of weathers. Rather than leave the parcel sat in the rain, he knocked on the door. At first, I thought I'd got confused. I thought it was just the heavy rain pounding on the windows. Then he called out. "Hello?" I sat up from the armchair and stared towards the hallway. "Hello?" He called out again, this time even louder. I crept up to the front door and peered out of the small window beside it. A friendly smile beamed up at me, scaring me half to death.

I wrenched my  face away from the window, pressing myself against the door but not before the postman caught sight of me. “Could you sign for this please, love?” He asked me nicely. I hesitated. He hadn’t moved from the doorstep but I could sense his eyes peering into window where my face had just disappeared from. I held my breath, waiting for him to speak again but after a few moments I heard the sound of an engine starting up and when I chanced a second glance out the window, I could see his van driving down the road, the parcel left against the other side of the front door. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. I ran through the last few minutes in my head. The pouring rain, the friendly smile. It was the first time I had come into contact with another person is such a long time, let alone another man. What if I had spoken back to him? What would he think? No, I hadn’t done anything wrong, there was nothing for him to get angry at. I just had to be more careful next time to make sure I didn’t come into contact with the Postman again.Yet I did. The Postman came back. At first, he just posted letters through the door a couple of times a week and caught me glancing out the window. When he waved at me, I'd back away nervously. Soon he began linger slightly longer before walking away and in return, I took a moment longer to step away from the window. Each day his smile became a bit brighter, his wave more eager and I felt myself repeating the gestures. One day, I watched as he walked up to the door, heard the thud of letters hit the hallway floor and waited for him to turn towards me but this time, he made his way straight back to his van without a second glance. Confused, I made my way pick up the mail and as I did, I noticed a small slip of paper tucked in between the pile of envelopes. It simply read: “Have a nice day, The Postman” I ran my fingers against the handwritten note and felt something quite like an electric shock pass through me. I stared down at the message for a moment, my heart racing with long-forgotten feelings of excitement before dread came crashing down on top of it. I had to get rid of the note before he got home. I ran into the kitchen and picked up a lighter. Holding it over the sink I set fire to the corner of the note and watched as the message slowly crumpled and turned to ash. 

All that night I lay awake trying to decide whether to send a note back to the Postman. The feeling of excitement was still stirring inside me but even just thinking about it whilst he lay beside me was terrifying, as if my thoughts were so loud they might wake him up. I barely slept that night but by the time he left for work the next more I knew I had to, wanted to, reply to the Postman. I grabbed a notepad and pen from the kitchen and sat for a long while, trying to decide what to say. In the end I wrote, “Hi there, my name is Rapunzel.” I waited in my usual spot for the Postman and when I saw him coming up the driveway, I quickly slid the note through the letter box. I heard him bend down to pick it up and after a few moments, he passed it back through to me, having written his own message on the back. “Hi Rapunzel. I’m Paul.” With that he walked away. From that moment on, Paul came to the house with mail every day and each time, I would post him my reply to his message from the previous day and in return he would post a response. After a while, the notes were getting longer and more detailed so that he would take my note away with him and post his response the following day. We started talking about the weather, how busy his job was, and what he had planned for the weekend. I began to wait for him to arrive every day just to get hold of his notes. It was the highlight of my day and my little secret. I began to open up to him. Never entirely, but just enough to let him know I wanted more than what had. I was careful every day to burn the notes before he got home and every morning I would wait for him to leave for work before writing my reply having memorised the Postman’s notes over and over again in my head. 

Then one day, the Postman suggested a plan to get me out of that house for good. It was a brilliant plan. We set a date where he would come to deliver a parcel with me being ready and waiting to jump into his van and go. We planned it for late morning, one day mid-week when he would be at work. It would be my way out. It was perfect; It should have been foolproof. However, the day before the great escape, I’d been horrified to see him walking up the driveway an hour before he was due home whilst I had been halfway through reading my latest letter. Panicking, I jumped to my feet and ran to the kitchen, pretending to be busy preparing dinner.

“Rapunzel?”…"Rapunzel? Where are -“ he stopped mid sentence. I put down the pot I had just picked up and listened. I heard the rustling of paper and my heart fell to my stomach. I ran back into the living room just in time to find him picking up the letter from where I had dropped it moments before. Horrorstruck, I watched as his body went rigid. His eyes bore down onto the letter that I knew was revealing my escape plan. His eyes darted towards me and it was all I could do not let my weightless knees fall beneath me. When he spoke, his calm, steady voice tore through me like ice. "I think I'll take a day off tomorrow." 

The next day, locked in the bedroom with no way out, I sat helplessly and listened as he worked out a plan of his own. As promised, The Postman arrived just before eleven and knocked on the door "Rapunzel….Rapunzel." he called. The door opened and to the Postman's horror, it was he who stood on the other side. I could hear their muffled voices as I pressed my ear against the door. 

"Where is she?" The Postman demanded. 

“She’s not here. And even if she were, she wouldn't be going anywhere with you." There was a sound of something hitting the door and a grunt of impatience. "Take your foot off my doorstep before I remove it myself." he threatened tensely. 

"RAPUNZEL." The Postman cried in vain. I wanted to call back to him but fear caught my tongue. Even if I did shout back, what would he be able to do with me locked away in this tiny room? 

"Leave now," he demanded, "otherwise I will make sure you never work in this neighbourhood again. A moment of silence sounded before the front door was closed. I let out a soft, muffled cry as I rested my forehead helplessly against the bedroom door. 

Over the next few days, he took more time off work, watching the window for signs of the Postman just as much as he watched my every move, his eyes twitching back at forth magnetically. 

On the fourth morning, he had been standing guard spying on his expected prey, when the sound of the phone ringing froze us both where we stood. He signalled for me to stay put as he left his watchpoint to pick up the mobile phone that was buzzing and bleeping on the coffee table. His face drew into a frown. "Withheld number…" he murmured before answering. I watched from the kitchen doorway as he listened intently for a moment before hanging up the call with a growl. "Bloody scammers." he snarled. Just as he set the phone down, there was a sharp clatter and a light thud from the hallway. "Damn. Now I've missed him!" He rushed out of the living room and appeared a moment later with a pile of letters in hand. Flipping through with a look of pure distaste,  he came to rest on a small red piece of card at the bottom of the pile. "Bloody useless." he fumed, throwing the rest of the mail onto the table beside the phone. "They've delivered the letters but couldn't deliver a parcel at the same time. Now I've got to drive to the post office to collect it. Useless!" I followed him back into the hallway as he threw on his coat. He stopped and glanced back at me uncertainly. "I'll stay, I promise," I said to reassure him.  It seemed to have the opposite effect as he suddenly grabbed my arm, pulling me up the stairs and into the bedroom, locking me inside. "Don't be ridiculous!" I screamed, slamming my fists against the door, but he was already back down the stairs and making his way out of the house. I ran to the window and watched him leave. Turning back to face the room, I sunk miserably onto the edge of the bed. 

No more than five minutes had passed since he had left when there was a sudden and urgent knock on the door. "Rapunzel…Rapunzel!" came the voice of the Postman. I ran back to the window, throwing it open and leaning out, hardly believing it could be him. 

"What are you doing here?" I called. "He'll be back any minute, he's gone to the post office to collect a parcel" There was a short pause.

"I know…" said the Postman with the hint of satisfaction in his voice, "I was the one who posted the letters. Now, quickly - open the door.” 

"I can't," I said "he's locked me in the bedroom" The Postman stared around frantically. "I think there's a ladder in the garage," I said, pointing to the side of the house. It didn't take the Postman long to find the ladder, dragging it up against the house, the top of it just reaching my window sill. Carefully I climbed out of the window and gently lowered myself down into the safety of the Postman's arms. He smiled as relief washed over me like a spell having been broken. We ran across the lawn and jumped into his van. As he started the engine and began to pull away, I took one final glance behind us as he asked, "So, what now?"