I forget faces, eyes colours, body shapes, postures, hobbies, even names as time passes. But it’s the screams I remember. Screams of horror for some, shock for others. Their pitches, frequency and volume differ as my targets become older. It used to be thirteen years old girls. Now, four years later I aim for the seniors. Like me. I guess it gives me hope that they’ll understand what’s wrong with me better than the younger ones. I have to hope, sometimes. Unlike bodies though, the screams have nothing in common except one thing.

They’re always directed towards me. My cursed self, that is. No one would look twice at my perfect, old body. Even though, over time, it’s aged quite a bit. I was cursed at thirteen, actually, hence the young girls I once dated. Since then, it’s been me and Andrew Jr. against the world. And even though, after four years of trying, no one has loved me for who I am inside, I refuse to believe I’ll stay cursed forever. As I said before, I have to hope, sometimes.

In the timespan of four years, 1059 screams have left my girlfriends’ mouths. I’ve had almost as many girlfriends as that number. The last scream my ears heard was that of Melody Ryan. Another name to tick off my list. Another town to move from. Every single date ends the same way. The screams. The girls jump back in shock as I program Andrew Jr.’s head to slide off so that I can introduce myself. More than once, they’ve grazed their knees or torn their beautiful dresses while trying to scramble away from my horrible interior.

I never let anyone see my interior until I am sure that they love me. It’s been my guideline, for the past few years. Too many girls have run away calling the police about poor Andrew Jr. after my first introductions, when they were done too early into the relationship. Sometimes I wish Andrew Jr. would break or something. Maybe it would rid me of my curse forever. The thing is, I built him for a reason.

Andrew Jr. is my Exterior.

I am the Interior. 

Beneath my exterior is my cursed body. I built Andrew Jr. because no one would even notice my cursed self at school, or anywhere for that matter. Since then, my dating status has become more and more promising… right up till the big screaming sessions. My mental status has collapsed in that time, though. Inside Andrew Jr., away from everyone else, I am lonely. Sitting at the captain’s quarters, my hands controlling the exterior expertly, she talks to me. The witch without a name. The witch who cursed me for the numb nuts thirteen year old I once was.

See, witch? My interior agrees with you! 

The witch only answers when I’m at a loss. Basically, every time I go to bed at night, curled up in a tight ball at Andrew Jr.’s steering wheel.

I’ve learnt my lesson already. I think, knowing she’ll reply.

I know. She tells me. I was dumb for cursing you at such a young age. I was practicing magic and thought you needed to be taught a lesson.

It’s okay. I think eventually. The witch falls silent shortly after.

Mist was a toddler when she cursed me. I remember walking home from school and spotting her crying at the base of a plastic red slippery slide. Her knee had been grazed to the bone and her parents were nowhere to be seen. I’d walked up to her, already angry at everything because I’d gotten suspended from school. Mist had calmed down a little at my presence, hastily wiping the thick tears from her deep purple eyes. She stared at me as I approached with wide, curious eyes. Her hair, after only three or four years of growth, reached her ankles. Witches always have black hair.

“Can you pwease help me?” The little version of the witch asked, showing me her ugly, deep wound. I wondered at the time why she’d suddenly halted her crying at my approach. The wound, so large and so gruesome looking, oozed a mixture of blood and pus as I looked at it. Her tiny legs were stained crimson. ‘Mist’, her name, was written on her purple t shirt, which matched the young witch’s eyes.

I laughed in the child’s face. “I have my own problems, kid.” I snapped, walking past her, my destination being her equally violet crib, parked alone a few metres behind her. I reached underneath the basket and grabbed Mist’s mother’s wallet, checking I wasn’t being watched. I unzipped the leather thing and stuffed the whole one hundred dollars into my pocket before shoving it back into the crib.

“Shhtttooopppiez!” The toddler whined, somehow managing to shuffle around on her ruined knees so she faced me.

I laughed loudly. “Have fun playing, kid.” I snapped, before turning away and beginning to walk home with the money.

“Mommy will be cross!” Mist yelled after me. I rolled my eyes as I continued across the park. Before I could round the corner and sneak out of sight though, I’d felt my body freeze itself, like I’d just had an eye off with Medusa. I gritted my teeth in panic, thinking I was having a fit. I couldn’t move a muscle.

Suddenly, I felt weird, like I was as light as air. Tiny purple wisps of smoke surrounded me and I felt myself being lifted off the ground. My whole body went into panic mode as I began floating back towards the playground and the young witch. But everything felt numb. My muscles refused to budge from my mid-stride position. I couldn’t even scream for help.

The toddler version of Mist was standing up by then, with both pudgy little hands raised. The injury on her knee, which would have needed stitches if she’d gone to the hospital was now completely obscured by the same purple smoke surrounding my frozen body. The smoke seemed to be coming out of her tiny hands. Butterflies rose in my stomach. What is she doing to me?

“You are a bad boy!” Mist declared, smiling toothlessly. “I haf to punish you!”

She’d turned me into the interior at that point. In my panic, I ran away, eventually (to my luck, and probably with Mist’s assistance) finding a warehouse filled with bits and bobs necessary for the construction of Andrew Jr. With my cursed body, it was a little hard to create my exterior, but Andrew Jr. became my friend. And I’ve become a different –better- person. But like everyone else, I have my problems.

I’m cursed. And I only have one year left to break it, before I become an interior permanently. I’ve tried everything, really. But in this last, final year, I think I’ll try a new approach. Instead of forcing girls into relationships and then forcing my interior to love them back, I’m going to try and see it through differently. Maybe the key to finding true love will all be in the patience.

Unfortunately for my interior, it’s only a matter of time…

The only way I can break the curse that binds me inside Andrew Jr. is to have a girl love me for who I am.

The interior.

And even Mist can’t help me there.

****

Melody was another failed affair. As her screams pierce the night sky and the park around us, I slip back inside my exterior, Andrew Jr. and race to the steering wheel, just behind his honey coloured eyes. In seconds, I’ve programmed him into running away for cover.

As I walk away grudgingly into the sunrise to the next town, I hear the sounds of sirens in the distance.

Do you love me, anyone?