Read Online Eat My Heart Out by Zoe Pilger - Free Book Online Page B

not your fucking muse. Then I ran off. He caught up with me. He said that being a muse could be really sexy like Betty Blue . We had watched that film recently. I said: But the woman goes crazy. She gouges out her own eye . And he said: But the man writes a novel about it, so it’s worth it . And I was like: It’s worth her losing an eye? ’
    James stuck his finger inside of me.
    â€˜Yeah,’ I went on. ‘So like a couple of months later, our teacher entered us both for this writing competition. We both got shortlisted. We had to go to the Royal Festival Hall. It was really boring. The man who was a poet or something was going on and on and then he announced the winner of the prose category. Sebastian won it for “The Reluctant Muse”. He went up to the stage like a fighting cock and read a bit of it – something like: “I’m not your fucking muse,” she shouted into the biting North London wind .’ I laughed. ‘I was shaking because I was so nervous but it turned out I won the poetry category. So it was fine. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to look at him. My poem was called “I’m Not Your Fucking Muse”, and there was a line in it which said: I’ll fuck you up .’
    â€˜That’s charming,’ said James.
    â€˜On the way home, the teacher was going on about how Sebastian and I were going to be like Ted and Sylvia. But Ted cheated on her , I said. And Sylvia killed herself . The teacher said: Well, you can be like Ted and Sylvia without the cheating and killing yourself parts , and Sebastian was like: Don’t worry, miss. Ann-Marie and I will be together forever .’ I stopped.
    There was a long silence.
    Finally James said: ‘Who’s Ann-Marie? I thought your name was Camille?’
    â€˜Oh – yeah. That was before I changed my name. Camille is my stage name. But I changed it by deed poll, so it’s real.’
    â€˜So you’re an aspiring actress?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    James held my breasts from behind and murmured: ‘What really turns you on?’
    I paused. ‘Offal.’
    â€˜Offal?’
    â€˜Yeah. Tripe in cream and onions and … hearts. Big, bouncy hearts that crunch like an apple when you bite into them and stuff kind of spews out. And kidneys, smelling of piss.’
    â€˜Piss?’
    â€˜Yeah,’ I said with passion. ‘ Piss .’ I jumped off the bed. ‘Play, boy!’
    James looked startled.
    â€˜Play!’ My voice was imperious. ‘Why don’t you play?’ I went back to my normal voice. ‘That’s what Miss Havisham says to Pip in Great Expectations .’
    â€˜Have you done a lot of am-dram?’
    â€˜Yes. And professional stuff. RSC stuff. I played Miss Havisham – at Cambridge.’
    â€˜I can just imagine you in rotting white lace,’ he said, lurching forwards and grabbing me with both hands. His face looked full of hate for a moment. Then he pushed me backwards on the bed and I couldn’t see his face any more, but I could feel his mouth latch onto my Venus fly-trap and eat it out like a little boy who’s terrified his plate will be snatched away at any moment. He ate and ate and ate. My heart was banging. I tried to push his head away, but his scalp was too well-oiled and my hands kept slipping off. He was good at it. I began to moan. I tried to sit up, but he pushed me back down. I had a terrible feeling of losing, as though he were taking the most precious thing I owned.
    And then I came.
    I lay there, limp and blank.
    It seemed to blot out something there in the darkness. It seemed to blot out the darkness itself.
    James’s face appeared, wet and triumphant.
    I said thank you like a good little girl leaving a friend’s birthday party, dressed, and ran down leather corridors until I was alone again in the blue light of dawn. I staggered to the nearest rubbish bin and was violently sick.

Six
    The force of