the doorway.
He is holding something.
‘Clean pyjamas,’ he says. ‘I forgot to give them to you.’
Forgot? How long did it take him to remember? How long have I been sitting here? Is it seconds or days? My eyes have a sting that says hours at least. But my skin is still wet. Sweat? Or shower water? Hot, or cold?
I don’t know. I stand. I flick my eyes to the grate, just in case. As I always do when he is there. As I always do when I am here. Present.
There should be nothing. Cara should not have wanted to write to her broken mother. Yet there is. There is a letter coming through this very minute! Cara, my joy, she is writing to me. But the letter, waggling away, drawing attention to itself. He will see, he will see, he will see!
I do the only thing I can do that will distract him.
I stand up, walk towards him and press my naked body against him. And I kiss him.
Chapter 15
Flabby slippery lips on mine. I instinctively shut my eyes. Then I open them. His eyes are staring wide. Is that a hint of an alien tongue in my mouth? The touch of fingers on my hips?
I draw him into the room, towards the grate.
He pulls back. ‘Are you sure?’ he asks me.
I nod. Despite the grossness of being naked against the clothes of the Captor, despite the scratch from his cruel stubble on my cheek, the undesired of fact of his breath on my face, that I want to tear out his eyes for seeing Cara against her will, I nod. I pull him further towards the grate.
He kisses me this time. And this time, there is no doubt about the tongue, or the fingers. They are there. Does he taste the bile that rises in my throat? Does he detect the stiffness of my limbs? I force my own tongue into action. As it slides over his tongue, my insides crawl. It’s for Cara, I tell myself. It’s for Cara.
Are we at the grate yet? We must be. I break away and make as if I’m staring demurely at the floor. Yes. The grate. And there is Cara’s letter on the floor. I cover it with my foot.
And then I push. I push the Captor away from me. And I spit out the bile that has been gathering within me. I spit it out into his face.
I want to charge at him, to claw and to scratch and to tear. But I mustn’t, because that would reveal the letter to him. So I stay where I am, curling my toes round the edge of Cara’s letter. If he moves back towards me, if he tries to take me forcibly, then I will unleash my anger. It is the anger that makes me shake. The anger that this man, who has separated me from my beloved Cara, would think he has some kind of privileged access to my body. It is this anger, not fear.
But he doesn’t try.
When the bile hits, he just sighs. A big, weighty sigh that forces out his nostrils, raises his chest, closes his eyes. Then he scrunches up his lips in a kind of wry scowl-smile, nods his head, and turns to leave the room. He doesn’t even wipe himself clean.
‘That’s it?’ I shout after him. I want to taunt him, call him a coward. But I’m not that brave. He’s hit me before, after all.
As he gets to the door, he turns. His silhouette fills the doorway. He could obliterate me as easily as he obliterates the light.
‘One day, Susan,’ he says. Then he leaves and locks the door.
So. I am alone again. Except I am not alone. My skin crawls with a thousand little creatures. More than a thousand. Maybe a million. They’ve been waiting there since I began to kiss this man. Now suddenly they are released and, with them, the tears and the sobs that I have been suppressing. But still I must supress them, I must keep them quiet, for Cara. I am not allowed to be audibly unhappy. I must appear calm, composed. I press my hand across my mouth to stop the sobs. But they will not stop. I lean both palms against the wall and place my forehead in between them. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Bastard, bastard, bastard. Can I not push the wall down with my head? Can I not get to my Cara that way?
‘Mummy, Mummy,’ she is calling me, throwing
He is holding something.
‘Clean pyjamas,’ he says. ‘I forgot to give them to you.’
Forgot? How long did it take him to remember? How long have I been sitting here? Is it seconds or days? My eyes have a sting that says hours at least. But my skin is still wet. Sweat? Or shower water? Hot, or cold?
I don’t know. I stand. I flick my eyes to the grate, just in case. As I always do when he is there. As I always do when I am here. Present.
There should be nothing. Cara should not have wanted to write to her broken mother. Yet there is. There is a letter coming through this very minute! Cara, my joy, she is writing to me. But the letter, waggling away, drawing attention to itself. He will see, he will see, he will see!
I do the only thing I can do that will distract him.
I stand up, walk towards him and press my naked body against him. And I kiss him.
Chapter 15
Flabby slippery lips on mine. I instinctively shut my eyes. Then I open them. His eyes are staring wide. Is that a hint of an alien tongue in my mouth? The touch of fingers on my hips?
I draw him into the room, towards the grate.
He pulls back. ‘Are you sure?’ he asks me.
I nod. Despite the grossness of being naked against the clothes of the Captor, despite the scratch from his cruel stubble on my cheek, the undesired of fact of his breath on my face, that I want to tear out his eyes for seeing Cara against her will, I nod. I pull him further towards the grate.
He kisses me this time. And this time, there is no doubt about the tongue, or the fingers. They are there. Does he taste the bile that rises in my throat? Does he detect the stiffness of my limbs? I force my own tongue into action. As it slides over his tongue, my insides crawl. It’s for Cara, I tell myself. It’s for Cara.
Are we at the grate yet? We must be. I break away and make as if I’m staring demurely at the floor. Yes. The grate. And there is Cara’s letter on the floor. I cover it with my foot.
And then I push. I push the Captor away from me. And I spit out the bile that has been gathering within me. I spit it out into his face.
I want to charge at him, to claw and to scratch and to tear. But I mustn’t, because that would reveal the letter to him. So I stay where I am, curling my toes round the edge of Cara’s letter. If he moves back towards me, if he tries to take me forcibly, then I will unleash my anger. It is the anger that makes me shake. The anger that this man, who has separated me from my beloved Cara, would think he has some kind of privileged access to my body. It is this anger, not fear.
But he doesn’t try.
When the bile hits, he just sighs. A big, weighty sigh that forces out his nostrils, raises his chest, closes his eyes. Then he scrunches up his lips in a kind of wry scowl-smile, nods his head, and turns to leave the room. He doesn’t even wipe himself clean.
‘That’s it?’ I shout after him. I want to taunt him, call him a coward. But I’m not that brave. He’s hit me before, after all.
As he gets to the door, he turns. His silhouette fills the doorway. He could obliterate me as easily as he obliterates the light.
‘One day, Susan,’ he says. Then he leaves and locks the door.
So. I am alone again. Except I am not alone. My skin crawls with a thousand little creatures. More than a thousand. Maybe a million. They’ve been waiting there since I began to kiss this man. Now suddenly they are released and, with them, the tears and the sobs that I have been suppressing. But still I must supress them, I must keep them quiet, for Cara. I am not allowed to be audibly unhappy. I must appear calm, composed. I press my hand across my mouth to stop the sobs. But they will not stop. I lean both palms against the wall and place my forehead in between them. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Bastard, bastard, bastard. Can I not push the wall down with my head? Can I not get to my Cara that way?
‘Mummy, Mummy,’ she is calling me, throwing
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