Martha yelled in her head, desperate for him to kiss her. The rumbling dark clouds of her past grew heavier in her mind, turning black, twisting through her thoughts, threatening to pour down at any moment and extinguish the desire she felt as Ben leaned towards her, his eyes still burning bright.
She blinked, silently cursing the thoughts, pushing them back into the cabinet they had escaped from.
Sometimes, in the years after she left the care home, she thought of her memories as thunder clouds. They would rain at the most inappropriate moments, forcing her to think about things she wanted nothing more than to forget. She, in her childish way, thought of those thoughts as rain as they would leak out of her eyes, bringing tears that she had been unable to find at the time, too caught up in the anger at Tim, the way he’d brought her out instead of the others?
She had not heard of survivor’s guilt at the time, thought in later years she came to better understand why she had been so angry towards him. She hated him for not saving them, they seemed more innocent than her, they hadn’t been the victim of his games as often as her, they hadn’t endured the touch of his hands in places that left her sick afterwards, making her hate her own body, hate the fact that it had made him desire her.
She had tried to come to terms with the idea that it wasn’t her that had tempted him, that he was twisted, that he would have taken from her no matter what she looked like. But being told she was beautiful by that man, that tortured her more than anything else, making her hate the word itself.
At other times, she saw the thoughts not as thunder clouds but as pieces of paper, moving pieces of paper, animated and alive. She had seen Who Framed Roger Rabbit when she was fifteen and that fitted perfectly with the concept she had formed.
There was a filing cabinet in her mind and within each section were the thoughts she had conjured up since birth. The earliest ones were in the lowest drawers, at the back, hardest to get to.
What she wanted was for the good thoughts to be the easiest to access, to be at the front, ready to be pulled out and dreamed about, thoughts that made her feel good. There weren’t many.
To make that happen, she used to picture herself in front of the filing cabinet. When he did things to her, she would immediately take the thoughts and memories, the emotions tied up with them going too, and cram them into one of the drawers, clasping a padlock over it, locking it tight, taping over it, making sure it would never open again.
But the thoughts were like the cartoons in the film. They might have been on paper but they were alive. They twisted and moved like snakes, squeezing out of the gaps, bursting into her mind when she let her guard down, when she let go of the lock for the slightest of seconds. She only had to relax for the briefest time and into her mind would burst a thought of what he’d done, of the things he’d made her do to herself while he watched, while the others watched. Then she’d forget how to breathe, all the air would leave her lungs and not come back and she’d be falling, falling, her eyes blank, glazed over, her mind full of the screams she hadn’t been allowed to let out at the time.
As Ben leaned towards her, the filing cabinet rattled in her head, the thoughts of the past threatening to burst out. She clenched her fists, pushing her nails into her palms, using the pain to make her concentrate on the present, refusing to give in to what her mind wanted, to let those thoughts come out and ruin what was about to happen.
He had broken her, he had spoilt any chance she’d had of a decent relationship. She thought that for a long time. But with Ben in front of her, she didn’t focus long on that thought, using the alcohol in her system to help her relax, to help her fix her eyes on him. There was no one else there. The past was locked away. It was just her and Ben.
She looked at him and suddenly thought he was the most handsome man in the world. His hand was sliding up her arm and for a second, she was repulsed, wanting instinctively to push him away, to run, knowing she was running the risk of letting the papers escape in her head. The emotions bubbled up inside her and she shivered.
“Are you all right?” Ben asked.
She lunged forwards and kissed him, refusing to answer, refusing to think. She pressed her lips to his, seeing the surprise in his eyes at the suddenness of it.
She didn’t close her eyes, knowing whose face would appear if she did. She told herself again and again that it was Ben in front of her, that it was all right, that she was allowed to feel good about this.
That was the thing she hated most about herself in that moment. She was enjoying the touch of his lips on hers, the way his tongue was easing into her mouth. And enjoyment was anathema to her sense of self control. So she couldn’t just enjoy the moment. Her mind was telling her to stop, that the emotions that were growing in her would have a way of taking over her, of stopping her from being able to control herself. What if she had a flashback? What would it do to him? He’d be disgusted with her, like she was with herself whenever they happened.
His hands slid around her back and he brought her against him, the two of them pressed into one corner of the sofa. She felt a mixture of safety, of feeling protected by him as he continued to kiss her, but she also felt trapped. Trapped not just by his arms but by her own past, by the bitter thought that she might never truly be able to overcome what happened to her.
She wanted more than anything to enjoy the moment, to revel in the pleasure of his touch, of the warmth radiating off him, of the way he wasn’t forcing himself on her as she pushed him away, he was gentle, he was slowly embracing her, making her want him, making her tingle inside.
The tingle made her feel more guilty. She screwed her hands together behind his back, her arm muscles rigid. “Take me to bed,” she muttered through their embrace.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Now,” she growled, grabbing him and almost sprinting up the stairs.
“Look,” he began as he followed her up.
She stopped halfway, putting her finger on his lips before he could get any further. “No talking.”
She was surprised by how aggressive she sounded. She was doing her best to focus on the moment, to not let all the thoughts of the past back in. They were waiting. She knew they were. She wanted to drown them out and she had decided there was only one way to do it.
She held his hand on the way to his bedroom, stopping by the corner of the bed, drawing him towards her. She didn’t say anything else, just guiding his hands up to her chest.
She felt the warmth of his fingers through her thin top, her nipples hardening under his touch. He squeezed gently, his fingers moving of their own accord, his mouth back on hers.
She blinked and her top was sliding up her body. She urged him on, tugging it free, tossing it aside. His hands were back on her and then he was kissing her neck, his lips were moving down, taking her nipples into his mouth, his tongue flicking over them.
Be in the moment, she told herself, leaning against the cabinet as heat rose within her. She couldn’t remain in control and let those feelings continue to grow. She had to take the risk.
His hands slid lower, brushing over her stomach as he kissed her again. The room seemed to grow darker, shrinking away as the only sensation she registered was need.
The waistband of her pyjamas was loose enough for his fingers to slip inside. Between her legs was a burning need, a dark feeling that terrified and excited her in equal measure. This is it, she thought. This would be the moment of truth, the moment where she would find out how damaged she was. Could she let go for long enough to enjoy the moment?
His hand slid down between her legs as he whispered, "You're beautiful."
She shoved him away with such force that he hit the wall behind him. She opened her mouth to apologise, seeing the look of shock on his face. But nothing came out. The clouds opened and her eyes began to leak tears, great wracking sobs that made her chest shake. She fought for breath, gasping for air as she sank onto the bed, her hands tightly pressed across her chest.
Ben looked at her from across the room and she had her answer. She was damaged beyond repair.