I ACHE IN muscles I didn’t know existed as I embrace the first stretch of the morning. The cotton sheets feel like silk and the bed is deep and luxurious, it takes only a moment to remember where I am. Not that I could confuse this bed with my own. I am, however, alone in the bed. The chill I feel is a stark contrast to the warm covers. I look at the indent of the pillow next to me. I think we barely moved at all last night, but Daniel has definitely moved now. The bathroom door is open, and I can hear no movement, no running water, no sounds at all. I sit up and see that the clothes that were strewn across the floor are no longer there, well, mine are. I sink back into the pillow. My hand rubs my temples to try and ease the pressure I know is about to build. Daniel has left. I take a deep breath and tell myself, ‘It is what it is, Bethany’. I did know that, and I did it, anyway, pretty sure I begged on a few occasions. It was a quick fuck, and it was good. Hell, it was amazing. Sofia had said to listen to my body, and I did, and it was fun. End-of! So that was the worst that came from letting go for once. Move on, Bets.
I swing my legs round and sit up, but I flinch at the soreness and aches, I am tender everywhere. Then, too quickly, the world falls away and my stomach rushes to my mouth. I run to the bathroom and quickly and noisily deposit the contents of my stomach. There isn’t much, and I am left dry heaving, exhausting my already spent and tired muscles. I collapse on the floor and press my fevered head to the cool tiled floor. Oh, God, this can’t be happening. I stand on shaking legs and return to the bedroom, slowly walking over to the sight that made me sick, makes me sick. There, on the nightstand, on top of my purse is cash, lots of cash. The tears, which were waiting until I had finished throwing up, fall freely and silently. Of course, this is the worst that could happen. I have honestly never cared what anyone said about me, never, really, and certainly not since John died, but to think that Daniel has paid me for last night rips my heart right out.
God, I am such a fucking idiot. He took me to a hotel and not his apartment. I mean, we actually had to drive past his place. He fucked me all night but never kissed me once on the lips, and of course he didn’t want to know about my family, why would he? He had me for the night, he paid, and he left. I look at the clock, its six thirty, but London will be quiet this early on a Sunday, and I need to be home; I need to not be here. I grab my dress and shoes; my panties and bra are under the bed. I dress quickly, tie my hair back, and grab my bag. I look at the money. I don’t know how much is there, and I can’t bear to think how much I was worth, because at this moment I think a penny would be too much. He still has to check out, so if I leave the money, he will think something is wrong, understatement of the year, but the last thing I want is to keep a door open for him now, and leaving the money would do that for sure. He believes I would take money for sex, let him. I take the money, transaction complete--clean, simple, brutal. I grab the cash and leave the room.
I make my way to the stairwell, I am less likely to run into other guests that way. I also make my way to the staff entrance and slip out of the cargo doors, which are open for deliveries. I cross the road and step on to the Embankment pathway. I feel like I am going to be sick again, and I put my head to my knees and take some deep breaths. I start to walk toward the tube station. I notice sitting on the steps of one of the many monuments that dot the Thames, a homeless woman wrapped in a torn sleeping bag. Curled up next to the bags, which probably contain everything she owns, is a dog, some sort of terrier by the scruff of its coat. I sit next to her as she sleeps; her dog gets over-excited and jumps onto my lap and starts licking profusely at my fingers. She starts to wake and slowly sits up, she frowns and then smiles, picking up her dog and placing it back in her arms.
“Sorry, he’s a little over-friendly.” She has a rough cough when she speaks.
“He’s kind of sweet, very friendly… my name’s Bethany--Bets to my friends.” I would smile, but I can’t make those muscles work for me right now.
“I’m Ruth, and this is Buddy. It’s a little early to be dressed like that, honey.” She laughs, but it’s a friendly laugh, and I’m hardly in any position to take offense. I take my hand from my bag, it’s still gripping Daniel’s cash. “I’d like you to have this. I don’t know how much is here, but if it’s more than you need.” I sniff out a sad laugh at the irony of what I have just said, and a shameful smile briefly flashes across my face. “I’m sorry, it’s just, you know, if you want to share. Look, anyway, it’s yours.” I press the money into her hand and walk away. I don’t look back, but ahead I notice the bright yellow light on top of a taxi. I honestly don’t remember how I got home, I don’t remember getting in the shower, and I don’t remember getting undressed. Which is why I am sobbing, fully clothed on the floor of the staff shower. The sound of the water drowns the noise of the bone-shaking sobs, which wrack my body. I search my mind for a time when my heart didn’t ache, a time when I wasn’t so lonely.
The sun is streaming through my bedroom curtains, and I would wake instantly, throwing my covers to the wall. It was the first day of the school summer holidays, and I know he’s going to be waiting for me. I would grab whatever clothes I could find, cut up jean shorts, t-shirt, and plimsolls, and run down the stairs. If my mum was working, she would be gone by this time, if not, she’d still be in bed. I would pour a glass of milk and search the cupboards for food I could stuff in my pockets and some extra for John. He never ate breakfast. I would open the back door quietly and leave it on the latch so I could get back in later when everyone was out. I would race around the side of the house. He would be sitting on my front doorstep, waiting, picking at the flaking paint on the door frame. Hearing me, he would look up and tap his arm where a watch should be. It was just after dawn.
At fourteen, he had just started to get a little taller than me. He had dark chocolate brown hair and darker eyes. The first day of primary school, when my sister refused to hold my hand and take me in to the playground, John had walked up to me and said the he would ‘take care of me’. He was six years old. Every summer had been the same for as long as I could remember. Some days we would just wander the lanes, sometimes we would venture into the playground, but really we preferred our own company. He had a bike, and when it didn’t have a puncture, I would sit on the back, and he would pedal. That way we could go further afield, and I loved that sense of freedom. I remember one hot summer the long grass in the playing fields at the end of my road had been cut, and we spent all morning gathering it up. We piled it as high as a mountain underneath a willow tree which had split and bent in half from old age. One of the thick branches curved high over a stream and into the field. We spent the afternoon in the blistering heat climbing high and flinging our little bodies with fear and delight into the freshly cut grass, only tiring when dusk gave way to the night time. My mother had shouted at John that night as I came home covered in grass cuts and nettle rash. The next day I was bed ridden with sun stroke. I’d had the best day.
John had been distant the day after, and when I pushed him to find out why, he had just said he shouldn’t have let me get hurt. it was his responsibility to take care of me. I thought he was mad.
On the rare occasions I would call for him, I was always nervous. I would knock on his door and run to the end of the path, but one day I heard shouting coming from his back yard. I was sixteen at the time. I could hear Vince, John’s older brother taking the piss about him for being a virgin, having a little bitch of a girlfriend, but never getting to fuck her. I could see the fury in John’s face even from my distance, and my heart started racing. Vince called him, “Chicken shit,” and said he only had to ask me. Hell, you didn’t even have to ask my sister, he said, she’d fuck you for a fiver. He laughed and went on to say your little bitch will be exactly the same. John flew at him and knocked him to the ground.
I screamed and ran, throwing myself on top of the pile of fighting bodies. I pulled and pulled to break their fighting arms and managed to get between them. John instantly stepped back. I knew he would, he wouldn’t risk hurting me. I grabbed his hand and led him away. I could hear Vince’s caustic laughter, but I didn’t look back. I took John’s bike, which was leaning against the garden wall, and told him to take a seat. I rode awhile, heading to the edge of the village, under the motorway bridge. My legs burned with the weight of two teenagers, but I wanted to take him somewhere peaceful. I wanted to go to our lagoon.
When we first started to roam further afield we found this tranquil place that didn’t look like it belonged in this world. It was a small shallow lake surrounded with overhanging trees, which hid it from the road and kept it completely in the shade. The banks of the water were soft sand, and if you lay on the shore and looked to the canopy, a million shards of sunlight broke through the foliage. It looked like a fairies’ glen, magical. That was when we were little. Now it was just somewhere quiet to take John so he could calm down. John had taken a beating from his brother before, so I knew he wasn’t hurt, but I had never seen him look so angry. I tried to laugh a little, attempting to lighten the mood. I said it didn’t matter what people said. He could tell Vince and everyone that he fucked me, it didn’t matter, it was nothing. He turned his head and his eyes looked so beautiful, but I could see the tears he was holding back. He held my face and told me I wasn’t my sister, could never be like her, and it did matter. If it was nothing,, then that made me nothing, and that wasn’t true. I wasn’t nothing, I was everything.
I had started college, and John was doing an IT apprenticeship, which meant he spent one day each week at my college. He would meet me on the bus, and we’d walk home together. It was the end of the Christmas term, and I had stayed after class to have a Christmas drink and only just missed my bus. The one I did manage to get was only twenty minutes later, but it turned out that it was twenty minutes too long. I started to walk up the dark footpath, which cut across the back of the fields to the small group of houses where I lived. The street lamp was ineffective, and the darkness meant I didn’t see him straight away. It looked like a drunk had settled against the fencing, slumped over, and had fallen asleep, but as I got close, I saw his trainers and recognised his dark green jacket. I dropped my bag and ran the last few meters, kneeling at his side and holding his head in my hands.
John had his eyes closed, and as I pulled one hand away from his hair, my fingers were sticky, slippery, and warm. My hands are covered in dark red liquid, and I look up to see the five-inch rusty, crooked nail poking from the splintered fence post. The nail was glossy and slowly dripped the same liquid onto the damp ground. I cried his name, and he opened his eyes, the rich dark brown now a dull black in the poor light. I couldn’t focus for the tears streaming from my eyes, trying to get him to speak. I didn’t know what to do. I asked him what to do? His face was swollen with dirt ground into his cheek, and his jacket was ripped. His fists were clenched, and there was blood on his knuckles, but it was the blood gushing down his neck that caused the heart-wrenching sob to escape my lips; there was so much blood. It had started to rain, and I remember his warm eyes as he recognised me. Tiny droplets of rain were suspended on his thick lashes as he closed his lids. He smiled, and he told me again what he told me that day at the lagoon, that I wasn’t like her, that I wasn’t nothing, I was everything. He kept repeating: I wasn’t nothing. He’d fought for me again, but this time I wasn’t there to stop him. I couldn’t hold him tight enough. I shouted for help, I screamed. I didn’t have a phone to call for help, and I couldn’t leave him. The world fell silent; it was silent for so long, and I was so cold when I finally heard the footsteps.
The nearness of the footsteps wakes me, my body is still heaving with unshed sobs, and I am so cold, my bones ache. My sore eyes open through the water, which continues to stream over my head and down my back. I look up to where the noise is coming from. There is a loud banging on the door, followed by the sound of splintering wood and a crash as the door to the staff shower flies open, and Daniel fills the doorway.
“Jesus Christ!” He calls over his shoulder, “I’ve found her.” He takes one step toward me and reaches to turn the tap off, which stops the incessant flow of ice cold water over my huddled body. He puts his arms under my trembling knees and lifts me tight to his chest. I feel utterly exhausted, and I can get no relief from my body, which won’t stop shaking. His shirt transforms from pale to dark as my wetness is rapidly absorbed by the material, and I can hear the sloshing on the floor as he carries me out into the corridor.
“I’m wet.” My teeth chatter as I quietly state the obvious.
He laughs. “Yes, yes, you are, and not in a good way.” This makes me jolt, and I stiffen and push myself from his chest, slip to the ground, and stumble on the wet floor. “Shit, what are you doing?” He reaches to steady my fall, and I shrug out from his grip and turn my narrow eyes on him. I must look a state, my hair slicked long to my face, my clothes hanging shapelessly with the weight of the water and the remnants of my make-up dripping down my face. I must resemble Samara from The Ring.
“You don’t get to touch me!” I am quiet but my tone is serious. He is shocked, but his face flashes with a look I don’t recognize.
“What’s going on, Bets?” I turn to see Marco. He too looks shocked.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Marco, but my voice starts to break, and I struggle not to cry again. I really don’t need an audience for my meltdown.
“You disappeared.” Daniel answers. “You wouldn’t answer your phone. I was worried. I came here, but there was no answer, so I went to Marco’s flat and followed him here. Like I said, you left, and I was worried.” He growls the last few words, like he is trying to control his temper. I don’t need to match his temper, I just need him to leave. I speak very slowly and clearly, so there is no misinterpreting what I am about to say.
“I didn’t disappear, I left. You paid me. You left. I took the money. I left. Now, I would like you to leave. Again.” Each word is softly spoken, clipped and perfectly clear.
“What? Seriously, what do you mean, I paid you? For what?” His tone is incredulous, and his face darkens with a scowl.
“What did you pay her for?” Marco steps closer to me and rests his hand on my shoulder. Daniel narrows his eyes and clenches his jaw at this.
“I didn’t pay her for shit! I emptied my trouser pockets and put the contents on the night stand!” He barks out his explanation through gritted teeth.
“Bets, did you take his money? Bets, what were you thinking?” Marco has turned me to face him, but I’m really confused.
“I did, I thought…” Marco picks up my bag, which I had dropped by the door this morning, and starts to search inside.
“Bets, there’s no money in here? Bets?” He is looking from my empty bag to my bewildered face.
“No, there wouldn’t be. I gave it away to a lady with her dog. She looked cold, and she was sleeping on the monument steps and…” I am rambling now, my head is spinning, and I am trying to understand what is unfolding before me.
“You gave five thousand pounds to a homeless woman?” Daniel asks, the calmness of his tone focuses my attention only on his words
“No, Christ no! I gave her the money on the side. The money you left for me on my purse!” The pitch in my voice raises, as does my anxiety.
“Yes,” Daniel says slowly, “that would be five thousand pound.” He pauses and bites his lip with amused understanding. “You think I paid you five thousand pounds?” My worth is irrelevant, but I feel a sting at the reference, and I shake my head to dispel the unpleasant thought.
“What? Didn’t I earn it?” I snarl my reply, push past Marco and run upstairs. My door is open, Marco had been looking for me. It was his footsteps above that had filtered into my dream. I don’t bother to shut it, as I am quickly followed by both men. Daniel pushes past Marco, but Marco grabs his shoulder. I tense and can feel an overwhelming surge of panic well inside. I am still raw from my recent trip down memory lane. I see the fury in Daniels eyes, his fist is clenched, and he is about to swing round when I scream, “Stop!” I run between them and turn my face to Marco. Out of the two, I know him. I know he will do what I ask and what I do know of Daniel is, he will do exactly what he wants to do. But I can’t have them fighting, ever.
“Hey, Marco, it’s all right. Look, thank you. Thank you for coming to find me.” I hold his face to make sure he is looking at me, not scowling over my shoulder. “You need to leave so I can sort this, okay?” He looks at me now, and I see nothing but concern.
“Boo, are you sure?” I smile when he uses my oldest nickname, brought out at special occasions and tender times. I know he is worried about me.
“He won’t hurt me, Marco.” I assure him.
He leans in to whisper, “No more than he has, promise?”
“No more, I promise.” He glares once more at Daniel and leaves. I shut the door and walk toward my bedroom. I am still shivering and need to get out of these clothes.
“Why did you emphasise the no more? What did that mean?” Daniel goes to follow me.
“It’s my thing. It means people will always hurt you, but how much depends on me, so ‘no more’ means exactly that.” I close my bedroom door and start to peel my sodden dress off my goose-pimpled body. The door opens, and Daniel strides in, the tiny space is filled with his immense presence. I stop mid peel.
“What are you doing?” My jaw drops.
“That’s fucked up, you know?” He goes to unbutton his shirt. “Besides, I didn’t hurt you, Bethany, you had a misunderstanding.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” I can’t believe what I’m seeing. “Stop that! Stop doing what you’re doing. Stop it now!” I shout.
“What? I’m soaked! It’s a little late to play shy now, don’t you think?” He wiggles his brow and continues to strip. I pick up my jeans and a sloppy jumper, underwear, shoes, and storm back out and into my toilet where I lock the door. Christ! I can hear him chuckle through the thin walls. I enter my living room to find him sitting on my sofa in his boxers. His clothes are draped over the back of my arm chair. He flashes the most amazing smile. His skin is golden, his stomach muscles ripple, and his long arm rests on the back of the sofa as an invitation to join him. His black boxer shorts are fitted, and I can see the outline of his cock, semi-firm and growing firmer as I continue to look. My face is instantly hot, and I suck my lips together.
“Bethany.” He smiles and beckons me with his fingers, “Don’t you think we should talk first?” He is so confident this is going to happen, he can’t even pretend to keep a straight face. I straighten my back and meet his heated stare.
“Yes, Daniel, that is exactly what we are going to do, talk!” I cross my arms tightly in front as myself, my first line of defense.
“Please sit with me. I would very much like to close this unnecessary distance. I would very much like to feel you close again.” His voice is soft and tempting, but I made my promise.
“Not likely.” I scoff.
“Really, why? Is it because of the money? Don’t think about it. It’s already forgotten.” He seems genuinely confused by the shock on my face, so I enlighten him.
“You may well be able to do that, but I’ve spent the last few hours thinking that you think I’m a whore! So excuse me if I don’t come over, all gushing and eager to resume where we left off! But now that I know you don’t think I’m a whore, it’s a relief, because, well… that just makes me a thief, now, doesn’t it?” My temper is a perfect mask to hide the raw vulnerability I feel.
“The money doesn’t matter.” His fixed impassive expression heightens his stern tone.
“Doesn’t matter? It was five thousand pounds, Daniel! Who does that? Who keeps five thousand pounds in their trouser pocket?” I’m yelling now, but I am so cross. All the anger and hurt from this morning and the pain from my nightmare are all combining to make me more than a little unstable right now, and I have no intention of falling apart in front of Daniel again.
“Well, not to state the bloody obvious, Bethany, but I do.” He goes to stand, but I know if he gets close I’ll crumble. I grab my bag and head for the door. He can’t follow, I hope. He’s in is boxers.
“Lock the door when you leave.” I run down the stairs and onto the street. I jog to the end, when I hear him shout my name. He did follow me, but just to the door. He looks really mad. I’m not going back there today, maybe not ever.