Space Boy Dream - Belle And Sebastian
And when I woke up, and I was lying in the darkness,
I thought I had landed and I just lay still for a while
041. tragedy
When she woke up, everything was dark. She tried closing her eyes and opening them again. Still black. She couldn't move her limbs and her mouth was full of dirt. It wouldn't help to force herself to remember what had happened. It was better if she tried to clear her mind. Then the answer would come.
There had been a party. She could remember people, lots of them. She remembered watching them, being near them but not with them. She recalled feeling lonely, hearing laughter through the cracks of doors. She remembered having that feeling for the whole night. Who's party had it been? She couldn't remember. Certainly in her house, thrown by her parents. Why? It didn't matter.
She tried moving her hands. She could curl her fingers. She pressed her nails into her palms as hard as she could, but felt nothing.
Maybe she could call out?
No sound. Her throat was blocked, she could taste metal and the grit of soil. Her mouth was very stiff. She tried to spit out the dirt and felt hot saliva trickle down her cheek.
A memory flashed in her mind. A large soft mouth. Wet against her neck, sliding along her stomach. The memory made a sickness swell up in her throat.
More memories now, one after the other. Disjointed but vivid, each lasting only a few seconds. Big heavy hands, very rough. Extreme pain and blood like oil on her thighs, making her skin slippery as fingers slid across it.
She tried moving her legs again. She could bend her knees. She tried her arms. She could bend them too, now. But she didn't want to get up, not yet. Her head was very sore. She could not seem to concentrate on any one image. The outlines of things swirled in front of her, as if imprinted on her eyelids. They were constantly changing and morphing into other things - a tree became a cage, a man became a monster. Everything spun and the pain was very sharp in the centre of her forehead.
It reminded her of once when she was very young and trying desperately to impress a boy. She climbed all the way to the top of a high tree in her garden and jumped. She landed face first, the bridge of her nose hitting against a rock. The pain was so intense that the world drained of colour and the garden seemed to rock back and forth. She had stumbled indoors so he wouldn't see her cry.
The boy was the gardener's son. He had black hair and dark eyes that seemed to look right inside you. He didn't speak much, but when he did she used to hang on every word. He told her the different names of all the flowers, complicated Latin ones, and she had never met anyone so young yet so knowledgeable. She was used to boys with silly double-barreled names with silk handkerchiefs. Boys who smelled of whiskey and expensive cologne, who had soft hands that would pull at the hem of her skirt as they led her to stiff dinners.
The gardener's son. Strange that she should think of him now, at this moment. His hands helping her up form her fall flashed through her mind.
He had calloused hands that felt as soothing as a proper towel, one that scratched just right after a long shower.
A flood of memories, falling on top of her too fast.
His hands again. Rougher, now, and stronger. Between her legs, rough on the back of her knees. His eyes, staring at her intently from the bottom of the garden. She had been drawn to him. A solitary figure, away from the lights and the twittering of the party. Everyone around her seemed so transient, so not-quite-there. He stood firm in the shadows of the trees, looking so much more... real.
She went to him and he led her down the well maintained path. Down, down, down behind the greenhouse. He didn't speak and she felt she couldn't, as if words would break the spell he had cast on her from under the trees. She couldn't think of what to say anyway, anything would sound ridiculous and words clogged up her throat.
She was flimsy with nerves as he pressed her against the back wall and kissed her. The feeling was not what she had expected. His lips were too soft, like a girl's lips, and they were wet. She felt like she was being swallowed. She tried to push him off, but her limbs felt weak and rubbery. He held her still with ease and she realised he wasn't going to let go. Panic wrapped around, filled her. Everything seemed to slow down, she was very aware of every movement, every breath. In the greenhouse she could see the tomato plants. Their fruits were pressed against the window panes, the soft skin wrinkled and splitting. She stared at the tomatos, their vivid red juices dripping down the glass. As she took in the image he stuffed his hand inside her mouth so that the sides split and blood trickled down his hand.
He maybe tore off her underwear, or maybe dragged it off her. She couldn't remember anything else until the pain. The pain was so incredible, so mind-splitting, that she couldn't believe it was happening, that there was pain like that without death. It was unbearable, impossible, and yet it was happening to her, right then, in that moment.
And then waking up, now, in this darkness. Which wasn't so dark, she realised. Or maybe time had passed. She was still behind the greenhouse. She was slowly becoming aware of her surroundings, of the stones that were digging into her spine. Slowly realising how cold she was, a coldness that sunk into her bones.
She imagined herself getting up and walking towards the house. Would she bump into her mother? Probably not. Where did her mother think she was, though? Maybe her mother had not noticed yet, not after the big party. And after all, she was known for disappearing, known to be quick to slip away to sit and read alone. Her mother had been disappointed that her beautiful daughter was more interested in Chekov then cocktails and had soon lost interest in her.
She could go inside, slip upstairs and shower. She imagined the hot water cleansing her torn skin, washing away the blood and dirt. But she couldn't bring herself to move, not yet. Instead she lay where she was, waiting for for the summer sun to rise and heat her body. Watching the tomato juices trickle down the glass.
This look v. interesting and so deserves, I think, one of my amateurish reviews. Wahey! Anyway, I'll comment as I read through, and then conclude at the end, okay?
