Spoiler
This is for SporkPunk's Titles contest. Thank you for reading!
I walk along the canal, my bare feet creating the unique sound of flesh against earth. The strip of grass is only a thin one; one step to the left, and my feet will crash uncomfortably onto concrete, one step to the right, and I will fall into the deep, green, whale’s mouth of water. It will swallow me, if I fall. I will never be able to come out.
So I walk carefully, aware that each step could be my last. Above me, the sun is saying hello from behind the clouds. Like a sneaky mistress, it hides from the world behind a curtain of grey. It only comes out when the Earth is ready to receive it.
There aren’t many people around; just a few in the distance, little specks of life. Like bacteria. I like analysing bacteria. Beth, my older sister, tells me that I shouldn’t think about fellow humans that way. I tell her that I don’t; only when they’re too far away for me to see who they really are. I feel loved today, because the grass is stroking my feet, like a million little friends. I smile at them, thank them for their comfort.
But then, I see something in the distance, something that makes my body go weak; something that turns the bright landscape into a murky and unfamiliar place: a man of large build, dark hair, a shadow cast over his eyes. Wearing a worn shirt and ripped trousers, walking with a slight limp. Coming closer.
Jack. After all those years, here he is, in front of me. I don’t know whether to run towards him or away from him. I gasp for air, from the shock.
“Where were you?” I mouth. He whispers something inaudible and approaches me, strokes my cheek with tender fingers. His nails are sharp, though, and as they dig into my flesh, I cringe. I know that I shouldn’t let him hurt me like that, but I can’t seem to move away.
Suddenly, something comes over him. He clenches his jaw, grabs my wrist, and pulls me into a run. He drags me along with him: the air whistles in my ears, the concrete grazes my bare feet. Once we’ve picked up speed, he abruptly lets go of my wrist, and, arms flailing, I fall.
*
I open my eyes, and I am lying on concrete, far away from the canal, from my grass friends. A scream comes up from the depths of my throat, hurting my lungs as it emerges, long and raw. I cover my eyes. He has come back, and I can see it in his tense, trembling fingers: this time, he wants to slaughter me like cattle. Why do I still love him?
Someone touches me, and I jerk my head violently in their direction.
“Miss, miss, are you all right?” It is a woman, her tone anxious, her eyes terrified. I scan the concrete plane. Jack has gone. Confusion swallows me.
I nod at the woman. “I am absolutely fine.” I don’t want to burden her with my muddled life.
I notice she is wearing a hat that curves tightly around her head, giving it the form of a grapefruit. I like grapefruit, it is tasty, bitter.
“What the hell just happened?” It is a man’s voice, rusty like an old bike chain.
“I think she had a fit,” the woman whispers.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” I look up at the man. His face is scrunched, grime clinging to his wrinkles. But his eyes are a harmless blue. Blue is good.
“I am absolutely fine,” I repeat. Why can’t they understand this fact? Perhaps I am not speaking loud enough. I stay quiet for a minute, though, because they start talking in hushed tones between themselves.
As they speak, I look around. The world is back to normal again, the canal in the distance. My grassy friends wave to me in the breeze, and all is well.
Until I hear the words nine-nine-nine.
They come from the woman’s mouth. Her lips stay slightly open, the words dangling mid-air. And, slowly, the man nods.
That is when I get up, and run. For once, I don’t care that the concrete is punching my bare feet. I need to get away. Get away from that terrible threat.
The last time I heard those words, they locked me away. Like a pair of holey socks, useful for rags but then forgotten about; I spent six months looking at a ticking clock. It was only after all those months that I realised that the clock was broken. Broken, but still ticking: like me.
I continue to run, knowing that Beth couldn’t save me from that again. She said getting me out the first time to care for me at home was almost impossible, but if I was admitted to the clinic again, getting me out would be more impossible than a rich peasant. I didn’t say that, she did. A strange sense of humour, she has.
I run towards my grass, bound over it, trying not to hurt it too much. It complains under my pounding feet, but I don’t have the time to stop. My breath begins to shorten, my lungs retching with the lack of air. But my feet carry on, and I let them lead the way.
But then, there is something in the way.
Jack.
He smiles, blocking my path, trying to put those wide arms around my body. I edge towards him, scared; scared but still tempted by the hug. When we are almost touching, he reaches behind him, brings forward a pair of garden shears. That’s where he went. I scream, try to eject words from my mouth.
“Go away!” I stutter. His only response is a slight shake of the head. Of course, he never obeys. Never did, never will.
To my left: two humans, threatening to lock me away; to my right, someone who wants to kill me: someone I love.
I step away, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. I am frozen by a monstrous clank as he drops the shears. His grin grows wide as his arms extend. He takes two steps towards me, and then, with a shocking force, he rams me forward.
I don’t even have the time to scream before my body hits the icy water. A numbness covers me, and I watch with vague fascination as my baggy top lifts itself, bobbing around me like a deflated life-ring. But then, the panic hits, like a strong wind which carries shards of broken glass. My heart jumps, my breath sucks in. My trainers are heavy, and they begin to drag me down. I helplessly look up, scream Jack’s name. But he is gone – left me to drown. He knows I can’t swim. He knows that.
I begin to sink, taking in mouthfuls of salty water. I gag, but it does no good: the water begins to thrash at my nostrils, too, and I have no choice but to breathe it in. Something that Mum told me never, ever, to do, whenever we went to the local pool.
The world has turned into an endless wave that consumes me over and over again. Every time the water hits my face I feel like crying. No more, please, no more.
My limbs slowly grow heavy: they have thrashed too much, and now they no longer want to listen to my orders. They become more and more detached from me, until they are utterly useless. My sight, too, becomes impaired, as the salty water digs itself into my eyes until they are too sore to open. Even my petrified heart seems to have stopped.
Images begin to clog up my brain, thousands of memories, all fighting each other to be seen first. The water smothering me disappears from sight.
All I can see is Jack.
He smiles as I hand him his coffee.
“Thank you,” his eyes squint at my name-tag. “Becca. Nice name.”
I blush, walk away.
He comes back the next day, there to witness me dropping a mug of steaming tea all over the floor. There to witness my neurotic colleague stabbing a finger at me, telling me that I’m clumsy, completely useless. He bends down, and, without a word begins picking up the shards of ceramic. I grab a mop.
“You don’t need to do that,” I tell him.
He points to the damp tissue on my arm, covering the burn from the tea.
“Yes, I do.”
I shake my head, mop up anyway. He gets up and throws his collected shards in the bin.
He comes back every day after that. On the eighth day, when I accidentally slop his coffee all over him, he invites me out for a drink after work. I smile. He’s gorgeous: blue, almond-shaped eyes, light brown hair. The muscles of a world-class boxer. My answer is a spontaneous yes.
Four ‘drinks after work’ later, and I’m falling for him, bad. He’s charming, always helps me when clumsiness gets the better of me. Balance never was my thing. He laughs every time I crack a joke. It’s amazing: no one ever laughed at my jokes before. My whole life I was just the dyspraxic nerd. Now, somehow, he makes me feel special.
Why did he choose me, out of all the pretty girls around me?
Five months after our meeting, my parents kick me out. I’m too old to live at home now, they tell me. They say it’s for my own sake. I know it’s for theirs – when I’m gone they’ll be free. Be able to drink scotch and discuss retirement funds with their friends, in peace.
I run to Jack. He holds me, rocks me, while I cry, and our emotions soon dissolve into a long kiss.
It’s a settled matter: I’ll live with him now, in his modest little studio.
A wave of love follows: sure, we argue, but our arguments somehow always turn into long, sorry hugs and comforting TV dinners.
He starts getting very jealous at one point, shouts more than he used to, but it doesn’t matter. Hugs always follow the anger. That thought keeps me going through his firm lectures, then his angry shouts, then through his almost bipolar fits. Hugs always follow the anger. The only thought running through my head as he hits me. As he takes hold of the beer bottle, and throws it near my bare ankle.
He loves me; he’ll stop soon. He’ll hug me.
***
He’s hugging me now, lifting me out of the water. Big, strong arms, around my body. They’re the only things I can feel; warm, powerful. I want to curl up in them and never come out.
***
Ache. That is the first thing I feel. My throat is sore, my lips dry. My limbs are weak, splayed around me. My back is uncomfortably positioned on a stiff mattress. I force my eyelids open: around me, everything is white. Fear grips me, but I am too weak to scream. Instead, I let out a breathy sob.
“Becca?” a voice calls, from the distance. A voice I know.
“Beth,” I manage hoarsely. She comes up close, right by my bed. Her sandy hair, tied back in a loose ponytail. Sunglasses on head. Pasty blue eyes, leaking tears that caress her numerous freckles. Beth, my Beth, always here when I need her.
She looks at me for a long time, her eyes lingering on mine. She takes a deep breath.
“Why did you do it, Becca?”
I frown. “Do what?” It hurts to speak, and I cough a few raw, bitter, coughs.
“Jump, Bexy. I let you go for a walk, and the next thing I know you’ve jumped into a canal. What did you think you were doing?”
I bite my lip, concentrate. The canal rushes back to my memory, my grassy friends, being chased… Jack.
“No, no Beth I didn’t jump. It was Jack, he pushed me in. It was Jack.” I put out my right arm, try to put it on hers, comfort her. She jumps back, out of reach.
“Becca, I thought we got over this. I thought we got over this, Bexy!” Rough emotion is alive in her voice, sandpaper to bare skin. Tears race down her cheeks, and she bites her lip until blood appears in a little puddle on her front tooth. Childishly, she stamps her foot. “Bexy…Please don’t tell me you’re seeing things again. Because if you are, I’m taking you straight back to the clinic, and I’m leaving you there.” Her eyes are steel against mine.
“No, Beth, don’t worry, he’s back now - I know he is. He pulled me out of the water. Everything’s fine. He doesn’t want to hurt me anymore.”
“Oh, God, Becca. I’ve lost you again, haven’t I?” Panic beats at her voice, her breaths cutting short and shallow.
“Beth, I know what I saw. He pushed me in, and he brought me out again. He saved me.”
“Bexy! Listen to me, please.” She composes herself, stands up straight, wipes tears off her cheeks. “Jack – is – not - here.”
I shake my head. “But, Beth, he is, I-”
“Becca, do you remember what happened four years ago, on your twenty sixth birthday?”
I think back, smile at the memory. “Yes. Jack – he proposed.”
“Good. And after that?”
“We went to a top class Chinese restaurant. It was amazing.”
“Then you went home, right?” she coaxes.
I nod.
“What did you do at home?”
“Well, we went to bed.”
“But what happened in bed?”
“Listen, Beth, if you’re looking for some sort of saucy story, there isn’t one.”
She looks at me, frustration clear in her eyes. I cough, my throat crying for a rest.
“Bexy, my point is, he beat you to pulp in bed. You were bleeding blood like a ripe spot bleeds puss. Do you remember that?” Her voice is raised, and I shrink under my starchy white covers. “See, you remember now, don’t you? He accused you of cheating, and he beat you up. And you let him.”
I look down. Hugs always follow the anger.
“You had to go to hospital, you had three broken ribs. He called the ambulance after beating you.”
“He always saves me,” I mutter.
“Saved you, Rebecca. Do you seriously not remember? He committed suicide as soon as you left for the hospital. He’s dead, Bexy.” Her eyes glimmer, begging me to believe her.
“I don’t believe you. I saw him.”
“No, you didn’t, Bexy. What you saw was what you wanted to see.”
I look down, scared. Scared because I’m not feeling anything. Scared because I can’t remember. “But he pushed me in. And he lifted me out,” I whisper.
“No, Bexy. You jumped in. And those nice people who wanted to help you after your little running-screaming fit? That man lifted you out.”
I look at her, her certain eyes, her clamped jaw.
“No,” I say.
Beth approaches, puts my hand in hers, squeezes it tight. She allows her eyes to soften.
“Becca, I love you. And Jack? How can you possibly think he loved you, when he did this?” She gently lifts the sleeve of my hospital night gown to reveal a long, angry scar. Like bind weed, it crawls along the length of my arm, stopping in a stitched pile at my shoulder blade. I observe it, horrified.
“I don’t remember this scar.”
“That’s because you always avoid looking at it,” she says, stroking my hand.
A beer bottle, smashed near my foot. Glass spraying up, hitting my leg. Blood leaking down my ankle, staining the wooden floorboards. “There’s one on my right ankle, too, isn’t there?”
Beth looks down at my ankle, her eyes glazed over.
“So there is.” She brushes it with the tip of her fingers, as if a simple touch could make the scar disappear.
“There’s one on my chest too. I saw it this morning, when I was getting dressed.”
“Yes, from that night.” She takes my hand, guides my finger along the bottom bone of my ribcage through the white material. “He broke that one,” She drags my finger across and up one bone. “That one,” She makes my finger hop up to the next bone. “And that one.”
I feel like a child, being given a tour of the cruelties of the world. I close my eyes, let my hand rest on my bones.
“How’d he kill himself?” I wonder. My lips are getting tired of moving.
A sharp breath intake. “He hung himself.”
Memories resurface out of the murk, and I open my eyes. “I was lying on a bed like this when you told me, wasn’t I?”
Beth nods. “Your first reaction was a gormless stare. I was worried the shock would somehow freeze your face that way.”
“I remember that. You said: “Becca, Jack’s dead. He hung himself.” And I… I couldn’t feel a thing. My mind went completely blank.”
“And so it stayed for three whole years. Becca, you went so weird after that. You’re still weird, darling. My weird baby sister.” Her voice is smothered with affection, and I can’t help but feel warm with love for her. Our eyes meet, big sister to tormented little sister.
I push myself up, put my heavy arms around her. She holds me, arms firm around my body.
“See, you remember now. Jack is gone, and I’m here, Bexy, I’m here,” she whispers, hot breath tickling my ear.
I nod, emotion finally rushing towards me: an overpowering wave. Tears find my eyes, trickle down my cheeks. All those confused pieces of time, from before and after Jack’s suicide, stitching themselves up. Making sense.
At last, I can hate the man Jack became. This hate, for me, is justice.
My broken skin, my second hand bones: at peace at last.
