by Cat Clarke
I still wanted to know who she’d had sex with. As far as I was concerned, she simply wasn’t playing fair. It should be tit for tat (I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours). Still, I tried my best to ignore the resentment that was starting to fester inside me.
Sal didn’t actually want me to go with her to the doc’s, but I insisted. It’s not that I didn’t trust her to go on her own – I just felt I should be there. The doctor talked Sal through her options, but I could tell she wasn’t listening. When the doc had finished, Sal calmly explained that she’d already considered all her options in great detail (lie), and that she wasn’t stupid (truth) and knew that she wasn’t ready for the responsibility (also truth). She was eerily composed. It was almost like she wasn’t quite there, or like she was watching the whole thing happen through a pane of glass. An opaque pane of glass.
The bad news was that we shouldn’t have waited those extra couple of weeks. If Sal had gone to the doctor’s sooner, she would have been given some pills to take to terminate the pregnancy. It wouldn’t have been pleasant, but she wouldn’t have had to go through the trauma of going to a clinic. I felt like I’d let Sal down. I should have made her listen. Should have forced her to see a doctor sooner. Maybe I’d been too busy relishing the drama of it all. Maybe.
It was strange; we’d both accepted the idea of an abortion until we found out that she shouldn’t have needed one in the first place. I don’t know why, but having to have an actual operation seemed way worse than taking some pills, even if the end result was the same.
Something changed in Sal then, I think. We left the surgery, having made an appointment for her to go to the clinic the following week. I suggested we head to a greasy spoon I knew for a cup of tea.
We sat opposite each other at the back of the cafe. The table had more chips on it than the menu did. The tea was bitter and strong. Sal was distracted, but that was hardly surprising. I was yabbering on about how it was all going to be OK, and that she’d soon be able to put it all behind her and hadn’t the doctor been nice?
Sal interrupted. ‘Grace, can you just stop please?’
‘Stop what?’
Sal looked at me like I was being particularly dense. ‘Can we just …? I can’t do this right now. I have to go.’ She pushed back her chair. It made a horrible scraping noise on the lino.
‘Where are you going? What’s up?’ I was baffled. I knew she was upset – but she was supposed to want to be upset with me, not off by herself somewhere. This wasn’t the way it was meant to go.
Sal had tears in her eyes and her voice was shaky when she said, ‘Just … nothing. I have to go home.’ Then she legged it out of the cafe before I even knew what was happening. Leaving me to pick up the bill. Nice.
I paid and rushed outside to catch up with her. I figured she’d be just around the corner, ready to apologize for being such a drama queen. She wasn’t, so I called her. Her phone went straight to voicemail. Odd. Sal never turned off her phone. Never ever. We’d made a deal.
The scratches on my arm are fading.
A broken biro works better than fingernails.
Blood on my pyjamas.
Red. White.
Another visit from Ethan. The real one, not the dream one – I think. He saw the blood straight away, probably because I didn’t try to hide it. ‘Give me your hand,’ he said, so softly I wasn’t even sure he’d said it out loud. He gently prised the broken biro from my hand and put it in the pocket of his jeans. ‘I’ll get you some clean clothes.’
A couple of minutes later he was back with another set of pyjamas, identical to the ones I was wearing. ‘Do you want me to help with that?’ He nodded towards my bloody arms. I shook my head, which felt all woolly and slow.
‘Make sure you clean them up well. There’s antiseptic under the sink.’ I nodded, took the clothes from the bed and went into the bathroom. I felt like I was walking underwater.
When I came out about ten minutes later, Ethan was sitting on the bed with the bloody biro in his hands. He didn’t seem to mind that he was getting my blood all over his fingers. ‘Should I take the pens away?’ His tone was neutral.
‘No, please, don’t. I … I have to write. It’s all I can do.’
‘You can’t keep doing this, Grace. You know that, don’t you?’
I was starting to panic now. If I couldn’t write, I really might start losing it. ‘Please, Ethan. I won’t do it again, I promise.’ He looked up, and I felt like he was really seeing me. I held his gaze for as long as I could bear before looking away. He knew I was lying. I couldn’t make a promise like that.
I’ve tried and failed before.
Ethan stood and walked to the door, leaving me staring into space. As he opened the door, he said, ‘Sometimes it’s hard for us to understand why people do the things they do, isn’t it?’ I waited for the familiar snick of the deadbolts. When I heard that, I whispered a quiet ‘Tell me about it’ to the empty room.
I sat down on the bed and rolled up my sleeves. Looking at my arms, criss-crossed with scars, old and new, I was struck for the very first time by the thought that it’s a strange thing to do to yourself.
day 14
That makes it an even fortnight. Two whole weeks here and nothing’s changed. Actually that’s not strictly true; today I cleaned the bathroom. That was a bit of a surprise. It was starting to look not so white any more. And for some reason that bothered me. If by some miracle, a knight in shining armour does rescue me (and I can’t exactly picture volunteers lining up for the job), I don’t want him thinking I’m a total pig.
Sometimes I catch myself in a lie. The truth is I don’t want Ethan thinking I’m a total pig. There. That’s better. I don’t know why I care, but I do. Mum would be proud. It’s only taken two full weeks in captivity to finally get me to do some chores.
There’s bleach under the sink.
I wonder what it would be like to drink it.
Ethan brought my lunch while I was on my cleaning mission. He poked his head round the bathroom door and grinned at me. Before I could stop myself, I grinned back. Neither of us spoke. Lunch was a salad. I ate it all up in about ten minutes. Scrubbing must have given me an appetite. I didn’t write this afternoon; I exercised. Some sit-ups, a few stretches, nothing too hardcore. I paced from wall to wall one hundred times.
I couldn’t get hold of Sal the evening after we went to the doctor’s. Her mobile was still switched off, and no one was home either. Or at least, no one was answering the phone. I could just picture Sal hovering over the phone, rolling her eyes at the fact that I just wouldn’t give up. I’ll admit it: I was seriously worried. I had no idea what was going on.
The next few days were not much fun. I left countless messages on Sal’s phone and a couple on her home number. The one time I spoke to her dad, he said she was out. I didn’t want to hound her too much at home though – didn’t want to raise any suspicions. Maybe she just needed some breathing space, a bit of time to think about next week.
Eventually I decided that she’d get in touch when she was good and ready. And when she was, I’d be there with all the tea and sympathy she could ever wish for. I tried to ignore that fact that I was annoyed about how she’d acted in the cafe. And annoyed that she was ignoring my calls. And still annoyed that she’d refused to tell me who she’d slept with. Quite a lot of annoyance really, but I was willing to put it aside. For now.
I was sure she would contact me before next week. And there was no way I was going to let her go through that nightmare by herself. So I waited, and waited some more. Nothing.
The day before Sal’s appointment, I tried one last time. I left a pleading message on her mobile, telling her she HAD to call me, and that I knew things had been tough, but I was going to be there for her tomorrow, no matter what she said. A few hours later I got a text back: ‘Meet in the park at 9 – by the swings’. Short and not so sweet. No ‘sorry’, no ‘xxx’, no nothing. Still, at least she’d finally agreed to see me
.
I arrived at the park ten minutes early and meandered towards the swings. Sal was already there, much to my surprise. She was never on time. She had some kind of mental block about it. I’ve seen her try to leave the house in good time, only to realize she’d misplaced her keys or her phone or her bag, or oh wait … these weren’t the jeans she wanted to wear today cos it looks like it might rain later. So seeing her there, swinging back and forth, was slightly disconcerting.
Sal saw me coming. I waved. She didn’t. Okaaaaay. I sort of wanted to turn around and head home, but that wasn’t really an option. I approached cautiously and sat on the swing next to her. She didn’t look at me.
‘Where have you been, Sal? I’ve been worried.’
‘I haven’t been anywhere. I just wanted some space.’ She looked up at me. She looked, I don’t know, sort of haunted.
‘Fair enough, I can understand that. But you could have just told me that.’
Sal shook her head. Her hand was at her belly, gently rubbing.
‘Talk to me, Sal. Please?’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Well, for starters, do you want me to come to yours tomorrow, or shall I meet you at the clinic?’ I was perfectly willing to forget about the way she’d acted – at least until after the abortion.
‘I don’t want you to come.’ There was a quiet determination in her voice that I didn’t like one little bit.
‘Don’t be stupid – of course I’m coming! There’s no way you’d let me go through something like this by myself. C’mon, Sal—’
‘You’re not listening to me. I don’t want you there.’
‘Why not? Is someone else going? Have you told your mum?’ A fleeting smile from Sal – so fleeting I wasn’t even sure I’d seen it.
‘Yeah, right.’
‘So who then? Wait … have you told him … the boy, I mean?’ This could be progress. If Boy X was facing up to his responsibilities, that could only be a good thing.
Sal shook her head, and tears welled up in her eyes. I reached for her hand and she flinched. She actually flinched! WTF?
‘Sal, what is wrong with you? Jesus!’ I got up from the swing and knelt down in front of her, forcing her to look at me.
‘You really have no idea, do you?’ She shook her head slowly as she spoke.
‘I haven’t got a scooby! Tell me. C’mon, you can tell me anything … you know that.’
She took a juddery deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say.
‘This is all your fault.’
I couldn’t speak for a moment or two. And when I finally managed, what came out wasn’t even a proper word – more like an incredulous vowel sound.
‘This would never have happened if it hadn’t been for you.’ Sal spoke quietly, but there was an underlying bitterness that I had never heard from her before.
I felt the first flickers of anger, spiked and hot. ‘What the fuck? You’re not serious, are you?’
‘Do I look like I’m joking?’ Now Sal was looking kind of angry too. How can this be happening? I was watching a bad play where the actors were getting the dialogue all wrong.
‘How can this be my fault? As far as I can understand it, which isn’t very far cos you haven’t told me anything, you had sex with some random boy, didn’t use a condom and … well, that’s pretty much all I know, isn’t it? Now explain to me exactly which part of that is my fault? C’mon, tell me. Sorry for being dense, if it’s so fucking obvious!’ I was standing now, not quite shouting, but sort of spitting the words. Dad always said I had a bit of a temper.
Sal said, ‘You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about – as usual.’
The conversation was spiralling out of control, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you. You’re not even making sense any more. Sal, I’ve done nothing wrong and you know it!’
‘Why do you think I’m in this situation?’
I felt like I was walking into some kind of trap, but I couldn’t quite see how. ‘Um … well … duh … let me see. I’m guessing it went something like this: you met a boy, there was probably a bit of kissing, he felt you up, you finally realized you didn’t want to be the last virgin on the face of the planet and that maybe waiting around for your one true love was a complete waste of time after all so you let him shag you. Probably lasted about two minutes, and then you went boo hoo hoo all the way home.’ As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d made a terrible mistake.
Sal looked like I’d just slapped her in the face. I tried to backtrack. ‘Shit, Sal, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just got all … well, you know how I get sometimes – mouth runs away with me. I don’t know what I’m talking about.’ I reached out to touch her arm and she looked at my hand as if it was some kind of mutant insect.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she said in a hollow voice. ‘You remember that Friday night we went out just before Easter? You pulled like three or was it even four boys in that club, leaving me sitting on my own in the corner?’
‘Yeah, I remember. I said I was sorry. Don’t see what that’s got to do with anything though,’ I said sulkily.
‘You were completely off your face when we got back to mine. No surprise there. Do you remember what you said to me in the kitchen?’
I mentally rewound to the night in question, but it was no good. I shook my head.
Sal mirrored my head-shaking, muttering, ‘Typical,’ under her breath. ‘You said that if I didn’t lose my virginity soon, you were either going to have me signed up to join a convent, or you were going to choose a boy yourself to do the honours.’
Ouch. That did sound like something I would say.
Sal continued, ‘You said that pining over Chris was a waste of time, that I was “deluded” for thinking that something could ever happen there, and that I was “waaaaaaaaaaay too picky for my own good”. Sounding familiar now? Ringing any bells?’
‘Is that what this is about? I say something stupid when I’m pissed, and you go out and shag some boy because of it. Now, tell me exactly how that works.’
‘You really have no idea what a bitch you can be sometimes, do you?’
‘For Christ’s sake, I was joking, Sal. I was wasted! This is ridiculous.’ I turned away from her.
‘It wasn’t just that night, Grace – there were constant little digs about it, all the time. Maybe you don’t remember, but I do! If your best friend says something to you enough times, you start to believe it. I wouldn’t have slept with anyone if it hadn’t been for you – I wasn’t ready! That might be difficult for you to understand, Little Miss “Oh, I’ve only known you for five minutes but of course I’ll have sex with you. It might make me like myself a little bit more and finally prove I’m actually worth something, instead of just being some freak who cuts herself in a pathetic attempt to get sympathy from people—”’
I slapped Sal square in the face, hard.
Sal was shocked, and so was I. I’d never hit anyone in my life. I walked away, leaving her standing there gawping after me.
I felt numb. How could this have happened? Our friendship was over – that was for sure. There’d be no coming back from this. All this time I’d thought Sal cared about me … and then to hear her spouting that poison?
I started to run. As fast as I could. Far away from Sal. Far away from everything.
But no matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t outrun my tears.
day 15
More dreams. Some that seemed to go on forever, and some that were just snapshots. There’s only one that I can remember clearly though; the others fade every time I try to focus my mind. Maybe I’ll remember later. I’m not one of those people who think that dreams necessarily mean anything, but I suppose I’m open-minded about the whole thing.
Last night I dreamed I was having sex with Nat. Everything about it was just right. His smell, his touch on my skin, the movement of his taut sinewy back muscles under my hands.
We weren’t in his bed or mine – we were in Sal’s bed. The sex was good, maybe even better than it ever was in real life.
And then the old dream-morphing trick happened again, and suddenly it was Ethan on top of me. But it was still Nat too. A kind of Ethan/Nat hybrid of gorgeousness.
Afterwards, I lay with my head on his chest. It was definitely all Ethan now. His chest was so very pale.
I lay there for what seemed like hours. Until I noticed that I couldn’t hear his heartbeat. His chest wasn’t moving up and down the way it should – he wasn’t breathing. I bolted upright to look at his face. And he just smiled a peaceful smile at me and said, ‘What’s the matter, Gracie?’ I told him I couldn’t hear his heartbeat and I’d thought he was dead. He smiled again, shaking his head as if I was overreacting. ‘Maybe you’re just not listening hard enough? Listen carefully and you can hear the ocean.’ I pressed my ear against his chest and there was a heartbeat, faint but definitely there. And I could hear the ocean – the tide flowing in and out, in and out. I smiled.
And then I woke up – half horny, half puzzled. Dreams are tiring.
Something’s changed in me, I think. I can’t pinpoint exactly when it changed, but it definitely has. I’ve stopped questioning why I’m here. I just am. This is the way things are. I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, but maybe it doesn’t matter.
But I still want to know about Ethan. I need to know about Ethan. What does he do all day? Where does he sleep? Does he ever go outside? Is he happy?
I’m going to try to speak to him, properly. No more petulance, no more tears.
I start today.
After lunch, Ethan brought me some grey trackie bottoms and a couple of white vests. Some underwear too. Everything fits. When he handed over the neatly folded pile, I looked at him quizzically.
