Taming the Beast

by Emily Maguire

  ‘Christ, Sarah, calm down. I’m sorry. Come here.’ Mike looked contrite, and Sarah allowed his arms to go around her.

  ‘I was just curious,’ he said into her ear. ‘Jess said they kicked you out over some scandal? Some sex thing? I was thinking maybe enough time’s passed. Maybe you could have some kind of reconciliation?’

  Sarah pressed her head into his shoulder, clinging to his body. The surge of adrenalin and the violent tensing of her muscles had caused the blood to rush away from her head and she was afraid of fainting. He misinterpreted her tension and began to stroke her head. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘It’s okay, babe.’ Again and again he said it, while Sarah seethed and tried to regain her composure enough to stand independently.

  Finally, her pulse slowed to something approaching normal. ‘You don’t know anything about me,’ she said, calmly stepping away from him.

  ‘Sarah?’ He reached for her. She jumped back, holding her hands out in front of her.

  ‘Don’t touch me. Not ever again.’

  His hands flew up to his head. He gaped at her for several seconds, dropped his hands, began to reach out, then returned to combing his hair with his fingers. ‘Sarah, I–’

  She dismissed him with a flick of the wrist and walked away with her head held high. She would not cry. It was beneath her.

  *

  Jamie saw Sarah and Mike sneak inside together, and twenty-two minutes later he saw Sarah approach a big black man with a shaved head, and press her giggly, wriggly body up against him. Three minutes after that, Sarah and the man were kissing each other against the fence. Jamie tried to take courage from the spectacle, to let the sight of her throwing herself around so glibly harden him further. He reminded himself that he was much better off now that he knew she saw him as just another expendable dick in a never-ending line of expendable dicks.

  It hurt so much he wanted to rip his fucking heart out of his chest.

  But that was good. Sarah meant pain; Shelley meant comfort. As long as he remembered that, he would be able to keep away from her and concentrate on being the kind of father his child deserved. And his child did deserve a good father – every child did. Sarah was evidence of how fucked up a person could get from having shitty parents.

  ‘Jamie, got a second?’ Mike slapped his back.

  Jamie looked at Mike, took in the sweaty face and messed up hair, and quickly looked away again. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Sarah’s pissed off at me, big time.’

  ‘Why?’ Jamie asked, trying to not care about the obscene performance at the fence.

  ‘Fucked if I know. Typical bloody irrational woman. Maybe she’s about to get her period.’

  ‘Sarah doesn’t get her period.’ As the words came out of his mouth he realised what a freak he was for saying them. Sure enough, Mike was looking at him as though he’d spoken the entire sentence in Greek. Jamie thought he might as well explain. ‘She manipulates her pill. She doesn’t believe in wasting five days out of every month feeling like crap.’

  Mike pulled a face at Jamie and shook his head. ‘I knew you were close but I didn’t know you talked about that kind of stuff. That’s fucking disgusting, man.’

  ‘The point is that whatever’s upsetting her it isn’t that, okay?’ Jamie barely cared what Mike thought of him. Sarah was clearly about to leave with her new friend, and Jamie hadn’t even wished her a happy birthday yet. He had never missed wishing her a happy birthday, not since her thirteenth when he gave her a book about Medieval Europe and she kissed his cheek for the first time.

  ‘Since you know every last detail of her existence, maybe you can offer some insight into what the fuck is wrong with her.’

  Jamie sighed. What was wrong with Sarah was that she had some kind of personality disorder where she wasn’t happy unless she was causing pain and discomfort to herself and everyone around her.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked, knowing he would regret it.

  ‘I just tried to talk to her about why she doesn’t see her oldies, and she went schizo and stormed out of the room.’

  This caught Jamie’s full attention. ‘What did you say to her?’

  Mike raised his chin defiantly. ‘I told her it was silly to hold a grudge against her family just because she got busted fucking a couple of blokes–’

  ‘Shit, Mike. You said that to her?’

  ‘Not in those words.’ Mike kicked the dirt. ‘I was trying to be nice.’

  ‘Maybe, but you got it wrong. Way wrong.’

  ‘Well, what then? Why doesn’t she see them?’

  ‘That’s Sarah’s business. If she wanted you to know, you would.’ Jamie was glad to have a noble excuse to keep his mouth shut. It was not a story he wanted to ever, ever have to tell.

  ‘I just want to understand why she’s so… why she’s the way she is.’

  That was the question which kept Jamie awake at night. Every time he thought he’d figured out the answer, he remembered something else, or she said something which changed his mind and he was left with the same old pile of maybes and possiblys and a large number of if onlys.

  ‘Sarah’s made some dumb choices in the past – she still does sometimes – but she… she’s been treated badly, had some shitty things done to her. Just believe her when she says there are things she can’t talk about. Just let her be for once.’ He didn’t want to talk anymore and it appeared he didn’t need to. Mike was visibly remorseful, staring at the ground with a face drained of colour.

  ‘I’ll apologise.’

  ‘Not tonight, okay? She’s had enough drama I reckon.’ Jamie swiped the start of a tear from his left eye. Caught it just in time. ‘Let her salvage the last couple of hours of her birthday, heh?’

  Mike opened his eyes wide. ‘It’s her birthday?’

  Jamie watched Sarah over Mike’s shoulder, watched her kissing, and laughing, and standing on her toes, and spinning around, and walking out. Every man wanting her, and trying to be near her, or talking about her, and wondering about her, and there probably wasn’t a single person in the world who had wished her a happy birthday.

  9

  At ten o’clock at night on the first day of the year, Jamie was curled up on the sofa with Shelley when Sarah called. She was hysterical. Please, come over, she sobbed. I really, really need you. He looked at Shelley curled up on the lounge. She was wearing white and yellow sunflower pyjamas that didn’t quite cover her belly, and her hair was all mussed up. Until the moment the phone rang, they’d had a remarkably pleasant evening. Snuggling in front of the television, kissing and making up silly names for the baby. He couldn’t remember enjoying her company so much since they’d first started going out. New year, fresh start, he’d thought.

  Sarah sounded really distressed. He said he’d be right over.

  ‘Please don’t tell me you’re going to Sarah’s,’ Shelley said when he’d hung up.

  ‘Something’s wrong. I have to go.’

  Shelley groaned. ‘Something’s wrong all right. Something’s wrong with you leaving me at ten o’clock at night to go to her.’

  ‘Come on, Shell. She doesn’t have anyone else.’

  Shelley stuck out her bottom lip. ‘We were having such a nice night. Can’t she wait until tomorrow?’

  Jamie leant forward and sucked on the pouty lip until she giggled. ‘That’s better,’ he said, smoothing down her fuzzy hair. ‘I’ll just make sure she’s okay, then I’ll be back. Promise.’

  ‘You’re too bloody nice, Jamie Wilkes,’ Shelley said, but she smiled and blew him a kiss as he left.

  Sarah met him at the door wearing only her underwear and holding a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Within sixty seconds, he was sitting on her bed and rubbing her back. Through drunken tears she told Jamie what had happened.

  Mike had dropped in unannounced at around eight and found her in bed with Charles, the man from last night. Well, no, he didn’t exactly find them in bed. More like, Mike knocked on the door and was greet
ed by an enormous naked black man, holding a giggling naked Sarah over his shoulder. Mike let fly with a torrent of abuse. Charles took exception to the language that Mike was using and proceeded to punch him in the face without putting Sarah down. Mike retreated with a busted nose. Charles asked Sarah if there were any other ex-lovers he should know about before they got any more involved. Sarah kicked Charles in the kidneys and told him to fuck-off, and then he dropped her on her head, called her all the names Mike had called her and broke one of her chairs.

  ‘I’m sick of it all,’ she sobbed into the pillow. She was wearing a pale blue g-string and matching bra. Jamie couldn’t remember Shelley ever wearing a g-string. Or matching underwear of any kind. She used to wear plain coloured cotton undies with a mismatched black polyester bra, but these days she wore maternity underwear, which he understood was necessary from a comfort point of view, but it was obscenely ugly. After the baby was born he would buy her a cute little matching set like this one.

  ‘Sick of what?’ Jamie had read in Mike’s magazine that men who got turned on by damsel in distress types had power issues. Jamie wondered if he was a misogynist or if he had a suppressed hatred towards women, because Sarah was more attractive to him than she had ever been before. Which was saying a lot.

  ‘I’m sick of the way men claim ownership of me just because they’ve had an orgasm in my body.’ Sarah took a heaving breath after every third word.

  Jamie was undoubtedly turned on, but he thought maybe it was because of the underwear and not the weakness or despair. If she would put some clothes on he would be able to tell. Or if she stayed in her underwear but stopped crying. Either way would tell him what he wanted to know.

  ‘I hate men. Hate them. They think they know everything. Men! They know nothing. Good for one bloody thing and most of them aren’t even good at that.’

  ‘If you hate them so much, why do you spend every waking hour with them?’ Jamie forced himself to stare at the picture of the Eiffel Tower over her bed. It was a horrible shiny poster with I Love Paris written across the top in red, blue and white. She had bought it for fifty cents at a school fete a few years ago. She said it reminded her that all she would have of the world was cheesy mass produced tourist shots unless she got off her arse and saw it for herself.

  ‘I don’t spend every waking hour with them and that’s the problem. You know what Mike said to me? He said I didn’t have a heart! Can you believe that?’

  Jamie had never heard Sarah talk like this. She went through men like she went through underwear. Itsy, bitsy, teeny, weeny pale blue underwear. Stop.

  ‘He doesn’t know you, Sar.’ Jamie patted her smooth, pale back. ‘Do you think it might help to get out here? I’ll take you out for a drink to get your mind off it all.’ Jamie was proud of himself. She would have to get dressed if they went to the pub.

  ‘You’re too bloody nice to me, Jamie. Such a goddamn nice guy.’

  Well, Shelley and Sarah agreed on that one. But would they still think he was a nice guy if they knew he was imagining grabbing Sarah’s arse with both hands, pulling it towards him, pressing his face into the firm cheeks, slipping his index finger under the thong and running his tongue along the crack? Would Sarah and Shelley say he was too nice if they knew he had an enormous boner from comforting a drunk, confused, parentless girl?

  He had to put the brakes on this before it was too late. ‘Sarah, can you get up?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So I can talk to you. Sit up for me, will you?’

  Sarah rolled over onto her back. ‘You can talk to me when I’m lying down.’

  This was worse. She looked so open, arms at her side, legs slightly spread and bent at the knees. Her ribs jutted up and so did her hipbones. The urge to feel the curve of her waist was strong. She was so perfect, it was hard to look at her and impossible to look away.

  ‘Why are you staring at me?’

  Jamie looked up at the Eiffel Tower. ‘Can you put some clothes on?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s hard to talk to you when you’re nearly naked.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Do you have a dressing gown or something I can get you?’

  ‘A dressing gown? Is that something that dumpy pregnant ladies wear because they don’t want anyone to see how fat and awful they look?’

  Jamie stood up. ‘I’m leaving.’

  She reached for his arm and pulled him back down. ‘No.’

  ‘I know you’re upset, but don’t be mean about Shelley.’

  ‘Sorry. Do you love me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not as much as you love her though?’

  ‘It’s different.’

  She flopped over onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillow again. He allowed himself another good look at her. Her skin was so smooth and pale. Cadaver pale. Bloodless.

  ‘Rub my back,’ she said. ‘You sound like Mike.’

  ‘How do I sound like Mike?

  ‘Mike always says it’s different with Jess. Rub harder. I’m not going to break.’

  Jamie rubbed harder. ‘I’m probably not as good at this as he is.’

  ‘He never gives me back rubs. He gives Jess back rubs I think, probably he does, I don’t know, I might ask him. Do you give Shelley back rubs?’

  ‘Sometimes. Belly rubs lately.’ A wave of guilt at how hurt Shelley would be if she knew what he was doing engulfed him. Just comforting an old friend. On her bed. While she’s in her underwear. Drunk and vulnerable. Nothing wrong with that, Shell.

  ‘Will you rub my belly?’ Sarah rolled over abruptly so he had no time to move. He had one hand on her stomach and the other landed on her left breast. He was certain now that his arousal had nothing to do with her being distressed, and everything to do with the fact that she was intentionally seducing him.

  He held his hands in the air. ‘No.’

  She reached for him and placed his hands back where they were. Funny that she looked so cold, as if there was no blood to warm her at all, yet her skin was burning and he could feel her heart pumping forcefully under her breast.

  He pulled away from her. ‘I’m going to go home to Shelley. She’s pregnant you know?’

  ‘I know. Don’t leave.’ Sarah sat up and took off her bra in one smooth, practised movement.

  Jamie refused to look at her breasts. He looked instead at her tear-stained, blank face. It was the only part of her skin with any colour and that was all concentrated around her eyes, which were so red and squinty that they were barely recognisable. In fact, her whole head looked odd, too big and strangely coloured, like one of those dodgy internet photos of a soap star’s head pasted onto a centrefold’s body.

  ‘Did you ask me to come here for this?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Jamie wished he didn’t love her so much. He wished he could turn her down flat and walk away. But he wanted her to understand what she was doing to him. He needed her to know that she was killing him, and then he needed to see how she reacted, whether it mattered to her at all.

  ‘How can you think it’s okay to use me whenever you need to get off? Mike told me that the night you and I… he told me that he was… you were touching each other at dinner.’ A sob broke free and the tears began to stream out. He didn’t care. ‘He said you were excited. He said you were all… All that desire, Sarah, God! I thought it was for me!’

  Sarah took a tissue from the box next to her knee and wiped Jamie’s face. ‘It was, Jamie. I swear. You shouldn’t listen to him. He’s jealous of you.’

  Jamie pushed her hand away. ‘I was so happy that night. I thought you really wanted me.’

  ‘I did. And I want you now.’ Sarah grabbed his hand and forced it between her legs. ‘Feel that? That’s for my Jamie-boy.’

  He felt it. Felt the damp heat coming through the too thin fabric. The damp heat that her body had made just for him. There was no one else here; it had to be for him. Oh God. He closed his eyes and focussed on an ima
ge of Shelley; she was exactly the wife he should want. Think about the baby. Think about how you’ll feel tomorrow when Sarah pretends this never happened.

  ‘I need to go home,’ he said, without removing his hand.

  ‘You need to stay with me.’

  She kissed him again, and he lost himself for a second. Then he remembered that she had done this with at least two other men in the last thirty-six hours. He was nothing to her and everything to Shelley. He pulled back. ‘Last time we… you said you did it because you were upset about me and Shelley and the baby and everything. And you still are. You don’t really want me but you can’t fucking stand it that someone else does.’

  ‘Maybe that was it at first but, now–’ She kissed his closed mouth wetly. ‘Just looking at you makes me want to fuck you.’

  He was kissing her without meaning to. Her breasts were under his hands, feeling hotter than he remembered but otherwise the same. She said his name and grabbed the front of his shorts, and he sobbed and pulled away.

  ‘Why now? All these years, Sarah, and when I finally have– Why are you doing this now?’ His voice sounded all broken, which made sense because Sarah was pulling him apart. Soon it would be too late; much more of this and he would never be able to put himself together again.

  ‘We can’t know why.’ Sarah pushed him on to his back and straddled him. He let her. ‘It’s like a volcano. The damn thing lies dormant for years. People build their houses right around the base.’ She was unbuttoning his shirt, tugging at his shorts. ‘Then one day boom! That harmless old mountain erupts and there’s suddenly molten magna over all those cute little hotels and theme restaurants and quaint log cabins. And then, then, everybody says that it was a disaster waiting to happen. It was fucking inevitable. It was always a volcano; never a mountain.’

  She stood up with one leg either side of him and leant forward to place one hand on the wall over his head. With her other hand, she slid her pants down to her knees, then lifted each leg in turn, finally kicking the damp scrap of cotton off the side of the bed. She squatted over him, her arms holding his down. ‘I know I hurt you, and I know you’re scared I’m going to do it again, and I can’t promise you I won’t. Sometimes I think I hurt you just by existing. But I can promise you that I will not pretend this didn’t happen, and I will not pretend it didn’t mean anything.’ She shifted position, and the wet lips of her cunt brushed his cock. He raised his hips, straining to be inside her, but she hovered just out of his reach. ‘Ask me to fuck you.’