by A. D. Koboah
“You mus’ be high to be talkin’ to me like dat,” he said in a low voice. “Now lis’en, and you’d better lis’en good. I ain’t gonna let some little girl talk to me like I’m an idiot, you understand?”
There was a deafening silence for a few moments. And then I started to laugh, a high-pitched almost hysterical sounding laugh that left him looking down at me in disbelief.
“Yeah, I must be high,” I said when I finally managed to get the laughter under control. “I must be high every time I sleep with you, you ugly bastard!”
His eyes bulged and I saw a murderous rage descend over his features, but I was too angry to take heed of the fear I could feel trying to push its way up through the anger.
“You look shocked, Dan. Why? Do you seriously think I enjoy sleeping with you? Do you think I actually want you anywhere near me? You’re old and ugly. I hate having your dirty hands on me, I hate the feel of your skin on mine, I hate the way you smell. Everything about you makes me feel sick!” I started to laugh again at this point, an ugly sounding shrill sound. “And you’re so damn thick, you still can’t even say my name right half the time!”
I tried to shield my head and face as his hand shot out and grabbed my arm. He dragged me roughly to my feet and slammed me against the wall.
“Go ahead and hit me!” I screamed. Anger and frustration was now acting like a heady cocktail that overrode my better judgement and any concern I might have had for my personal safety. “Go on! I’d prefer you beat the shit out of me. Don’t you know I’d prefer that to fucking you?”
He reached for my neck and clamped his hand around it dangerously. I struggled against him for a few seconds until my fear was able to force its way through my rage and plead with me to stop struggling as it was only making him tighten the hold around my neck. I stood pinned to the wall with both hands on the iron grip around my neck and stared up at a face that seemed to be trapped in its fury. His eyes had narrowed, he was baring his teeth like a wild animal and I wasn’t even sure he was aware of the thin line of spittle that hung from the corner of his mouth. Then he pulled me away from the wall by my neck and released me.
A hate-filled smile replaced the blind anger.
“We’ll see jus’ how sick it makes you when you’ve bin widout your shit for a coupla days.”
I sank to the floor as he moved toward the living room door.
“I don’t need your fucking money,” I cried. “There are a million men out there who will give me what I need.” He paused at the door and stared at me. “And you know what, Dan? I might just get clean and then I’ll never have to see you again.”
The smug smile was chased away by apprehension at the thought that I would soon be well beyond his reach.
“Yeah, that got your attention, didn’t it?”
“You’ll neva get clean. You’ll always be a dirty junkie.”
“You’re wrong!” I screamed as he walked out of the room. “I’m gonna get off this shit. Do you fucking hear me, Daniel?”
The hollow sound of the front door slamming shut behind him was the only answer I got.
I sat there with my head against the wall, breathing heavily as I listened to the ringing in my ear drown out the silence in the flat. When my breathing finally slowed down to an acceptable level, I stood up shakily and began picking up the litter and straightened up the room until it was almost back to normal. Then I strode into the kitchen and began tackling the mess that had been left in there. The bathroom was my last stop and I disposed of the used condom with a grimace and cleaned the place from top to bottom.
It was only when the place was spotless again that the anger that had been driving me disappeared, leaving me feeling weak and depleted.
Looking in the mirror, I could see that my neck looked slightly tender, but thankfully my rich dark complexion hid any bruise that would have otherwise betrayed me with a reminder of the assault.
Overcome by a sudden feeling of having been soiled, I ran a bath and stripped off my clothes. I felt a great sense of release when I immersed myself in the bath water, enjoying the feel of the hot liquid lacing my skin and leaving it tingling.
I sat in the bath for a while, continually refilling it with more hot water every time it grew cold. I swore loudly when the doorbell sounded, chasing me out of it. I grabbed a towel and raced to the door.
“All right, I’m coming!” I shouted out when the doorbell rang again.
I got to the door and pulled it open to find Jason standing before me. He looked at me and then down at the towel I had hastily wrapped around myself. His eyes lingered a second too long before they came back up to my face and he shifted uncomfortably.
“Is this a bad time?”
“No,” I said, allowing the towel to slip and reveal a slight cleavage as the heady recklessness I had experienced earlier with Daniel returned.
“So what can I do for you today?” I asked suggestively, enjoying seeing him looking slightly unsettled by my near nakedness.
“I missed you last Tuesday,” he said coldly and I remembered that I had promised to meet with him to talk over a week ago.
“You’d better come in then.” I stepped to one side with my back against the wall so he would have to brush against me when he walked into the flat.
He stepped into the flat, managing to keep from touching me, and walked into the hallway. I closed the front door.
“That way.” I gestured to the living room, touching my tender neck as I followed him. “So talk to me,” I said once he was in the living room.
“Go put some clothes on and we’ll go somewhere and talk,” he said curtly.
“Suit yourself.” I flounced out of the living room.
Once inside the bedroom, I removed the towel and rubbed my temples in an attempt to ward off the onset of a tension headache. Letting out a shaky breath, I sifted through the clothes in my drawer in search of tracksuit bottoms, jumping nervously when the sound of my mobile phone cut through the air. My heart quickened when I picked it up and saw Daniel’s name. Tossing it onto the bed along with the tracksuit bottoms I had in my hand, I reached for my pink dressing gown.
Jason was sitting on the sofa when I strolled into the living room. He watched me carefully when I sat down beside him.
“I don’t feel like going anywhere,” I said abruptly. “We can talk here, or not at all.”
He stared at me for a few seconds. “You’ve really changed.”
I couldn’t read his expression but I heard a hint of sadness in his voice that I found disconcerting.
“You’re the one who’s changed,” I said, reaching over and running my hand along his arm. “You never used to be this buff.”
He flicked my hand away dismissively, and that gesture—or more precisely the contempt I sensed behind it—knocked against the bubble encasing the nervousness his presence always evoked in me. Angered by it, I stood up and moved away from the sofa.
Once I was safely at the windowsill, I felt brave enough to have one last shot at him.
“Come to think of it, you haven’t changed at all. You’re still a cold bastard.”
He didn’t reply and instead stared at me, barely looking as if he had heard what I had said and that made me even angrier.
He was dressed pretty much the same way he had been when he turned up on my doorstep with Mohamed, what now seemed like years ago. The expensive-looking wool coat had been left unbuttoned to reveal a black suit. He looked the image of success from the silver cufflinks down to his polished leather shoes and I hated him at that moment as he represented everything I wasn’t.
I eventually looked away from him and to the window, unconsciously bringing up a hand to my neck again.
“What’s wrong with your neck?”
“Nothing,” I said a little too quickly and pulled my hand away. “So did you come here just to sit and stare at me?”
“He might not have said it when he came to see you before, but Mohamed wants you to know he’s sorry.”
I seriously doubted Mohamed had told Jason to say that, but I let him continue. “All he wants now is for you to give him the chance to make things up to you and his son.”
“Well, you can tell him there’s nothing he can do to make things up to me.”
“No, but he can at least get to know his son.”
“It’s a bit late for that, way too late,” I said darkly. My words were laced with bitterness, and the memories—reminders of what had happened two years ago—threatened to break through the layers and layers I had put up to protect myself from those dark, dark days.
“What is going on with you?” he said with an edge of exasperation in his voice. “Are you trying to use Dante to punish Mohamed or something? What do you think all this is gonna achieve? You’re a smart girl, Peace, why are—”
“Don’t patronise me,” I said in a low whisper. “You and Mohamed suddenly think I’m smart, do you? And not—what was it he called me—a dumb, fat bitch? You were there when he said those things to me. You obviously didn’t think I was so smart then, did you?”
The jolt of anger that had snaked to the surface stemmed more from what had happened between me and Daniel before Jason arrived, but it succeeded in making him lower his eyes and he now looked defeated by the memory.
A thick, heavy silence sank into the room.
“I didn’t like the way he carried on that day,” he said slowly after a few seconds, and I saw I had managed to penetrate his standoffish demeanour. “I didn’t think it was right then, and I don’t now. But it seems like he’s trying to do the right thing now. That’s the only reason why I’m here.”
As I stared at him, I began to see that the aloofness that had always made me uncomfortable was armour he wore and he felt a lot more than he let show. It also became apparent to me that this whole affair made him extremely uncomfortable.
“I don’t expect you to get along with Mohamed after what he did,” he said. “But you—”
“I need money,” I said and hopped off the windowsill to come and stand before him.
“What do you need it for?”
“I’ve got rent arrears and I need a couple of hundred, today.”
“Is that why you asked Mohamed for that money?”
I nodded.
He sighed. “Why did you have to lie about that? Why didn’t you just tell Mo you were in trouble and needed money? You could’ve even asked me for that money.”
“I’m asking now, Jason.”
He sighed heavily, took out his wallet and pulled out some notes.
“I’ve only got eighty pounds on me.”
“That’ll do for now,” I said and took the money out of his hand.
Still riding the wave of false confidence and totally dismissing my better judgement, I slowly pulled my dressing gown apart, revealing the soft swell of my breasts and the fact that I was totally naked beneath the gown.
“Now, how can I say thank you?”
“Don’t play games with me, Peace.”
I laughed provocatively. “I didn’t say anything about playing games, but if that’s the kinda thing you’re into, then we’ll play whatever game you wanna play,” I said.
Cupping my breasts, I kneaded them slowly before letting my hands travel down my stomach to the inviting darkness. I closed the gap between us slowly and lowered myself down onto his lap so I was straddling him.
His eyes narrowed, growing steely but I thought I glimpsed something else in them before it was quickly hidden away, giving me the confidence to lean closer to him and let my lips hover over his.
He stood up abruptly then, lifting me up and placing me on my feet as he did so.
“I said, don’t play with me.” His voice was low and steady. “Now stop messing around and tell me where Dante is.”
I took a step back and pulled the dressing gown back together. Taken back to that day in the rain, I could hear Mohamed’s words cutting into me all over again and also feel how I had felt at the time; like I was nothing more than the dirt beneath his shoes. I also thought of Daniel and the way he had sent me flying across the room and a tear rolled down onto my cheek.
The hardness crumbled away from his face and voice immediately. He took a step toward me.
“Peace?”
I scurried over to the windowsill, keeping my back to the room so he couldn’t see the emotions that had been stirred up in me.
“Peace, I—”
“I’m not gonna tell you anything, so just go!”
The words came out in a ragged whisper as I struggled to control the tears, but they continued to form and mark a trail of shame and humiliation down my face.
It was deathly silent and I thought he had left the room until I felt his hand on my shoulder. I tried to move away but he caught my arms and turned me round to face him.
His armour was completely down now and concern mingling with regret moved across his face as he looked at me.
I bent my head down and tried to move away from him, completely humiliated by the fact that he was here to see me weak and humiliated. Again. But he held fast onto my wrists and wouldn’t let me go. A few seconds passed and when I gave up trying to fight him, he released my wrists and gently cupped my face with both hands, forcing me to look up at him.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said gently, using a thumb to wipe away a tear. “I didn’t come here to upset you. I just need you to tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”
“You can’t help me! No one can, so just go!”
“Why are you doing this? Why won’t you tell us where he is?”
“He...he was taken away from me,” I said simply, my voice barely above a whisper.
“When? Who took him? Social Services? Your mum? Who, Peace?”
It felt as if I was being pushed under water by those dark memories. Unable to cope with the turmoil in my head and in my heart, I quickly placed both hands over his, leaned up and kissed him on the lips.
He pulled away, quickly releasing the hold he had on my face as if I had hurt him. But he was also confused and appeared to be wrestling with common sense, desire and loyalty to his friend.
“Peace,” he said softly, almost pleadingly.
But we both knew there was no turning back now and I kissed him again, a kiss he returned fiercely as he pulled me to him.
***
Afterwards as we lay on the bed in the dark room, I shrank away from him and pulled the bedclothes up to cover myself.
The tide of false confidence that led to this point had deserted me and I was left feeling awkward and unsure of myself.
When he sat up slowly and gazed down at me, I kept my head turned away from him. I flinched when I felt his hand lightly touch my face.
“I shouldn’t have let that happen,” he said softly.
“Look, you don’t need to make any excuses. You can just get your clothes and go and we’ll act like this never happened.”
He pulled his hand away as if he had been burned. After a few seconds of silence I looked up at him, just about able to make out his expression in the meagre light from the streetlamps that was streaming in through the windows.
“Is that what you really want?”
I averted my gaze, unable to answer that question even to myself.
He brought his hand up to my face again and lightly stroked my cheek.
“You’ve changed so much, but I can still see some of the person you used to be.”
“Don’t say that,” I said fiercely. “I’m not that person anymore. I don’t look like her, I don’t think like her.”
“There was nothing wrong with that person. She was beautiful. You’re beautiful,” he said seeming confused by my response.
I glanced away again, hating the tenderness I saw in his eyes, tenderness I hadn’t realised I was crying out for until that moment. When he began pulling the duvet away from me, I tried to hold onto it, scared suddenly that he would be able to make out the sprinkling of needle marks
on my arms. I couldn’t make them out in the dark, but that didn’t stop me worrying. But he persisted and I eventually gave in letting him expose my nakedness in more ways than one. His eyes drifted tenderly over me and I was conscious of my many imperfections. My hands flew down to my stomach in a futile attempt to hide the stretch marks that had branded a tale of motherhood across my lower abdomen, but he pulled them away. Then he bent his head and planted a few soft kisses on my stomach before he gently laid his head there, taking hold of one of my hands.
I lifted my free hand, and after a second or two spent with it hovering uncertainly in the air, I let it rest on his head.
Neither of us spoke until the sanctity of the moment was interrupted a few minutes later by his mobile phone. I instantly missed the feel of his head against my stomach when he got up and retrieved the phone from his clothes.
“All right, Mo,” I heard him say as I turned over onto my stomach and watched as he sat down on the edge of the bed with his back to me. “Um…no, she weren’t in. Look, Mo, I’m driving right now, so I’ll bell you tomorrow. All right. Later.”
He put the phone away and faced me. Feeling guilt begin to prick me, I quickly looked away.
“I’ve made things awkward for you haven’t I, Jason?” I said after a while.
He didn’t answer but instead came to lie on his side beside me, keeping his head propped up on his hand. He was silent, lost in his own thoughts as he softly traced an invisible line down the curve of my back.
“Was this just your way of getting back at him?” he asked after a few minutes.
I didn’t answer.
“Was it?” he asked again, pushing me gently over onto my back so I was looking up at him.
“No,” I answered truthfully. “This isn’t about Mohamed.”
He relaxed visibly and a small smile crept onto his face. I brought my fingers up to softly touch his lips.
“You don’t smile enough,” I said, wishing I could freeze that smile and maybe even freeze this moment with him.
“You used to smile all the time but I haven’t seen you smile properly since I saw you that time with Dante. I could see you were probably tired and a bit stressed out that day, but you were still so happy. It must’ve killed you to have to give him up.”
