by Diane Wood
Making her way to the front door and turning the handle, she pulled, but the door did not move. Staring at it, she noted the two deadlocks above the handle. Neither came with a key. Pulling at the door in frustration, she began to cry. “Let me out,” she begged quietly. “I want to go home. I want to go home.”
“It’s okay, Chris. It’s okay.” The voice was right beside her ear as the warm familiar body enveloped her, crushing into her, holding her firmly.
“Nat, thank God.” Gasping, she tried to turn around, but the arms held her firmly.
“Ssssh,” whispered the voice. “Mother rang your mother to let her know you were staying, so there’s no need to rush off. Mother wouldn’t like it. Let’s have some breakfast and then I’ll take you home.”
“What happened…last night?” she mumbled, finally able to turn in Nathalie’s arms. “Why did I end up in that bed and where were you?”
“Come,” she answered, attempting to pull Christine by the arm. “Let’s go through to the kitchen.”
“No, I don’t want to.” Christine tried to shake her off. “Why can’t I remember what happened? And why is this door locked? And who’s the boy upstairs? You never said you had a brother.”
“Chris, please—”
“What did you do to me? I want to go home.”
“Oh, not yet surely,” interrupted another voice from the bottom of the stairs. “That’s very discourteous and would displease me immensely.”
Both girls stopped in their tracks to look at Charlotte.
Now fully dressed, she stood, her head to one side and arms folded across her chest, a benign smile on her lips and ice in her eyes. “Please, let’s at least have coffee before indulging in the guilty histrionics consistent with your conservative background,” she demanded, indicating for the girls to move down the passage.
Silently, they made their way back through the room with the dogs, back past the card table and onward into a huge dining and kitchen area at the back of the house. Taking a seat at the large ancient table, Nathalie pulled Christine onto the seat beside her, all the time keeping a tight grip of her hand.
“Now, would everyone like orange juice?” asked Nathalie’s mother, as if it were a normal family breakfast.
As Nat’s mother moved toward the cooktops, Christine turned to Nathalie. The girl looked pale and her eyes wavered guiltily. “What’s going on, Nat? I want to know.”
“Nothing,” she replied with a slight shrug. “You just got a little drunk last night and Mother phoned to check with your family if you could stay over.”
“Then why am I so sore and why weren’t you in bed with me when I woke up?”
“I was. I got up earlier, that’s all.” It wasn’t true and they both knew it.
“That boy…the boy I met upstairs, is he your brother?”
“George? He’s my half-brother. We had different fathers.”
“So why didn’t you tell me you had a brother, and where was he when I met your mother yesterday?”
“He didn’t come in until later, after we all got drunk. We were having such fun, so he joined in. You didn’t seem to mind.”
“What?”
Nathalie’s eyes were as hard as flint and her stare cut Christine to the bone, plunging her deeper into her nightmare.
“Oh, come on, Chris, don’t pretend that you didn’t enjoy it,” she snapped. “You wanted something to spice up your life, that’s why you wanted to be with me. I taught you to enjoy sex with a woman, and George showed you how it could be with a man.”
“No…no…I…”
“And you were very good,” muttered the young man as he entered the room and took a seat opposite. “But I didn’t get too greedy. I shared you with Nat and Mother, didn’t I, Nat?” Leaning across he reached out to touch Nathalie’s face, but resentfully she pushed his hand away.
Laughing, he said, “Nat’s just jealous. She’d have liked to keep you all to herself, but Mother insisted we share, didn’t she, Nat?”
Staring at him in stunned silence, Christine was only vaguely aware of Charlotte putting down a plate of egg and bacon in front of each of them.
“George is right, of course,” Charlotte said, standing behind him and running her hands down his neck and across his shoulders. “Life is only good when everyone is having their needs met, and you certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself last night.” Smiling, she continued, “My daughter taught you well.”
With that, the memories returned in volume, pouring into Christine’s brain, flooding her senses. All of them naked on the huge bed she’d woken up in—Nathalie kissing her, touching her, George moving against her with Charlotte offering eager encouragement. The delicious desire and daring, the joy of feeling needed and the wild excitement of it all. It was fun, it was all about the moment, and she knew she wanted to experience this handsome boy inside her. Moving toward him, she guided him between her legs. There was the sense of Nathalie moving away, her eyes focused on some distant point on the wall, her face tense and miserable, but she wanted him—she wanted George.
“Oh God, oh God,” Christine spluttered as the feelings that went with the memories began to intrude, forcing her to recognize her own participation in last night’s events. But the memories continued—her awareness of Nathalie’s unhappiness, but her own desire to continue what she’d started. “You must have drugged me,” she accused, leaping up from the table and denying the crushing weight of her own guilt. “I’d never have done those things except if you drugged me.”
“You only did what you wanted to do,” answered Charlotte, still standing with her hands on George’s shoulders. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Sex is all a natural part of growing up. Experimenting teaches you how exciting it can be, and you did come back for more—several times.”
“No, this isn’t right. You’re all mad,” she mumbled, looking at Nathalie, who avoided her eyes. “I want to go home now. I’m going to tell what you did to me.”
“And are you going to tell that you’ve been having sex with my daughter for weeks? Are you going to tell that you came here voluntarily? Drank alcohol and begged to join in the fun with your lover? And if you do, who’s going to believe that you didn’t want any of it?” Gasping as the words hit home, Christine ran toward the kitchen door, closely followed by Nathalie.
“Leave me alone,” she screamed as Nat made a futile grab for her clothing.
“You haven’t got your shoes or your bag, Chris,” Nathalie pleaded. “Wait until we find them and I’ll drive you home…please.”
By now they were back in the hallway, but the front door was still just as locked as when she left it. Bursting into tears, Chris dropped to a crouch beside its formidable blackness. “Don’t touch me. Let me out of here,” she screamed, slapping at Nathalie’s hands when they reached to help her up.
“I’ll get your things,” she said quietly, heading up the stairs toward the bedrooms. “And then I’ll get Mother to let us out.”
It was only a minute before she returned. Crouching in front of her, Nathalie whispered, “It will be okay, Chris. You liked George and he liked you. I was younger, but the first man who did it to me hurt me really badly and he didn’t care. I didn’t want it to happen to you like that.”
“You brought me here deliberately so they could use me?”
“No, they wanted you to be part of the family. And you seemed to enjoy it.”
“Oh God, you’re sick,” she spat, standing up. “I hate what you let me do, and I hate your fucking family.”
“Now that’s not very nice.” It was Charlotte, standing slightly behind Nathalie and holding out a set of keys. “It’s just your straitlaced upbringing making you believe you have something to feel guilty about. You’ll feel much better later, when you come to remember how much you enjoyed yourself.”
Snatching for the keys, Chris screamed, “Let me go.”
But the hard-faced woman held them tightly and, moving closer to the angry young girl, sh
e whispered into her face, “Don’t ever threaten me or my family with disclosure. I have very powerful friends and you really wouldn’t like to see me angry.”
Then, stepping back a little, she softened her demeanor and, handing Nathalie the keys, she said, “Drive your little friend home, and make sure she’s calmed down before you let her out of the car.” Addressing Christine, she said, “You were very good, and we don’t want Nathalie keeping you to herself. Anytime you want to, feel free to visit us. Believe me, it can be a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Too stunned to speak, Christine watched as Nathalie unlocked first one, then the second lock. As if sensing that she was ready to bolt the moment the door swung open, Nathalie took a firm hold of Christine’s hand. “I’ll drive you and we’ll talk,” she said strongly, before leading her like a small child to the plush car parked in the driveway. It was the middle of the morning, but the huge old house and its gardens appeared almost as dark and gloomy as they had last night.
Once in the car, Nathalie locked the doors and put the key in the ignition, making no attempt to start the engine. “We need to talk about this,” she said, sounding completely rational. “What are you going to tell your family?”
Staring at her in stunned silence, Christine shook her head, she didn’t know the answer. What was she going to tell her mother? Without warning the tears flowed. In one debauched night everything had changed. She wasn’t Christine Martin, demure student, daughter of respected parents. Suddenly she was Christine Martin—the girl who would do anything for pleasure, including sleeping with her girlfriend’s brother and mother. And yes, Charlotte Silver had been right, it had been pleasure, and she had enjoyed it, and she did want more. It had been satisfying and it had been exciting.
But, hanging above all of that, like the Sword of Damocles, was the guilt and the fear of being found out, and those emotions overwhelmed her. Her sobbing bordered on hysteria and nothing Nathalie said helped. She started the car and headed out. Vaguely Christine realized that she had no idea where Nat was taking her—nothing looked familiar—but lost in her own misery she didn’t even question why she wasn’t being driven home.
Arriving at Nathalie’s mother’s flat, Nathalie helped Chris from the car.
Only when she entered the flat did Chris ask why she was there. “I should be going home,” she mumbled rather unconvincingly.
“I’m worried about you,” Nathalie answered, putting her arm around the girl’s shoulder and drawing her toward her. “I thought you’d like being part of the Silver family. Mother can be very generous when she’s pleased, and you seemed to have a lot of fun when it was happening.”
“Oh God, Nat, what am I going to do?” Her tears flowed, as she clung to her girlfriend, hoping she had the answers. “I did enjoy what we did, but people will hate me if they find out.”
“It will be okay,” Nathalie reassured her, gently touching her tear-stained face. “Nobody will hate you, and nothing has changed.”
“Everything’s changed,” she muttered sadly. She wanted what Charlotte Silver’s world offered—to live and be treated like an adult. She wanted to be taken seriously. She wanted to be wanted. Yet her mother would tell her it was wrong. Her sister would tell her it was wrong. They’d never understand.
Her sobbing escalated.
“You’re really scaring me now,” Nat said, pulling the girl nearer. “You’ll make yourself sick. But it will be okay, Chris. I promise,” she whispered soothingly, as she walked her toward the bedroom. “I’ve got something that will make you feel much better.”
She heard Nat’s words, but their meaning eluded her—the fear and confusion unremitting as Nat encouraged her to sit on the bed.
And then Nat was gone, disappearing into another room—leaving her alone with her pain and turmoil. The tension was unbearable now, as she tried to think logically, tried to calm the crippling thoughts that swirled and crashed inside her head.
When Nat returned, she was holding a belt and some sort of dish with what appeared to be a hypodermic needle in it. “What’s that?” she asked, her tears easing slightly with her girlfriend’s return. “Is that…” She didn’t want to use the word “heroin,” it was the ultimate taboo.
“It’s just a little something I use occasionally when I have bad dreams or get scared,” Nat replied quietly. “It makes you forget all the bad shit going through your head. It won’t hurt you and it will make you relax.”
“Okay,” Chris mumbled, wanting only to feel better.
Sitting very still, she watched as Nathalie pushed up the sleeve of her filmy white top, brushed away the damp hair from her face, and tied off her arm with the narrow belt. She’d seen it in movies. She knew what it meant. And for a second Chris thought about stopping Nathalie…but only for a second.
Tapping out a vein, Nat seemed to hesitate, as if she was going to say something, but a moment later Chris felt the prick of the needle entering her vein and the rush of the sweet liquid washing away every frightening or confusing thought. The peace was instantaneous, and she allowed herself to slump back onto the bed.
A short time later she was being sick, and Nat was wiping her face. But even so, she felt so good, so totally relaxed, so unconcerned. For the moment, she didn’t need Nathalie, she didn’t need her mother or her sister, and she didn’t care what anyone thought.
Releasing a satisfied sigh, Chris lay back down to enjoy the sensation.
She had no idea how long she’d been asleep when she woke and struggled to sit up.
Nat had been lying beside her, and she rolled toward Chris. “Are you okay?” Nat asked, the concern obvious in her voice.
“Sure. I feel…nice. But where are we?” Some of the confidence Chris had experienced earlier was leaving her now, and she was feeling just a little unsure.
“We’re at the apartment. I brought you here because you were so upset. I only gave you a very small hit,” she explained, “but you couldn’t have gone home like that or your mother would have wanted to know what happened.”
“I can’t tell her, Nat,” she whispered, taking hold of her hand. “She and my sister can’t ever know. They’d hate me.”
“They don’t have to know. You can have a shower here, and once the smack wears off some more I’ll take you home. It’s not that bad really.”
“I enjoyed it, Nat,” she admitted, the drug allowing her to temporarily bypass the guilt. “I mean, your mother was right. I did want to do those things with you and her and George. It was fun and…God, it was so exciting. It was my fault.”
“It was nobody’s fault,” mumbled Nat. “Mother says wanting sex is normal. She says that you shouldn’t have to wait until a certain age, just because some old politician makes a law. She also says that her pills make it all the more enjoyable.”
Slowly, very slowly, Nathalie’s words sunk in through the delicious warmth of her hit. “What pill?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Mother put it in our drinks. It’s only herbal, but it seems to heighten the senses and relax us.”
“So I was drugged?”
“No. Mother says it’s a relaxant. We got drunk and relaxed. That’s all. It hasn’t changed anything between us, and Mother will forgive you for what you said before you left. Nobody has to know. It was just one night.”
“Yes, you’re right,” she answered, touching Nathalie’s face. “You don’t hate me because I let George…and your mother…you know?”
Nathalie smiled. “Just so long as you still like me,” she answered quietly, pulling Chris back down beside her.
“It’s you I want, Nat,” she replied, pressing herself into the dark girl’s body and placing Nat’s hand between her legs. She was mellow, she was carefree. How nice it would be to feel like this all the time.
It began with a kiss and escalated to warm tender loving, Chris reveling in the renewed enjoyment of her rising excitement and Nathalie’s ability to satisfy her need. And yet a small part of her wo
ndered if Charlotte and George would really still welcome her back after everything she’d said. And if so, how would Nat respond.
“Nat…”
“Mmmm…” she mumbled, dozy from the gentle lovemaking they’d just completed.
“The stuff you gave me earlier. It makes me feel really good. Can I have some more?”
Chapter One
Present Day
It was always the same—hands reaching out and pulling at her clothing, grabbing her wrists, touching her. Nothing she did would free her from their grasp. Then one of them would kiss her, his expensive aftershave and whiskey breath filling her nostrils and his harsh stubble tearing at her face. Then there was his weight crushing her and that excruciating pain as he forced his way into her. Then everything would freeze and she was in a different place, the pressure in her head and chest would start to build, so that drawing breath was difficult and painful. Her eyes wouldn’t open, but she knew no one was holding her down. Instead there was the smell and feel of earth crushing her and a terrifying inability to move. Good Mother was watching her with sadness, seeing who she’d turned into and walking away.
They always ended the same way, these nightmares—two identical mothers, one ashamed and sad, turning her back and disappearing through a door, the other holding her down, letting them touch her, whispering words she couldn’t hear, but that she knew started as cajoling and ended as threats. And still the paralysis and difficulty breathing, until gasping and sweating she woke—tears of fear and confusion fresh on her cheeks.
Afterward there was exhaustion and intense anger. She couldn’t remember a time when they hadn’t been part of her personality. Lately, though, they had been worse. Instead of once or twice a week, they were becoming almost nightly events and the breathing was more difficult, so that her lungs hurt and her head spun. When she did wake, it would be with a painful headache.
The clock showed two forty-five a.m., and she was exhausted, but the anger and sadness of the nightmare remained. Nathalie knew it was pointless trying to go back to sleep. Instead, wrapped in her ancient toweling robe, she made her way to the kitchen and turned on the electric kettle. Kick-starting the computer in her study, she returned to make herself a cup of tea.
