Hurt

                By Caroline Childs

The blade traces down from his hairline, between his eyebrows and along to the tip of his nose. The point scratches his skin but he doesn’t flinch, mustn’t flinch. She doesn’t like it when he flinches. A bead of sweat rolls into his eye, making him blink furiously. The blade pauses in its idle wander across his cheek bone and is lifted away. She picks up a flannel, carefully dabbing at his eye till it no longer stings. Then she starts to wash off the caked blood.

This is the way it always is, sudden moments of tenderness when he can see the girl he first saw across the crowded café. The flannel catches a fresh wound and he hisses instinctively. She pauses and looks down at him. He feels a cold sweat building, until she asks softly “We did have fun, didn’t we?” His mouth is too dry to answer, but he nods fervently. As if his answer could be anything else. But she seems satisfied, and starts to clean him again. She always accepted what he said. There was this total submission to her – that had been what first drew him.

Their eyes had met and he’d smiled; she was pretty enough in a girl next door way, not anything to write home about but worth a few minutes idle flirting. Her response, though, had delighted him. Looking round, trying to see who he was smiling at; then, when realisation dawned, the flush of pink crawling up her neck as she shyly smiled back. It had been a split second decision – stay where he was, drink his coffee and carry on with his day, or go across and talk to her… he’d been so flattered, and what real difference could it make? She had blossomed under his attention, made him feel like a god. It had all seemed so destined, so perfect… he hadn’t had a clue!

She finishes cleaning his torso, and for a second silently studies her work. Doodles, hearts, stars; like a school girl’s jotter, innocence written with blood in the dingy dark. “Are you hungry?” she asks. He nods, and she gets up and walks up the stairs to the kitchen, and the real, blissfully ignorant, world. He doesn’t even bother trying to escape. In the first few days he tore at the straps, struggled until he collapsed in exhaustion; it never made any difference. Now he just waits; his thoughts his only company.

It hadn’t taken much; it never did. Treating her like a goddess, getting her high on his attention, creating an addiction in her for him and feeding it so those first few weeks were filled with heady exhilaration. He hadn’t been lying when he’d agreed that they’d had fun – those first days, when he’d appear on her doorstep and whisk her off somewhere… the adoring shine in her eyes fuelled his own addiction for worship. And gradually he’d made her dependant on him, made his addiction the driving force of the relationship. She’d been so much easier than the other girls; she’d probably have worshipped him without that first buzz. Maybe that’s why he’d become bored so much earlier; part of the fun was the challenge. He took a pride in his manipulation, his art. He couldn’t understand the disapproval of his friends; if the girls weren’t willing, they wouldn’t have fallen for him.

She comes back down the stairs, balancing a tray. She sets it down on the table and moves the chair up so he’s sitting. Before it’s been a thin vegetable soup. But this time there’s a sandwich. She holds it up for him to take a bite, and he almost groans when he tastes the bacon. She always knows just what will please him.

Like this chair – when he’d seen it in the shop, he’d considered seeing if he could get her to buy it for him; he’d done similar things in his previous relationships. But he decided against it… he wanted to start distancing himself.

When he’d turned up at her house for the next date, it had been sitting in the pride of place in her lounge. “I knew you liked it” was the only explanation she would give. It scared him, and he’d deliberately chosen “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” as their movie that night. Afterwards he’d tried to drop hints.

“He really didn’t like Helena being so subservient, did he?”

“No, but they ended up together at the end.”

“Only because he was under the spell!”

“But she still got to keep him.”

That should have warned him; but he just sighed and let it go for another night.

She’s being kinder than she has before – perhaps there’s a chance of getting through to her tonight. Honey, I’m sorry” his voice is husky, but he carries on “I was a fool – I see that now. I should never have broken up with you – I still love you” If he can just convince her to let him go…

It got to the stage where he couldn’t stand to see the eager light in her eyes, couldn’t stand the adoration he normally craved. So when he told her he’d been cheating on her he’d thought that was it. He’d expected tears, accusations; not the simple acceptance “At least you’re still with me.”

He’d tried avoiding her, ignoring her calls but she was always there in the background… until last week. That’s when he’d started breathing easier. Started to think his life could get back to normal. He’d never imagined she would turn to this.

But if he can convince her to let him go…

“I thought we agreed no more lies?” she looks sad, disappointed, and lowers the chair again. He tries to protest but she lays a gentle finger on his lips. And as she picks up the blade she asks the question she always asks. The question that echoes in his head at night.

“How could you hurt me so, sweet love?”

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