A Day in the Life
My name is Tanya. That's true. I am twenty years old. That's true too. For the past year I have been raped countless times by things that I cannot even begin to describe for the horror. I guess this is the part where you get to choose whether to believe or not. I can't change what you believe. All I can do is tell this.
This? Well... this is me telling the story of one of those times. I don't claim to be the next Jane Austen, Margaret Atwood or Helen Fielding. I don't even think I'm particularly good at telling stories. But all I ask is that you give me a chance. I don't know what you hope to find here, but, well, I guess you'll know whether you found it or not by the end...
It's always an odd experience, the prelude to a rape at this place. In some cases, the ones that make me hurt with the fear, all I want is for the whole thing to be over, so that I can be away from this place. Or even to just begin. What do I mean by that? How could I want to be violated so horribly? Well... to those who have no idea of what a malicious mind can do to someone, I guess the best thing to say is that sometimes lying back and thinking of England, as we are told our Victorian sisters once did over a hundred years ago, is better than suffering the preludes. The build-up. The hors d'oeuvre. I guess that's what it is to them, playing with our minds is like having a starter before the main meal. Of course, the meal never gets consulted as to when it gets eaten.
This time, I was lying back, tied to a hard, cold slab of metal in one of the chemistry labs. The metal was cold, and even the thought of it now sends shivers down my back. My skin stuck to it, pulling as I tried to slide free. It hurt. At the time, I was scared. The absurdity of the situation was that tomorrow I'd have to take a class in this same room. How would I ever get through that? As it turned out, I didn't. I spent the next day in bed with her, since I needed someone right then. But back there, he was striding confidently around the room, waving his old-style cane in precise, calculated gestures through the air. He turned to me, he opened his mouth, and said...
No. I can't begin there. That's rushing in too fast, I'm not setting the scene. Why was I there? How had it come to me in the lab on the slab? Where should this story begin? Well, um, the thing is, that in the beginning, these things always begin with something mundane. Something normal. Something where you never expect the thing to appear and attack you, although I guess that with the frequency of attacks we probably ought to expect them. But then, if we ever got to the stage where we suspected that an attack could be around the next corner, then we'd go mad from the paranoia. We'd suspect everyone, even our friends. And without our friends, the people we love and trust, we are nothing. Someone once said something very similar to that about herself, and at the time I couldn't quite understand what she meant. I think I get it now. Well, anyway... the mundanity in this case, was I suppose something that I should have been careful about. It was my dreaded chemistry project. We'd been asked to devise a suitable experiment to test whether some odd chemical changed properties when its environment changed. I had no idea how to do it, and so I'd had to ask the teacher for advice. I'd have rather asked my friends, but I really didn't want to fail this class, so I thought that if I asked the teacher he'd probably give me an extra grade or something for enthusiasm...
I suppose you can guess what happened next. These things always do follow the same predictable unexpected lines. Why unexpected? Well, like I said in the last paragraph, you don't want to ever expect them. Otherwise you'd go mad. Well, anyway. I got to his classroom, and opened the door. The lights were out, which sort of freaked me, but I pushed the door open. I asked the darkness if anyone was there, and stepped inside. Now, this was, I admit, not the best thing to do in this situation. But then, at the time, I did not have the benefit of hindsight. The door slammed shut behind me, making me jump. I turned around and reached for the handle, but when I turned it, the entire handle broke away in my hand. I'll admit that I screamed. I banged on the door frantically, trying to get out, but nothing happened. I couldn't even hear anyone on the other side. This was where everything became creepier. I mean, I guess the cliché thing to do would have been for him to suddenly appear now, in a puff of smoke or something. Which, of course, never happens. So after calming down, I spent ages searching for the light switch, feeling my way along every single wall. I guess that at this point, since nothing had jumped out at me, then I think I probably thought that this was an accident, but I still couldn't get out.
* * *
The images he shows me are of two women, leaning against the wall of a building. It looks like the gym, but I can't really tell. One woman has her purple hair tied back in a headband, so that it falls almost to her shoulders. She has small-framed glasses, which casually drape her face in the way that all glasses worn permanently seem to - I doubt she is even conscious of them. Her clothes are relaxed, casual, and look as if they are used to being worn. Her arms are folded, and her brow is furrowed in a rather worried, thoughtful expression. The other woman has a far more nonchalant expression, and she lazily sucks on a cigarette. She has quite long, dark brown hair, which she appears slightly ill at ease with, appearing as if she usually wears her hair much shorter. Neither woman looks at the other, but not because of any antagonism between them, but because the first is lost in thought, and the second is wandering her surroundings with her eyes.
Can you see what I'm doing? I'm describing. It's what I do when the whole thing becomes too much for me. Fall back on description - no feelings, no complications, what I see is what you get. Of course I know the other women, the two on the screen. Their faces and names are burned into my brain in the way only those of closest friends and family are. That is what scares me. For I do not want to see the scene that will follow.
I guess if you're reading this, you might be wondering why I didn't just say their names and leave it at that. If you're thinking this, then I'd also guess that you know these women well, or you're a guy. I can't really imagine you, the reader of this little story, since I have no idea of what you're like, your appearance, or anything. Well, unless you're one of my friends, in which case please forgive me the following explanation.
The purple-haired women is my sister, best friend, lover, confidante, and one of the most wonderful people you'll ever have the chance to meet in your entire life. The other is my roommate, good friend, slightly egomaniacal, but really very nice beneath all that. If no-one stops her, she'll rule the world someday.
No, I don't think I'll tell you their names just yet. Besides, if you don't know them, names aren't that important. And I think I mention them later too...
* * *
I think now might be a good time to go back to what happened to me earlier. I guess it makes sense to tell the story in two halves, one of the early prelude and the other what happened once everything got started. So I think that I'll do that. I hope this is alright with you?
I eventually sat down on one of the lab stools, the kind that are uncomfortable to sit on, and make me wonder why they can't just make normal chairs for labs. I mean, it's almost Victorian in design, with the sharp front of the stool seemingly made just for hurting the underside of your thighs. Oh, well. There was nothing else. I sat there for almost an hour, waiting for someone to come, for the afternoon lessons to begin. Nothing happened. I got up and paced around the classroom, my eyes now more used to the dark. Light poked in through a small hole under the door, but that was it, and from that light, I could just about make out the shape of the desks and stools. My mind wandered. Where was everyone? I mean, given that this was a classroom, I expected people to start arriving soon. I played through the entire of this weird anime that my roommate had shown me last night in my mind, trying to pass the time. I fantasised. Nothing kept happening. The silence became oppressive on my ears, the way that it does when there is no sound except the thumps from your own heart. The silence roared. I started screaming again, banging on the door frantically, now completely desperate for someone to come and help. Once again, no-one did.
"Good to see you."
The voice was chillingly friendly. It possessed no malice whatsoever, no cruelty, no hard edge, only warmth, and a slight air of joviality. That is what made it so utterly horrible. My stomach clenched. My eyes widened in shock and I turned around very carefully. He was standing there, at the teacher's desk, absent-mindedly brushing the creases out of his suit. He took off his glasses, wiped them with a cloth, and returned them to his brow. I guess I should mention that the lights were still off.
"I'm sorry I was late, Tanya. I hope you haven't been waiting too long?"
I swallowed. This simple request, delivered with what sounded like genuine concern, gave me chills down my spine. At the time, I really didn't know why. I guess all the waiting had kept me on edge. Anyway, I gave him a non-committal reply, and told him about the handle and the lights. I hoped he would be understanding.
"Ah, yes... I'm sorry about that, love, but that was necessary."
This was again, in the same, jovial, slightly concerned, but very normal tone of voice. No menace whatsoever. I blanched. Oh God. Oh, no, please. He was understanding alright, but in completely the wrong way. Necessary? As if this wasn't scary enough, he stepped around the desk towards me.
* * *
The first woman on the screen, my sister, suddenly moved. She looked up, and then turned towards my roommate. She looked rather worried again, and I wondered why... Then she opened her mouth to speak.
"It's a nice day, huh?" This brought no response. My sister sighed. "I've been thinking." My roommate's response was a typically non-committal grunt. Well, at least she wasn't making some bad joke about it. "Tanya... She's been following me around for about a year now..." My heart entered free-fall. It was obvious what was coming next. "I don't know... she's nice and everything, but I guess I just find her more and more irritating..." My roommate laughed cruelly. This was the first overtly cruel sound that I had heard the whole time. She turned to face my sister.
"Well, what do you expect? I'm surprised you haven't kicked her earlier. She's your lapdog, she follows you around like a kitten, which is fine for a while, but just becomes boring. I guess she's okay in my room, she doesn't snore or anything, but really... Just tell her to leave you alone and be done with it."
This wasn't true. This never happened. This was a load of lies strung together like a badly-written B movie script. Keahi hadn't smoked for ages, and I knew that my sister didn't see me this way. I didn't believe a word of it. Honestly. I found it almost laughable. Yet for some reason, I stared at the screen, mesmerised, and watched the lies unfold.
"You're right. I'll tell her tomorrow."
Even when you know that it's lies, being apparently completely rejected by those that mean the most to you hurts worse than anything imaginable. It's a cold chill that starts in the pit of your stomach, and slowly rises up your chest to your throat, which constricts so that you begin to find it hard to breathe. For a moment you feel as if you might vomit. You swallow the saliva that's now so obvious in your mouth. This makes your mouth feel dry. During this time your brain almost shuts down, and your mind can't manage to make coherent sentences, only single words like 'why' and 'but.' In my case, not believing any of what was playing in front of me, it was 'how.' This must be a mock-up, but I had not idea of how it had been made. I mean, it's not as if he could ask Kite to say that, so...
I'm describing again. Admittedly, I'm describing sensations rather than what I see, but that's still what I'm doing. Because at this point, I have to. It hurts too much to do otherwise. Don't ask me to talk about my emotions at this point. Please.
* * *
His voice was disarmingly charming. He apologised to me for making me wait, but since the lights were still out, I found myself backing up against the closed door. My foot kicked the handle which was still lying motionless where I had dropped it. It clanged backwards, colliding with the door with a dull thud. He smiled. In a different light, I would have found him dashingly attractive. Now, his expression scared me. Not that it was a particularly scary smile, but I found that my heart was racing in my chest. Well, um, I'll admit to feeling the occasional guilty twinge of desire during his classes, but this was something else entirely. I think it's much worse to have this done to you by someone you fancy than by someone who's ugly. If they're ugly, then you find it much easier to hate them. If they look like a Calvin Kline fashion model, then it scares you more than you could guess, but you can't hate them. At least, not at first.
"I'm sorry about the lights, but they genuinely are broken."
I replied by asking whether it might be best to move to another classroom, then. He smiled fondly at me. He asked me how could we, since the door won't open? I turned and looked at the door, uncomprehending. Then I remembered about the handle. But then...
"Um... How did you...?" I asked, blankly. I guess I was still hoping that he wasn't what I was rapidly beginning to suspect he was. Me, the optimist. Well. I don't know, I don't know if I really believed that everything could have been just coincidence. Maybe I was willing to overlook it slightly because he was cute. I don't know. Sometimes I confuse even myself. I am a romantic, but I'm not usually silly like this.
His only response was to smile at me again, and take another step closer.
* * *
It was still going on. I had closed my eyes, but I couldn't close my ears. My sister and my roommate, discussing in a totally natural, realistic manner how to dispose of me as a friend. It wasn't that that hurt the most, though. It was how they planned to do it.
"I don't want to hurt her feelings, though. We may not like it, but she says she cares about us."
"So? Tell her gently, then. I don't care. I know! Give her a present or something, then tell her. That way she'll get happy, then sad. It balances!"
I peeked a glimpse. They were sitting on a log, now, a little away from the gym. I'd sat there myself only a few days ago. I could even see the woodlice scurrying away from them under the log. But what hurt most was the melancholic, caring expressions on their faces. I knew it was all false, but it was an expertly crafted lie. I guess you have to admire the craftsmanship that goes into making things like this. It looked exactly like someone secretly filming a genuine conversation. And what was horrible, was that every line sounded to my ears as if it were real. But then, I knew that it wasn't. Even when the Kite on the screen began talking about secrets that only she and I had between each other, little aspects of our history that had melted through in our conversations with each other, I knew it was false. Can you imagine what I would have felt if I hadn't?
* * *
My heart thudded in my chest, the sound echoing in my ears. My back was pressed against the door, and he kept taking step after step closer to me. I gasped, and cringed back. He was close enough to reach forward and touch me. My eyes were fixed upon him. I couldn't move. I couldn't even utter a sound. His expression was still maddeningly calm, collected, and bore no malice, no expression of foreboding at all. I felt totally helpless. But then... Out of somewhere, I managed to find a little bit of strength left, an ounce of courage, to use the cliché, and I shoved out at him and ran across the room. I was amazed that he let me do this, and, in the darkness, I hid under a desk. He couldn't seem to find me, and I think it really surprised him. I heard him scouring the room. I waited until he wasn't near me or the door, and ran over to it, trying to fit the handle back into the lock...
I'm sorry... I shouldn't have written that. Because that's what I wanted desperately to do. I wanted to be brave, to try and escape, to be Kite, to resist until the last. I didn't want to stay, stupidly, transfixed by his almost jovial, penetrating gaze. But I couldn't be her. I remained still, back against the door, not making a noise or moving an inch. Finding a little bit of strength at the end seems to be something that happens to other people. Not me. I can't be a heroine, it seems. I'm so sorry.
He smiled, in a friendly, casual, relaxed way. Then he licked his lips. I guess it must have been because they were genuinely dry, but the sight send shudders running through me. It wasn't even a slow, lingering lick, but I guess I was so on edge that anything could scare me at that point. As I said, I can't be a heroine. He put his hand on my shoulder. Not hard, not even possessively, which I guess you'd expect from a man. His fingers curled around my shoulder, but their grip was loose. If I ran now, he wouldn't be able to hold me still. He gave an almost embarrassed half-smile.
"I apologise for the theatrics, but they serve their purpose." It took me a moment to realise that he meant the broken handle and the lights. This was oddly the first time I'd ever heard a monster being embarrassed at the way they used to entrap someone. I'll admit, it's not really very funny, but I was so on edge that I let out a short, hysterical, laugh. He didn't share it. His gaze hardened almost imperceptibly. It was in the eyebrows. They moved ever so slightly closer together, as if they showed the beginnings of a frown. But then the jovial expression was back, the subtle disapproval apparently gone, like rain on a mountain. His grip had tightened a little too. I could still escape were I to try, but now he might be able to just hold me back. I was agonisingly aware of every single finger of his pressing into my skin. The feeling was almost tangible. I could feel the outline of every one of them, feel how long they were, feel the restrained power behind them. And all I felt was scared.
No. That's another lie too.
* * *
The screen kept playing, and I felt drained. Hearing what I had heard, having to listen to my sister and my best friend... No. I couldn't keep listening. I wanted to fall into sweet unconsciousness. I wanted to kick out at the man who was making me listen and see these lies. But I couldn't. No matter how much I wanted to. The straps were too maddeningly tight, and I could barely move myself in any way whatsoever. The metal slab had grown warmer from the warmth from my body. I rested my head back against it, waiting for the lies to end.
"... it's her stuttering. You can barely understand what she means! All the 'um's, the repeating words whenever she gets nervous. Sometimes I just feel like slapping her." That was my roommate. I mean, um, her double. It wasn't really her. My sister by this point was quiet. When I opened my eyes to see if she was still there, she was sitting on the log, head in hands, sobbing quietly to herself. My roommate put her arm around her. This was agony. I ached all over. My throat constricted, and I felt like I should reach out and put my arm about her, to comfort her. But then, what would I be comforting her about? Her guilt at throwing me away like a used tissue? My mind reeled in conflict between my urge to hold her and tell her everything was okay, and my urge to smash the screen for showing such despicable lies. Lies so good that had I been less... I don't know. Had I been less sure in my mind of what my sister thought of me, I guess... I think I would have believed them.
"But..." My sister broke off, sobbing. "But..." She regained some confidence, "I don't want to hurt her! Isn't there any other way?" My heart reached out to her yet again, but even as it did so, I had to remind myself that this wasn't real, and draw it back in. It felt as if the screen had been playing these images for an age. I was mesmerised by the flickering image, the only light in the whole room, save for the small amount coming from under the door. And then it was gone.
* * *
He gave a gentle tug on my shoulder with the hand that was still clenched around it, forcing me to take a step away from the door. Closer to him. I looked down at the floor, trying to keep my eyes away from him. Away from his gaze. With no door to my back, I was no longer cornered, but I felt now so much more vulnerable. All that there was around me was air, and if I fell, there was nothing to hold me up. Hold me up. I needed the door, needed its physical support, the feeling of something hard and tangible, something real, for me to lean against. With the door, there was a feeling of nervousness at being backed against it, but without it then that nervousness only seemed to increase. This is the feeling that starts just at the bottom of your ribcage, a dull tingle that constricts your lungs, and spreads out, the warmth of it making a line above your stomach, below your chest. You feel that if you breath or swallow then the feeling will only get worse, so you take small, hesitant breaths. The only sounds in the room were the dull thud of my heartbeat, and the quiet hiss of his breathing.
"Look at me." It was a command, without being a command. An order, but not an order. The words were said in the same casual, relaxed tone of voice, as if there were nothing more normal in the world that what he had asked me to do. It had a low richness to it that had made it sound so alluring in the past, and which made it sound so deceptively friendly now. I looked up at him. There was nothing else I could do. I did resist, I think, for an instant, but... His eyes bored into my very soul. They saw me, saw through me, saw the core of my being, who I really was. The me that only one or two people outside of family have ever known. It was like being hit by a ghost train. The feeling that I was so utterly transparent to this man. He knew me. I gasped, loudly, feeling as if I had lost something very deeply, personally, important. Lost my protection. Lost my shell. I almost collapsed to the ground, so great was the feeling of being without anything between me to save myself from him. The pit in my stomach widened, deepened. He smiled. It was a friendly smile, but it held just the hint of being a knowing one too. He had seen my soul, and he knew that I knew...
I'm actually surprised I didn't faint. But I did just stare at him, with what I guess must have been an expression of shock plastered to my face. He took my hand in his. I could feel the strength coursing through his fingers, the restrained power hidden within his large hand. I knew then that had he wanted to simply knock me out and do what he wanted, he could have. So easily it would have been like sneezing. I swallowed, painfully. He tugged on my hand, gently. I was rooted to the spot. I couldn't move. Everything that had happened so far had left me so shaken that it seemed an impossible effort to move. I'm not sure I wanted to either. If I followed him, then where would he take me? What would happen? He knew me, but I didn't know him at all. I guess I may have also still harboured a hope at the back of my mind that this was all a mistake, a combination of a power failure and my own fevered imagination, mixed with a little of the paranoia that I know I said we shouldn't have, but know that, deep in our hearts, we do.
Actually, my first thought at that moment was so absurdly silly that after I had it, I almost laughed. It was about how I looked. My face must have been stained with tears, my skirt crumpled, my hair completely messed up, with bits sticking everywhere, and I wished for a moment that more than anything, I had a mirror to make myself look more presentable. Here was I, alone with a man who was, while very attractive, creeping me out completely, in a chemistry lab with no lights, and I was worrying about my looks. I don't think I laughed, but I guess I must have giggled hysterically for a moment, because I remember the rather quizzical look he gave me after it.
He let go of my hand. I was surprised he let it go that easily, since he had been holding it gently, but almost possessively, giving me silent encouragement to follow him. His hand reached up, and rested against my cheek. I did nothing to stop it. It moved. His hand slid across my cheek and I could almost feel the small, barely visible hairs fold down on my skin as his coarse, powerful appendage caressed my flesh. I shuddered. My mouth opened, and my heart again drummed a tattoo in my chest. I was again locked with his stare.
"It's alright." It was barely a whisper. He breathed those words, which I breathlessly nodded to in response. It was alright. Horribly, scarily, so completely wrong, but there was a little voice inside my head that agreed wholeheartedly with those words. It was the one that had been telling me to run only a moment before.
* * *
I think I should probably explain something at this moment. You see, what I've been describing with the screen all happened after everything in the chemistry lab that I've been describing as the other half of my story. So the frame of mind that I was in before I started watching was not, shall we say, the best one for being told fabricated lies. But I did manage to disbelieve them. I was sure that they were false. There was no doubt in my mind about that.
The lights came up. All at once, every light in the room suddenly switched itself on. Up to this moment, for about two hours the only light I'd seen had been from the screen in front of me, and so I scrunched my eyes up tightly, wincing in the brightness. I might have screamed. Squinting, I felt more than saw him approach the slab to which I was tied. I was achingly, painfully aware that I was only wearing my underwear. He pulled off the sticky-pad from my temple with one hand, the other holding the wire attached to it, which he looped into a circle, placing that on the bench nearest to him. He unstuck the second from the other side of my head, and then moved onto the ones on my stomach. My body jumped as he touched me there, half terrified now that I'd seen what he wanted me to see, half because my mind was back on edge from the lights coming on. He smiled down at me. I couldn't smile back. His smile was like that of a boyfriend after coming out after seeing a film together. A slightly hesitant, boyish enthusiasm. His demeanour worried me immensely. Couldn't he just be nasty to me? Why wasn't he hurting me? The riding crop was lying on the side, useless. I honestly believe that right then, I wanted to pick it up and lash it across his face. No. I wanted him to pick it up, and lash it across me. I wanted him to give me pain, to make me shriek in agony. That way I could truly hate him. I didn't want to see his caring, enthused expression. I wanted his face to turn hard, for him to do something besides this. Because even after everything he'd shown me, I couldn't hate him. No matter how hard I tried.
* * *
He moved his face closer to mine. I could feel his breath on my lips, his hair almost touching my forehead as I wondered why I couldn't smell anything from his breath. It was an odd feeling, since you expect breath to smell of something, but what he breathed on me was just clean air. It was cold. I almost shivered. He had closed his eyes, and his face kept inching forward. It was then I realised he was going to kiss me. My eyes snapped wide open as I stood, desperately trying to think of something, anything, I could do to avoid this. I did not want him to kiss me. If he did, I was scared what I would feel. He was worryingly handsome, and if he kissed me I didn't trust myself to stop what would come next. I couldn't do this. I clenched my eyes tightly shut.
"No!" I whispered, so quietly that it was only a breath. His mouth was less than a centimetre away from mine. He pulled back a little. He shrugged then, as if to imply that it wasn't a big deal or anything. This relaxed me, put me slightly at ease, as he turned then and walked away from me across the classroom. I'm sorry for being so stupid. I guess he thought that his spell over me had been broken or something, but I'm not sure if he understood quite how complicated my emotions towards him were. Who am I kidding? Of course he knew. He knew my emotions better than I did. I guess I had forgotten that. He knew, just as I do now, that the reason that I had said no had not been because I thought he was a monster, but because he was a teacher. He knew that if he just managed to push me so that I would kiss him, I would be his for the taking. Writing that chills me, because to be someone's for the taking is a horrible thought, one of utter powerlessness to another. And I never wanted that with someone like him.
He turned back towards me and gave me a sad smile. It was melancholic, almost. At the time I didn't know what it meant. He strode towards me, unblinkingly. I could see the pupils of his eyes in the dim light as he took step after step back towards me. He put his hands on my shoulders and roughly pushed me back against the door.
"What are you...?" I said, squeakily, my voice high-pitched and tense. I was now very worried again. I looked straight at him, confused, and more than a little scared. My breath was back to being gasps.
"Tanya, this is very important. I want you to listen to me. There's a little..." He hesitated, seemingly unsure how to put this. This was odd, I wasn't expecting this. I was honestly expecting for him to kiss me roughly, for his hands to be in my hair and on my back, for his tongue to be encircling mine in my mouth, for our bodies to be pressed tightly together. I'm sorry for being such a fantasist.