by Casey Harvey
whether you like it or not.”
His face was expressionless, as if there were nothing living in his skull. Perhaps he was well and truly gone by now. Perhaps whatever had once made him ‘him’ was completely eaten up into her personality and she had become a mere appendage of her, an extension of her own will.
As he stepped into the room, she stepped over to close the door: and the prisoner was locked in his cage for the night.
Day 102
Sam was in the throes of a deep depression. After staying over on Wednesday night, he had returned to his room in his halls of residence and locked the door. That had been yesterday, and since then he had not opened the door for anything or anyone. He had not eaten and nor had he turned on his computer or mobile phone. He had purely, simply, isolated himself from everything and everyone around him.
A knock came on the door, and he hid under his bedclothes. His life had become ridiculous now: every passing set of footsteps terrified him that it might be her, it might be Sandy. Three people had knocked on his door today and he had not answered any of them; he hadn’t even acknowledged that he was in, cowering under his covers and trying to make as little noise as possible.
Those three had gone away when he had not answered. This visitor, however, was more persistent.
“Hello? It’s me, Molly. Open up. I know you’re in there.”
Sam’s heart skipped. He panicked. He hid further beneath his covers and tried desperately not to make a sound- without success.
“I can here you rustling your bed covers,” she called in. “Don’t worry, Sandy’s not here. I just want to talk to you.”
He hesitated. There was little sense in continuing to hide when your visitor knows where you are, so he decided nervously to let her in.
“There you are, big boy,” she greeted when he opened the door. “Where have you been hiding yourself?”
“Sorry?” he asked, completely confused.
She barged her way in and pushed him against the wall. “I hear you and Sandy have been having a little trouble,” she began. He nodded, scared. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to harm you. I just wanted to move in.”
“What?”
“You know, move in on her territory. Seeing as you and her are, you know, heading for splitsville, I thought I’d try my luck with you. Now come here, big boy. I want to see what those lips can do.”
Sam pushed her away. “I’m sorry, I’m not interested,” he said hurriedly. “I still have a girlfriend you know. I won’t cheat on her.”
He pushed her to the doorway and beckoned for her to leave.
“Then why don’t you go and see her?” she said demandingly. “She’s dying to see you.”
As she spoke, a shadow flitted past in the background; barely visible, but clearly he form of Sandy, running away to hide.
“I’m busy,” lied Sam. “I’m sorry. Goodbye.”
With that, he slammed the door and locked it once more, leaping back into bed and turning the lights off. He was furious. He knew exactly what that had been: an attempt to test his loyalty, to see if he would take advantage of her friend’s offer and cheat on her. Sandy had been there, and Molly had been sent by her.
He tried to get some sleep and resolved to keep the door locked, now even more jittery whenever footsteps ran past.
Day 104
Break her heart and I’ll break your face.
That was what the text message said. It had come from an unknown number, and when he tried to trace it by replying and asking who it was, no reply came.
Still, it was a threat. From who he did not know, but the fact remained that his girlfriend had resorted to threats of physical violence to keep him in check.
He was still locked in his room: that was four days now with no contact, no food, no lectures. His health and studies and social life were all suffering but he didn’t care. He was just glad to be away from his controller.
Day 105
“Sam, get out of there.”
It was Sadiq. Five days in his room alone, depressed, and it had come to this. Sadiq had found out and taken it upon himself to rescue his friend from his condition.
“This is pathetic mate. Be a man and do what you have to do.”
Still Sam would not be stirred. He still lay motionless in his bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Do it, and do it today- or else I’ll do it for you.”
That roused him. He pulled himself out of bed (quite a feat when you’ve been fasting for five days) and dragged himself to the door.
“No! Wait! I’m coming!”
He unlocked it to see the annoyed face of Sadiq, his only real friend.
“Sam, I’m sorry, but this is pathetic. Pull yourself together. And… and get some clothes on. You stink. How long have you been wearing that T-shirt?”
“Five days.”
“Change it, man, and have a wash! Geez.”
Sam nodded and did as he was told. Sadiq had turned up with a pasta pot from the Tesco he had passed on the way to Sam’s halls of residence and shoved it into his hands.
“Eat this, now. We need to get you ready.”
“For what?”
“Because we’re going to see your girlfriend, and I don’t care how much you protest. Either you end it today, or else I tell her everything you told me last week.”
Sam’s face went pale. He nodded and quickly got dressed and put some deodorant on.
“Can I… can I at least do it in private?”
“Of course. I’ll leave you two alone while you do the deed.”
“Thanks,” smiled Sam. “Erm… can you leave me alone now? I need to work out what I’m going to say.”
“Okay. But I’ll be back tomorrow if you still haven’t done it.”
Sadiq left, and Sam locked the door once more. This time, however, he did not leap back into bed; rather, he took out a pen and paper and wrote the last letter he would ever write to his girlfriend:
Dear Sandy, I’m sorry I have to tell you like this, but you know I’m no good with speaking. I’m also sorry for how I’ve been avoiding you lately. There is a reason.
Firstly I’d like to say thank you for all the time we’ve had together. It was brilliant at the start, but I feel we have drifted apart lately. There’s a reason for that, too. I don’t feel like I have what it takes to be your boyfriend anymore. You have such high standards and I just can’t reach them all the time; I can’t be what you want me to be. I’m sorry. You will always have me as a friend, but I’m afraid our time as lovers must come to an end. Love, Sam.
With his heart in his throat, he folded it up and put it in his pocket.
He turned his phone on for the first time that day and sent a message to Sandy: please could you come round as soon as possible? Xxx
A feeling of euphoria washed over him, as if he were reaching an impossible moment when the world might change and become something new, something unimaginable; a moment that his mind told him was impossible, that it was hopeless to dream about it- but he dared to dream.
That was what he was: a dreamer. He had forgotten it for so long, but it came back to him now. The endless possibilities that the future held, if only he could be free- and they were there for the taking. All he had to do was give her this letter.
His phone buzzed, and his heart leapt. He felt nervous in exactly the same way as he had done when he asked her out, except this time it was more intense. Worse. Still, he had started the chain of events; the least he could do was finish it.
It was from Sandy: I’ll be there in five. X
Just one kiss. She was mad.
For five minutes he paced about his room, simultaneously scared and excited. The guilt which had lived in his gut for months now had seemingly evaporated; it had risen into the air and now flew about as birds of excitement, insects of restless anxiety- and if, only if, he could pull through with this, they would vanish completely and leave him free.
Then she arrived: sad-looking, and fierce as ever. It w
as strange seeing her after so long. Four days should not seem that long, but when your possessor demands your presence every night it does. It had been an eternity for both of them.
“Hello,” he greeted nervously.
“Hello,” she replied. Her voice was empty, scared: she could control him in any way she wished as long as they wee together, but if he was about to do what she thought he was about to do, there was no way of stopping him; no way of getting into his head this time.
“I’ve got something for you,” he said.
“Okay.”
He leant over to hand her the letter, but as he did so it just felt- wrong. To say it with ink, even after all she had done, was just not how he wanted to end it.
So he pulled it away. She looked at him, puzzled.
“Sorry,” he explained. “Sorry, I just don’t want to give this to you. I… I should say it instead.”
His mind was frozen; it would not produce the words he needed. So he consulted his gut, his feelings, the emotions which were so ready to run free once more, to be free from the reign of guilty emptiness which had pervaded for so long.
“Listen, Sandy,” he began, “You’re brilliant. Don’t forget that. And I want to thank you for the good times we’ve had together. There have been many. But… but I think we should just be friends from now on.”
And that was that: the words were out, the message said. He was free.
“Why?”
“Because, Sandy. Because I can’t come up to your standards. I’m… I’m not good enough for you. You want me to obey you, to do your every whim, to make you my god, my commander, my boss- and that’s what you want in a man. You want something you can control. And I can’t, I just can’t,