My Fearful Symmetry

by Denise Verrico

  At the curb stood a Rolls Royce. Christ, I’d hit the jackpot. This seedy hulk of a servant held the rear door open for his master, but I was expected to let myself in. I opened the opposite door to slide in.

  A fragrance emanated from my companion, his cologne maybe, with a slight hint of spices and musk. His face remained expressionless when he spoke, smooth, like no emotion ever creased it. “I’ve listened to you singing and playing the guitar in the Underground for three nights.”

  “I haven’t seen you—until last night that is.”

  He laughed a flat sound in reply.

  “You some kind of agent then?”

  “You might say that.” Reaching into his coat, he took out an old-fashioned cigarette case all enameled with elephants. Elegant fingers selected a fag and clicked the case shut in one fluid motion. He tapped the tobacco to the end. Lighting up, he drew in the smoke. On the exhale he said, “You’re actually quite good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you often go home with strangers?”

  “Not lately.”

  “You’re infected,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

  I sighed. “You can drop me at the corner.”

  “I’ll pay twice what you’d be worth healthy.” He scrutinized my face. “I daresay you once commanded a decent fee.” He took another puff and then flicked an ash into a receptacle built into the door.

  This casual attitude toward my impending demise irked me. “I’m dying. You don’t have to mock me.”

  He pressed up close. “I’m fascinated by your decaying beauty.”

  “Sod off.” I tried to open the door, but a granite-hard arm prevented me.

  “Don’t run. I want to know you better.”

  “You get off on disease then? Want to touch my lesions and have a wank, you sick bastard?”

  “You don’t have to die.”

  Now I had to laugh. “Tell that to the National Health.”

  “Obviously the poisons they give you aren’t helping. There are ancient ways of healing Western doctors are ignorant of.”

  A whisper of a touch swept over my hair. The sensation of his fingers set my scalp to tingling. My beleaguered soul threw up barriers against an all-out siege. “Right—burn a little incense and charm a snake.”

  “Now you’re mocking me. Come to my house and talk with me.”

  I studied him. Yeah, he looked better than the usual brand of pervert, but something more than sexual drew me to him, like we embodied opposing poles of magnets. God, what was my problem? You never fall for a client.

  “Fine, whatever gets you off, love. I can use the money.” I was dying for a smoke. “Give us a fag then?”

  He pulled out the fancy case and offered it to me. I chose a cigarette and accepted a proffered light. The case snapped closed, the jewel-bright colors catching the light of streetlamps. My desire for pretty things often led me to unwise decisions, but I had to express admiration. “Right posh that.”

  He closed my hand around it with his. “Keep it. I’ve several.”

  His palm lingered. I extracted myself, not comfortable with this expression of intimacy, and pocketed the case. It would fetch a few bob at a pawnshop. “Right then. Thanks.”

  “What are you called, Beauty?”

  The wanker’s flattery chipped away at my defenses. My face and neck flushed, not exactly flattering to someone with my coloration. I didn’t give my street name for some reason. “Cedric MacKinnon.”

  “I’m called Raj.” He smile grew warmer. “You have remarkable eyes, like a cat’s.”

  He ran a hand up my thigh, and for the first time in a long while I got really hard. The pressure of his hand on my body drove me mental. I’d seen all kinds of kinks, even those who get off on disease and decay. After nearly four years on the streets, nothing surprised me anymore. Sex was still possible with the proper precautions, and he was obviously rich. Maybe we could come to a little arrangement. In the present circumstances, I was open to any possibility. But then he pulled away from me, as if he’d remembered to show a little restraint.

  We both smoked in silence until the Rolls pulled up to a town house across from a park. I’d been in its like before. Sweat broke out. A horror show, starring fifteen-year-old Cedric and five grown men, flashed before me. The hefty driver came round and opened the door for Raj. I let myself out, following him up the steps into an airy foyer. A wrought-iron staircase rose above our heads, art nouveau, quite the belle époque in decor.

  I gawked at the lofty entry. “Nice…”

  Raj took my jacket and hung it on a hook attached to a mirrored piece of furniture. “They say the house was once owned by Disreali. Don’t believe it for a minute. It was built years too late. The shrewd negotiator was well dead.” He slipped off his coat and hung it near my jacket, taking a moment to look at the mirror and smooth his hair. “I’m not an admirer obviously. He was responsible for decades of misery in my country—Empress of India, indeed.” A door opened to a luxurious sitting room. Raj ushered me inside. “English arrogance…”

  “Don’t blame me, love. I’m a Scot, another victim of Imperialist rule.”

  He smashed his cigarette into a brass representation of a monkey holding a scallop shell. “You’re no idiot—even if you are a whore.”

  I pressed close to him, taking hold of his lapels. “Rent boy is the polite term, but who’s arguing semantics?”

  His body remained rigid and expression cool, despite my proximity. “The nights are dull with no one to talk to but that dolt Beeshom.”

  “No girlfriend—or boyfriend for that matter?”

  “I’m here on business for several months.”

  “There’s plenty of nightlife in London.”

  “Such amusements pall after a while.”

  “So you hire a half-dead hustler to talk to? You’re one strange bird, mate.”

  He took my chin in his hand and studied my face, as if appraising an art object. “You have a certain elusive quality.”

  Save me, I was falling for him. This presented a conundrum. I seldom got off on my clients. I mean, I sometimes got off, but that was mere friction. In the spectrum of sexuality my preference ran to women, but I’d had few opportunities with them, what with my former line of work and recent diagnosis. It’s not the height of romance to approach a girl with, “Hi, I’m Cedric, and I’ve got full-blown AIDS.”

  I knew I was the perfect victim, a shadow of what I’d once been, half in the grave, prey to all manner of exotic flora and fauna, no family, and only eighteen. Raj was so polished and enigmatic, unlike anyone I’d ever known. The ramparts around my untested heart crumbled to dust.

  But there was no sex. We just talked, smoked, and drank his wine. Raj kept me up until I was exhausted, asking all kinds of questions, quizzing me on my knowledge, like a bloody A level. Alcohol and warmth made me drowsy, until yawns could no longer be stifled. Then the servant showed me upstairs to luxury accommodations. Man, I couldn’t wait to tell Ricky about the royal treatment. I stripped to the buff and crawled under the smooth sheets on the massive bed, wondering when the host planned to join me. After waiting an hour, I drifted off to a disappointed slumber.

  I slept all day, which wasn’t all that different than my usual habit, until the servant knocked and entered my room with a tray full of marvelous smelling food. Once I’d eaten, showered, and dressed, I joined Raj downstairs. This went on for three nights. It was pleasant just smoking, drinking, and conversing with Raj. My host was well educated and even charming when he chose to be. I snuggled into my seat by the fireplace, cozy and warm. For the first time in months, my cough subsided, and I gained weight from the rich fare his servant brought in from fine restaurants. All night long, I nattered on, dying to touch him, while he watched me with his liquid eyes, as if I was a rare butterfly he’d captured. I’d resigned myself to thinking he feared infection and contented myself with his praise for my looks and the expensive gifts that he gave me.

  On the f
ourth night, I woke once more in the comfy bedroom. I devoured my tray of food the servant brought and was told to bathe and then go downstairs. Shrugging, I showered and donned the emerald-colored silk robe that I’d found on the bed. Perhaps Raj had enough talking and was ready for a little action. I popped a handful of pills and washed them down with orange juice. It was a relatively quiet time for my contagion, only one lesion among the freckles on my chest. With the better food and rest, my pallor looked almost healthy. Maybe the anti-viral cocktail was finally working. The servant led me into a room I’d never seen before, oddly bare of furniture. There stood Raj, wearing not one of his usual fine suits but a velvet robe. “Restrain him.”

  Looking around, I saw no one but the servant and a lot of candles flickering on an altar that bore a many-armed female figure. The big ox lunged forward and removed the robe from my body. Shackles hung from hooks on the ceiling, with others attached near the floor. Beeshom secured me, spread-eagled. Not surprising, I’d done the BDSM thing plenty of times before. Actually, I’d grown to rather like it. A little restraint and pain freed untold pleasure.

  “What’s the word?” I asked.

  “Word?”

  “Safe word—for when it gets to be too much.”

  “This is no game.” Raj moved forward and traced a lesion on my chest.

  Sick rose up in my gullet. It occurred to me that I might be in danger. The possibility always existed that the bloke you went home with was a psycho like that one in America that ate his boyfriends for dinner. “You’re going to kill me…”

  Raj beckoned to the servant. “It depends on just how much pain can you abide, Beauty. If you stand up to it, you live.”

  Beeshom wielded a scary huge whip. A sharp crack stung my back. I gritted my teeth. Pain wracked my nerves and radiated outward. I sucked in my breath and panted. Another blow fell before I was ready and then another. No one had ever hurt me like this. Burning welts rose on my skin. I protested, but the servant laid it on hard, again and again. My torso twisted, trying to escape the bite of the lash. The shackles rubbed my wrists raw. I fought hard, cursing until I passed out from exhaustion.

  Beeshom doused me with ice-cold water. Raj raised my recumbent head by the hair. I wheezed and sputtered, lunging at him, only to be pulled up short by the restraints. “I’ve had enough. Let me go, you bastard!”

  Raj chuckled at my attempt to go after him. “Impressive—but this is child’s play.” He called for another whip. Beeshom selected a smaller one, tipped with metal.

  This didn’t bode well for me. “You sick fuck. That’ll draw blood.”

  “Yes, it will.” Raj stepped away and raised his hand to signal the second onslaught.

  “Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Of a little blood?” He and Beeshom laughed as if the idea was highly amusing.

  I screamed this time, but I doubted anyone heard me, or even cared. I’d found out years before that what went on in swank places like this was sacrosanct. The whipping kept on until blood splashed and ran. I fell unconscious once more, but this time I was awakened by a warm sensation on my wounds. Raj’s hair, lips, and tongue whispered against my raw flesh. What psycho would do this? Was he also infected and somehow taking out his rage on me?

  “You’re positive?”

  Raj raised his bloodstained face. His voice fell to a weird, low pitch. “Shut up, I didn’t give you leave to speak.”

  The odd timbre quashed all resistance. I wanted to stay alive at all costs, and in a sick way I still wanted him to like me. What was wrong with me? Raj continued to suck at my torn skin. Finally, he drew away. If I hadn’t been shackled, I would have collapsed. My body went completely limp and weak. It felt like my wrists would break from my weight. A curious shushing sound filled my ears. My heart pounded. The servant handed his master a dampened towel to wipe his face and hands. The two men jabbered together. I couldn’t make out their words. Shadows of the horrifying goddess’ multiple arms swayed over the candle-washed wall, as if she were dancing. Faint with blood loss, I reckoned I’d lost my grip on reality. I hovered between elation and despair, consciousness and unconsciousness. Raj then unbuttoned his sleeve and slashed open his wrist with a knife. “Drink if you don’t want to die.”

  Blood trickled into my mouth, my body too weak to fight it. I’d fallen into a really sick circle of perverts this time, even worse than the ones who got hold of me as a kid. Why was this one so beautiful? Raj just stood there caressing my hair, smiling all benevolent on me. “That’s right Beauty, you’re on your way.” As soon as my mouth filled up, he jerked his wrist away and buttoned up his sleeve.

  I forced words out between sticky lips, “You want to play vampire then? Is that your game?”

  Raj and the servant laughed out loud again. Brilliant. Raj motioned to Beeshom, saying, “He’s had enough for tonight. Take him upstairs.”

  The servant lugged me up to bed and chained me there. He sponged off cuts and smeared some kind of ointment on them. My back smarted, but not as much as my psyche. Tears ran down my face. Pathetic impotent whore. That’s what I was. I deserved everything I got. I sobbed like a girl in pain and humiliation, but then the sensual image of the goddess danced my brain, lulling my aching body and soul to sleep.

  When I woke the next evening, my wounds didn’t trouble me. Strange. I felt as good as new, energized even. Was it all a dream? Then Beeshom came in again and unchained me. I struggled against him, but he was an unmovable, rock solid mass against my blows.

  “Stop your fussing boy. You don’t know how lucky you are.” He carried me down to the drawing room where Raj waited. Beeshom strung me up by the wrists. The ordeal started all over. Raj bade the servant to take hits at me. The thug grinned, rolling up his sleeves. He used me as a punching bag until I was one solid bruise. I vomited and pissed blood. Once again, the deity on the altar did her sinuous shadow dance, as if enticing me. When it was done, Raj forced me to drink a mouthful from his wrist again.

  The third night turned far worse. This time Raj opened a case containing a dozen shiny knives and selected one with a curved blade, extending it to his servant. Beeshom snickered each time he sliced into me. Each successive cut delved deeper into muscle. I bled from a hundred different wounds and cried out for my tormentor’s demise. Raj lapped me up again. A primal kind of terror gripped hold; my thoughts shuttled to and fro with no coherent pattern. Only the silent goddess, beckoning from the candlelight with her many arms, provided something to which my sanity could cling. She burned through my consciousness, a beacon, urging me to fight on. I refused to die this way. When it was done, Raj dismissed Beeshom. My captor unlocked my bonds, easing me to the floor. I didn’t resist him. He closed his eyes and chanted over me, some kind of mantra I supposed. I blacked out, but obviously I wouldn’t be telling this if I’d died.

  Sometime later, I awoke in a bed, cradled like a child, skin to skin, against Raj. A smile curled his lips. Light fingers smoothed back the hair from my face. A thought occurred to me. It was my birthday. I was nineteen now—and he was going to kill me. The disease hadn’t yet managed to get me, but Raj would. Too drained to struggle, I gazed up at his unreadable eyes.

  “I am sorry I had to do this, but I had to make certain you were worthy,” he said. “You’ve done exceptionally well, my young cub. You’ve earned your reward.”

  His smile revealed long, pointy fangs. Was I hallucinating? My heart pumped adrenalin all through my body. This was one of those cult freaks that fancied themselves vampires, to the point of having the expensive dental work done. He planned to kill me for sure. I hung in his arms, gasping for breath.

  Raj’s fingers caressed my body with long strokes. “Hush…don’t be afraid, Beauty. I’m not going to kill you. You are a rare gem, and I will polish you to brilliance. Disease will never torment you again.”

  He slashed open his neck with the same blade the servant had used on me. I was beyond protest when he shoved me against him. The salt-iron liquid bubbled in
to my mouth. This time a peculiar sensation overtook me, a tingling all over, inside and out. Was the virus lashing out, taking some new, horrible turn that would end in death? Blood poured down my throat as he continued to pet and assure me in a soft voice that I wouldn’t be sick anymore.

  Then it happened. Light and heat slammed into my consciousness. My senses awakened with a clarity I’d be hard-pressed to describe, but every smell, sound, and even the sight of Raj were magnified tenfold. My back arched. A shockwave of unbearable bliss rocked my body.

  Raj shuddered, as if climaxing sexually. His mouth drew away. I lay nestled against his chest. The metronome beat inside lulled me like a child. One last, rebellious breath and I gave way; the bond wove complete. I belonged to him now. It was as certain as the heartbeat thumping in tune with mine. He wiped a drop of blood from my lips with his fingertip and chuckled. “Magnificent.”

  TWO

  The ever-present nausea disappeared by the time I woke the next evening. Inflamed joints no longer ached. Violent coughs didn’t crack my ribs. My hands ran over my chest. A heartbeat throbbed inside the ribcage. I wasn’t dead. My lungs worked as before—no—they worked better. An insistent tug beneath the sheets reassured me that my best friend still rose when I did. I jumped out of bed. Raj stirred and mumbled, reaching out. I ran to the bathroom door mirror, wondering if I still cast a reflection. Those sort of totally mental ideas go through your head at first. Standing starkers in front of the glass, I laughed out loud. Not only did cast a reflection—I looked good again—no, even prettier than before.

  I turned this way and that, admiring my new and improved body. As I’d said, I’d gained weight from all the food Raj stuffed into me, but not only that. The ugly purple lesions on my chest and back had faded clean away. Even the last of my stubborn freckles had bleached out. Every muscle rippled under skin now as polished and white as marble. God, my bum could qualify for exhibition at the Tate. I shook out my hair, mesmerized by the coppery glint of it, and yelped for joy.