The Dark Part of Me

by Belinda Burns

‘Bitch!’ he said, inspecting his arm.

  I glowered at him, my tongue hot with venom. ‘Fuck you.’

  We sat, steaming in silence. The engine ticked and expanded. The heat rolled in around us, thick and suffocating, pressing me into the seat. Sweat beads rolled from the roots of my hair, down the back of my neck and my spine. I smiled across at him.

  ‘I know a secret.’

  Scott turned and looked at me. ‘What secret?’ His eyes roamed my tits and I could tell he had sex on his mind. Danny’s name was on the tip of my tongue but I didn’t want it to ruin the moment. Scott crawled over the brake-stick towards me.

  ‘Just shut up and fuck me, alright? I know you want me.’

  But I pushed him off and flung open the door. I leapt out of the car and stuck my head back through the window. ‘I know about your little secret.’ I turned and bolted, gripping the car keys tight in my hand. I crossed the road and hurried down the embankment into the bush, skidding on the gravel. The undergrowth was thick and spiky, lashing at my bare legs. Sharp stones bit into the soles of my feet. I had no idea where I was going; I just wanted Scott to chase me. I could hear him thrashing after me, swearing and calling out for me to come back, and I kept running in no particular direction, my vision smudging in the heat-haze. Everything was a blur of brown and silvery-green, as if the friction of my body against the world could have set the bush on fire.

  Scott was gaining on me. I could hear him panting, the snap of fallen branches underfoot. He kept yelling, ‘I’m gonna get you, Rosie. I’m gonna get you real bad,’ in a voice that got me half-frightened, half-rank. I couldn’t wait for him to catch me but I wasn’t giving in easy. Blood fired in my veins as I jumped over rocks and fallen logs and ducked under low-lying boughs. I squeezed the car keys tighter in my hand and looked out across the valley. The sun was a huge, red disc. The horizon was streaked with wisps of blood-coloured cloud, bathing the city in an eerie, pinkish haze.

  ‘Gotcha!’

  Scott tackled me around the waist. We fell hard to the ground. The keys flew out of my hand. My shoulder grazed against a flat slab of granite. He had me trapped, his legs straddling my waist. He was laughing cruelly, his mouth wide open.

  ‘Mutai?’ he said.

  I squirmed and shook my head. ‘No way. Not until you tell me.’ I flung my arms back against the rock. The granite was hot beneath me. Its warmth made me horny. He watched me, his hands resting loose on his thighs. I could see his cock rising steadily against the satiny material of his boxers, slipping through the fly, the head smooth, pink and glossy. He swallowed, audibly, visibly. I laughed, my voice low and strange, my nipples so tight and bursting they could have rolled off from my chest. He lay down flat on top of me, the weight of his body pressing me into the rock. His face was close to mine, his breath sweet and beery against my cheek. Stretching up, he roughly prised open my fists, pulling back the fingers, one by one. ‘Where’re the keys?’

  ‘You’ll have to strip-search me,’ I said.

  ‘That won’t take long.’ He grabbed both my wrists, pinning me to the ground, and pashed me, deep with tongue. Next thing, his shorts were off and his fingers, hot and insistent, shoved the crotch of my bikini bottoms to one side. Planting his arms against my hips, his cock nudged and bumped at my pussy. I ached with rankness. He thrust hard up into me. I yelped. I hadn’t done it in two years and for a second it hurt, but then it felt awesome. I swung my legs around his back, my fingers twisting in his hair. Dusky sunlight spangled and burned around him like an aura. We rocked back and forth. Gold light flitted in and out of the eucalyptus overhead. I felt myself rising, teetering on the edge.

  ‘Call me a slut,’ I hissed.

  ‘You fucking slut,’ he said. ‘You filthy fucking whore.’ His neck was strained with one thick, pulsing vein. We went for it, riding hard and fast, my thighs slick and foamy as a racehorse’s. My eyes were shut tight. The granite rasped at my skin but I was nearly there. I was so fucking bad, such a bad, bad, bad, bad, bad girl. Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck. I saw my orgasm shimmering ahead and I galloped towards it, my legs viced around Scott’s torso, my butt-muscles clenched and pumping, my fingers looped and gripped in his hair. ‘You dirty cunt,’ Scott growled, as I bucked and reared beneath him, biting into his chest, my whole body convulsing, and then there was nothing but the softest blackness raining down on me and I slumped back onto the rock. It was the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Scott came soon after but I was dead, or as good as, drugged with the sweetest post-coital nectar. Save his breathing, all was silent.

  Scott slid off me, his chest wet with sweat. I opened my eyes and sat up, feeling weak and giddy. The bad-girl sizzle ebbed away, retreating inside me. My crotch was hot and damp; my back grazed and stinging. Scott crawled away from me, his bum up in the air. Between his legs, his balls hung loose in the heat. A few metres away to the left of the granite rock, a frilly-neck froze, reared its collar and hissed, its forked tongue flashing in and out. Scott turned and stared at it, mimicking its throaty gargle, his hands splayed around his neck. The frilly got all in a tizz. It whipped around in circles, hopping on its tiny clawed feet, its beady eyes bright with fear and anger. Scott pegged a stick at it. Its tail pitched upwards and it darted away, scuttling across the dirt, and I thought how gutless Scott was and how much I hated him.

  ‘I know the truth about you,’ I said, searching for the car keys in the fading light while Scott stood by not helping.

  ‘Yeah?’ he said. ‘That I’m a fucking awesome root.’

  ‘No.’ I paused, waiting for him to look at me. ‘I know about you and Danny.’

  A muscle spasmed in Scott’s cheek and everything froze like in a Western. Those tiny seconds after a gun goes off. Then thwump, thwump, the bodies start hitting the dirt. I opened my mouth to eat back the words but it was too late. I’d triggered something now. Scott came up behind me and grabbed my wrists, squeezing hard.

  He whispered, close in my ear, his spit hitting my cheek. ‘That fucking faggot cunt! I know he’s been after me.’ I bet he’d liked it too much, the feel of Danny’s hand on his dick. It must’ve fucked with part of his head. The part that teetered, wavered, wondered if. So he’d crushed and tortured it, clubbed and stomped and killed it before it took him over.

  Letting go of my wrists, he pushed me roughly up the hill and I stumbled forwards onto my knees. ‘You think you know me?’ he said, ‘C’mon then. I want to show you something.’ He strode off ahead, not once looking back at me as I followed him up to the car. As we drove down the mountain in silence, I felt numb. BrisVegas lay sprawled, a great expanse of dirty green studded with a million rooftops burnished orange as the sun collapsed into the valley.

  I pulled up under the leopard tree.

  Scott burst out of the car, slamming the door so hard it shuddered up my spine. His head filled the open window. ‘Get out.’ His voice was steady.

  I sat in the driver’s seat, not knowing whether to obey him or take off.

  The Greenwood house was ablaze with light. Upstairs, the Christmas tree winked in the window and the front door was wide open to catch the breeze. Silhouettes, adult-and kid-sized, zipped back and forth like shadow puppets. Downstairs, the men were playing pool. I caught the whiff of barbie-meat. Mr Greenwood’s favourite Buddy Holly track, ‘True Love Ways’, drifted out across the lawn.

  ‘Get outta the fucking car!’

  I jumped. Scott was on my side, hauling me out of my seat. He dragged me across the lawn and up the front steps, two at a time. The door was open but the fly-screen was locked. He rang the bell. His eyes shone manic.

  ‘Coming!’ Mrs Greenwood sang out from the kitchen. She came clattering down the hall. The lock clicked and she swung back the screen. ‘About bloody time!’ She was wearing a bright-red belted dress and green bauble earrings with bells which tinkled when she moved her head. She saw me and stopped, her over-powdered face creasing into a sharp frown. ‘Rosie!’ she said, forcing her lips into a fake smile. ‘Wh
at are you doing here?’

  ‘Outta the way, Mum,’ Scott ordered.

  Mrs Greenwood stood firm, blocking the doorway, her arms folded across her bust. ‘Do you think that’s such a good idea?’ she said to Scott, then turning to me, ‘I mean, Rosie dear, haven’t you just got out of hospital?’

  ‘No, she’s fine.’ Scott barged past her, tugging me inside and down the hall.

  I tried to wrench my arm free but he pulled me through to the living room where Mrs Greenwood’s tribe of sisters were sipping sherry and Scott’s young cousins were playing with their new Barbies. We stood under the artificial arch. The women looked up from their gossip and then, clocking me in my lime-green bikini, exchanged raised eyebrows. I felt naked, a mollusc with no shell, my back still stinging from our root on the granite. I wished to god I had some clothes on.

  Mrs Greenwood slipped between us. ‘Look, everyone. You remember Rosie, don’t you?’

  ‘What’s she doing here?’ Auntie Beth hissed.

  ‘You’ve got a bit of a cheek, haven’t you, luvvie?’ Auntie Marge squawked.

  ‘Where is she?’ demanded Scott.

  Mrs Greenwood shook her head and pursed her lips. Scott grabbed my hand and stormed through the kitchen, down the stairs and through the rumpus. Mrs Greenwood and her sisters followed behind like a flock of geese, carrying their sherry glasses with them. The kids, sensing drama in the air, charged like excited goslings in their wake.

  As we crossed the lawn, the grass was cool and lush beneath my feet. The Grubs were warming up for a set. Coloured lightbulbs were strung up from the fence, drenching the lawn in red, purple, orange. Mr Greenwood was on the barbie, which was alive with popping sausages and smoking squares of beef. He looked up as we went past and shouted, half-cut, ‘For goodness’ sake, Rosie, put some bloody clothes on, why don’t ya?’ Near the band, I spotted Muzza, and Bomber just out of hospital, sitting on folding stools. Kirstie was there, too. They were all talking to a woman with jet-black hair. Scott strode across the lawn towards them, ripping me along, Mrs Greenwood and her sisters still behind us.

  As we got closer, I could see it was her. She was sitting sideways to Bomber and Muzza. Her legs were stretched out in front, her bare feet up on a chair. Scott ditched my hand. She swivelled around, awkwardly. It was her. Almond eyes. Creamy skin and long limbs. Her stomach was huge. The ground rocked beneath me and my legs bowed. I told my knees to lock.

  ‘You alright, babe?’ she asked Scott with a pommie accent, smiling as she smoothed her slender hands over her swollen belly. My ears burned hot and bile rose in my throat.

  ‘I’d like you to meet an old friend.’ Scott nodded at me and Bomber tittered as she struggled to stand up. She was wearing dark jeans, slung below her bump, and a loose peasant-style blouse. She was taller and more beautiful than the photo, softer in the face. Around her neck, she wore a string of amber beads the same as Scott had been wearing at the rave. I swam in her beautiful, calm face.

  ‘Amber, Rosie. Rosie, Amber,’ Scott said. ‘Rosie and I went out for a while, when we were kids.’

  ‘Lovely to meet you,’ said Amber. She smiled at me, but I couldn’t speak. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, Scott looked at me over the top of her head.

  ‘Can you believe it? I’m going to be a dad.’

  But last week I swallowed your cum on Mum’s bed and today, less than an hour ago, we rooted like crazy fucking rodents. I felt like my insides had been scooped out with a hunting knife. Bomber and Muzza sat back, revelling. Scott bent his head and whispered something in her ear to which she laughed, clapping her hands together girlishly. Edging away from the scene, I watched them, blackest envy rising like sludge in my chest. I wanted to be somewhere far, far away.

  ‘Are you alright, Rosie?’ Mrs Greenwood came up behind me. ‘I kept telling Scott to tell you but—’

  ‘I’m fine.’ I stared at a patch of grass over her shoulder.

  ‘Course it wasn’t planned, but they get along so well. And the nice thing is they’ve decided to get married. Before the baby, mind. It’s the proper thing to do, don’t you think? Only a small do. Just the rellies and a few close friends. Bill’s going to set up a marquee here in the backyard.’

  Nice. After rooting me and Trish and probably a million other bitches behind her back, the bastard was fucking hitching her. I almost felt sorry for her, but then she was welcome to him.

  19

  After that I don’t remember thinking, just doing. I had this overwhelming need to see Hollie. She’d been right about Scott all along. It was beautifully clear to me now.

  I accelerated hard up the hill and parked on the side of the road. There were no cop cars but that didn’t mean they weren’t up there. After all, Danny was armed and dangerous, a convicted murderer on the loose, a threat to happy, burban lives. Expecting Hollie to be in her bedroom or Mrs Bailey’s, I went in the side, through the parlour and up the stairs. I heard footsteps from the darkened hall and looked up to see Mr Bailey leaning over the balustrade. It was ages since I’d seen him and, as he came towards me out of the shadows and down the stairs, I panicked.

  ‘Rosemary, what are you doing here?’ He was wearing a dark suit and a silver tie. His face was ashen and his hair, too, newly greying at the temples.

  ‘Nothing,’ I stammered. ‘I just came to see Hollie.’

  ‘She’s not here,’ he said, sharply. He stopped, halfway down the staircase, and, as if needing the support, gripped the banister. I noticed how he still wore his wedding ring. ‘She’s gone for a walk.’

  His eyes skimmed over me but it was like he was seeing something else, some memory from the past. I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible, but I had to say something.

  ‘Is she alright?’ I asked.

  He glared at me. ‘Why wouldn’t she be?’

  ‘It’s just that with Danny and everything.’ I was retreating down the staircase one step at a time.

  ‘The police have everything under control,’ he said, smoothing a hand down his tie. ‘And we are doing all we can to assist them.’ I couldn’t tell if it was an act or if he was genuine. Since I could remember, he’d been cold, humourless and distant, but there was something crumbling about him, like he was just holding onto reality. He cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps it would be best if you stayed away from the house, at least for the time being. I’ll tell Hollie you came by.’ He smiled, icily. Nodding, I turned and strode back through the house, knowing exactly where Hollie would be.

  The night was deep and still, the finest slither of a moon in the sky. The police could have been lurking anywhere so I kept alert as my legs carried me up the track. Around me, the bush was oddly silent. I tried my hardest to be quiet but every tread seemed to echo around the mountainside. About halfway to the cave, I spotted a distinct beam from a flashlight slicing through the trees less than a hundred metres up the hill. Someone was heading in my direction. I ducked behind a bush and waited, my scalp shrinking with fear. Every few seconds, the light-beam swept across the track. From the heaviness of the footsteps, I could tell it was a man and, as he came closer, I saw that he was wearing dark combat trousers and a black T-shirt. I tried to get a glimpse of his face but I couldn’t get a clear view through the bush without being seen. I squeezed my eyes shut and crouched tighter, but whoever it was had back-tracked and was heading east, away from me. I pelted, light as a fairy, to the cave.

  Breathless, I sank to my knees and crawled in through the overhanging vines. It was dark, my eyes straining to adjust, but there was a weak, flickering light coming from the deepest corner of the cave. A giant shadow shifted back and forth across the ceiling and I became aware of little, soft cries and whimpers, echoing around the walls. A nervous dread skittered through me. I edged to my left, my shoulder knocking against the crumbly wall. The dank smell of old dirt and limestone filled my nostrils. I crawled in further, crouching behind the egg rock to get a better view.

  Hollie was lying down, her hair spi
lling across the earth. Stark white against the red soil. Around her throat a high, stiff collar of French lace from which her long thin neck, whiter still, strained. Her chin jutted up towards the roof, her cheekbones pinched and flushed. A film of dust coated her lips and her eyes were closed, lids fluttering.

  Danny lay naked on top of her, running his blackened fingers through her hair, fucking her. Mud from his skin dirtied the stiff, white peaks of her skirt. With a gentle sigh, Hollie’s back arched against the ground and she wrapped her long, skinny legs around his torso. Diffused light, coming from a small gas lamp in the corner, hung in a golden cloud around them. They looked like delicate, exotic creatures from another world but my insides rioted with revulsion and horror and there was a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth.

  Danny thrust into her, his shoulder tense and flared, and Hollie sighed. If they’d looked up they would have seen me but they were too engrossed in each other. I felt like bits of me were fading away, becoming invisible. I stayed a few moments longer, wretched and trembling but unable to pull myself away. Danny was falling, his lips sinking onto Hollie’s mouth. I blinked and retreated.

  It was only when I was outside, the silence of the bush pressing in on me, that the tears came hot and fast, and I fled, not caring if the cops caught me, back down the mountainside.

  I got in my car and drove, as if by driving I could clear my head of what I had just seen. But there was no denying the truth of it and, as the cool night air whipped in around me, it sledged me hard – a whole, secret world they’d kept from me. I wondered how long it had been going on and why Hollie hadn’t told me. Crossing the Captain Cook bridge, I got onto the freeway. For over an hour, the road unfurled black and empty in front of me and I followed it, numb and blind and unthinking.

  Somehow, I ended up at Main Beach. I parked under a buggy fluoro and went down to the beach. The grains squeaked between my toes and my hair flapped in the breeze. I inhaled deeply, the air fresh and salty with the whiff of fish and chips. I fell to my knees in the sand, lulled by the vast plain of ink-black water, stretching out in front of me. A middle-aged couple walked past in the shallows splashing each other, their laughter hitting my ears in windy bursts. They were heading south, towards Surfers’. Not far off, the golden city of high-rises clung to the edge of the beach, shimmering in its own dreamy halo. I watched until the couple became tiny specks against the nightscape and then I pelted into the surf, my thighs thrusting through the still-warm water, diving over the foamy crests.