Fire After Dark

by Sadie Matthews

  ‘Follow me.’ He leads the way out of the flat and I follow him along the corridor to the lift. My lead is hanging down inside my coat. We take the lift down to the lobby. I look at Dominic who ignores me, tapping messages into his phone instead. At the ground floor, he strides across the lobby and I hurry after him, my shoes tapping on the floor, to where a long black Mercedes is waiting outside. He opens the door and climbs in, leaving me to follow in behind. The driver is invisible behind a darkened screen. I sit next to Dominic on the smooth leather seat and the car pulls smoothly away.

  I want to ask where we are going but I do not dare. Dominic continues to say nothing but is busy with his phone.

  This day is proving to be very strange, and Dominic himself even stranger. I look over at him discreetly and he seems so very distant.

  This isn’t what I want.

  The voice comes into my mind. I try not to listen. It is what I want. I asked for it.

  I try to gather my strength for whatever is lying in wait for me at the end of this ride.

  I am not surprised when the car pulls up in the small Soho street outside The Asylum. I have suspected that somehow or other I am going to end up here, and now I know that the moment has come.

  A rush of fear goes through me.

  ‘Get out,’ Dominic says.

  I obey and he follows. Then he leads the way down the metal staircase to the front door. Taking a key from his pocket, he quickly unlocks the door and goes through it. When I have followed him into the small inner hall, he shuts it behind us. I can tell that the place is deserted. Now he pushes my coat from my shoulders and takes my lead. Without a word, he strides off though the empty bar and I am forced into a half run to keep up as he pulls me after him. I know where we are going.

  I’ve always known.

  Sure enough, he takes me to that metal-studded door, and pushes it open. He turns to look at me for the first time since we left Randolph Gardens.

  ‘Now you will learn the true meaning of punishment,’ he says.

  I’m terrified. This is real, choking fear I can feel rushing up inside me. I step into the darkness, and Dominic flicks a switch that brings to life what look like real candles in metal sconces on the wall, but they must be electric.

  Now I can see those implements again: the crosses, the bars, the row of evil-looking floggers. My stomach crashes downwards with a nasty sick feeling.

  But I must do it. I have to go through with it.

  I remember the decision I made to trust Dominic. He won’t go too far with me, he said that.

  He takes me over to the bars stretching horizontally across the far wall, then he unbuckles my harness, and slips it over my arms. He lets it drop to the floor unheeded, and makes me stand with my front against the bars, my back to him. He lifts one of my arms and puts my wrist in a manacle level with my shoulder and positioned so that I can move and flex my arm. He does the same with the other. Then he opens my legs and puts one ankle in a restraint and then the other. I can hear his heavy breathing. This is exciting him.

  ‘Now,’ he says softly, when I’m completely restrained, ‘we will begin.’

  I close my eyes tight and clench my stomach tight. I will bear this. I will do it. And later I’ll explain that the dungeon is not my scene no matter what.

  Why did he bring you here? asks my inner voice, when he knows that this place frightened you?

  I don’t want to listen. I don’t want to hear it. I’ve got to concentrate right now on enduring whatever is coming my way.

  The first touch is light and sensuous, the tickle of long coarse horsehair over my shoulder blades. Dominic seems almost to be drawing something over my back, as though marking out his territory, learning the contours for when he begins to strike.

  ‘This is your punishment for disobedience,’ declares Dominic. I can feel him behind me, drinking in the scene: the manacled girl, the flickering light, the whip ready to strike.

  The first blow is soft and gentle and so are the next few. He is warming me up. The blood rushes to my skin, making the blows feel like dozen of sharp little cuts. The horsehair is scratchy and scrapes across my already tender skin. I keep my eyes tightly shut and try to control my breathing, but my heart is racing and fear churns in my stomach.

  The heat is spreading as he begins to deliver harder, more regular blows.

  So this is a flogging. I’m being beaten with a whip in a dungeon.

  I fear, then, what is going to happen. I’m outside myself, considering my predicament. And that means my inner fantasy life is flickering and dying.

  But it’s too late.

  The blows stop and I hear Dominic’s footsteps move to the rail of instruments, and then he returns. He’s holding something else, I can sense it. He turns it through the air a couple of times in swinging practice strokes and then it comes down, flying over my back, dozens of tails with cruel knots at the end biting into my skin.

  I throw my head back and scream with surprise and pain. But before I can think, the tails hit me again hard from the other direction. He’s sweeping his instrument back and forth, hitting me on each swing.

  Oh my God, this is unbelievable!

  On it goes, the heavy strokes landing with metronome regularity. The pain is intense and with each blow I cry out loud, unable to keep the control I’d fought for under the onslaught. And with each strike, Dominic hits a little harder, as though my screams are inciting him to put more strength behind the blows. His breathing is heavy and laboured.

  The tails spray pain across my back, biting cruelly into my poor, tender skin. It’s vicious. It’s more than I can stand, I’m shaking and, between my screams of agony, I’m crying.

  The safe word. I have to use the safe word.

  I’ve lost all faith that Dominic can see what a state I’m in. He’s flogging me hard, and through the haze of pain and confusion in my mind, I think that he may be losing control.

  Now I really am terrified – I’m desperately scared, my crying is getting stronger and more intense as the evil instrument rips into my back again and again, left, then right, left then right. Sometimes the biting tails flick round and nip at my breasts and stomach.

  What is the safe word?

  I’m in such agony, my head rolling round across my shoulders, my back arched inwards away from the blows, my arms tense, that I can’t think at all. All I can do is dread the next blow.

  The . . . safe . . . word . . . is . . .

  I gather all my strength and howl, ‘Red!’

  He hits me again, wham! Hundreds of blades slice into my fervid skin.

  ‘Red, Dominic, stop, stop!’

  It’s not red . . . it’s . . . oh FUCK, the PAIN . . . it’s . . . something else . . . it’s . . . HOLY HELL . . . I’m dying, I’m dying . . .

  ‘Scarlet!’ I scream. ‘Scarlet!’

  I tense for the next blow and when it doesn’t come, I start shuddering uncontrollably, sobbing wildly. I’ve never felt such pain, inside or out.

  ‘Beth?’ It’s a voice I’ve not heard for days. It’s Dominic’s normal voice. The voice of my friend, my lover, the man I’ve been yearning to see again. ‘Beth, are you all right?’

  I can’t talk, I’m crying too hard, tears streaming down my face, my nose running. The sobs are shaking me all over.

  ‘Oh God, baby, what it is it?’ There’s panic in his voice. He drops the flogger and dashes forward to unbuckle my restraints. As my arms are freed, I flop down and sink to the floor, taking my head on my knees and rocking back and forth as I cry.

  ‘Beth, please!’ He puts his hand on my arm, careful to avoid the agonised tenderness of my back.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ I spit, enraged through my tears. ‘Don’t come near me!’

  He holds back, shocked and uncertain. ‘You used the safe word . . .’

  ‘Because you were beating the shit out of me, you bastard, you utter bastard, after everything I’ve done for you, everything I’ve offered you and endured . . . My God
, I can’t believe…’The big sobs are racking me now but I manage to speak through them. ‘I’ve been such a fucking idiot. I trusted you, you bastard, I put my faith in you and look what you’ve done to me . . .!’

  I’m so desperately hurt, from the physical pain and from the sad remnants of my broken trust, and all I can do is weep.

  For several minutes Dominic watches me in silence as if at a loss how we came to be in this situation, or how to comfort me. Then he quietly gets my coat and wraps it round me. Even the soft cotton of the trench hurts like hell as he drapes it round my poor back.

  He helps me gently to my feet, and leads me out of the dungeon, through the empty bar and out. The car is still waiting for us on the road above. We climb in. I’m still crying, unable to rest my back on the seats, as we return to Randolph Gardens.

  I weep all the way. Dominic does not say a word.

  THE FOURTH WEEK

  Chapter Eighteen

  That Sunday is the worst day of my life. I’m in agony, for one thing, my back covered in a mass of livid red welts that makes me gasp in horror when I see them in the mirror. I haven’t got any way of anointing my back with lotion, either, so I spend a long time in a cool bath, trying to draw the heat out of my skin.

  I am also in a terrible state emotionally, unable to stop weeping at the memory of what Dominic did to me. It feels like an awful betrayal. He asked me to put my faith in him, and I did. He asked me to trust him to know my limits and I did. I told him that I did not like the dungeon but that is where he took me, to inflict unspeakable agony on me.

  And I let him.

  That is what hurts too. Dominic may have wielded the whip but I let myself get into that situation. Then I remind myself that it’s Dominic who lost control and took the whole thing to a level beyond my capability. He must have forgotten in the heat of the moment that I’m a novice at this – but it was his responsibility to look after me, and be aware of what I could take. He failed at that.

  It’s also deeply painful that Dominic has not been in touch with me to talk. He has gone silent. I receive one text message that reads simply: I’m sorry Dx and nothing else.

  Does he really think one text is going to make up for that . . . that assault?

  He’ll have to do better than that.

  On Monday morning, I ring James and tell him I’m ill and can’t come into work. He sounds a little wary, as if he can tell that I’m not being honest, but he says all the right things about looking after myself and not coming in until I feel better. I spend the day alone, thinking obsessively over the days I spent with Dominic, trying to analyse why it went so very horribly wrong. I curl up with De Havilland on the sofa and take all the comfort I can from his soft, purring warmth.

  At least the cat still loves me.

  The welts on my back are still vivid and sore, but the pain is dying down a little. The heat, which kept me awake on Sunday night, is now ebbing out of my skin. I can imagine a time now when it won’t hurt, when I’ll be healed.

  On Tuesday, I call in sick again and now James sounds worried.

  ‘Is everything okay, Beth?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, ‘well . . . sort of.’

  ‘Is it something to do with Dominic?’

  ‘Yes and no. Listen James, I need one more day. I’ll be back in tomorrow, I promise. I’ll tell you then.’

  ‘All right, sweetie. Take the time you need. I understand.’

  I know how lucky I am to have a boss like him.

  By Tuesday afternoon, I’m feeling a little better. My back continues to hurt but it’s definitely improving. I’m still sick at heart, though, at not hearing from Dominic. Whenever I think of it, I feel devastated that he could treat me so badly and then abandon me. Surely he must know that he left me an absolute wreck?

  It’s late on Tuesday afternoon when I hear the knock at the door. My heart begins to quicken at once as I think instantly that perhaps it’s Dominic.

  No, I tell myself sternly, as I go to the door. It’s bound to be James, calling round with chicken soup and chocolate for me. But I can’t help hoping as I reach the door and open it.

  To my astonishment, the man waiting for me outside the apartment door is not Dominic or James. It is Adam.

  ‘Surprise!’ he cries, grinning all over his face.

  I gape at him, unable to believe my eyes. He looks so different to me now, even though he’s exactly the same as I remember. His clothes are shabby and totally lacking in style: he has a cheap checked shirt on under a grey sweat top with the name of some sports team on it, and baggy blue jeans that sit under the swell of his belly. He’s wearing large white trainers and has a sports holdall over one shoulder. He stares at me, obviously delighted with his surprise arrival.

  ‘Aren’t you going to say hello?’ he says, when I remain speechless.

  ‘Ah . . . ’ I’m still finding it hard to process the evidence of my own eyes. It doesn’t make any sense. Adam? Here, at Celia’s flat? ‘Hello,’ I manage limply.

  ‘Can I come in? I’m dying for a piss and a cup of tea. Not at the same time obviously.’

  I don’t want him to come in but as he needs the lavatory, I feel I can’t refuse. I step back and let him inside. It’s so weird seeing this part of my life, one I thought was a closed chapter, walking into my new existence. I don’t like the way it feels one bit.

  ‘There’s the loo,’ I say, pointing to the bathroom and his dash inside gives me the moment I need to gather my thoughts. When he comes out, whistling happily in the way I once thought sweet and loveable and now makes me grit my teeth, I say, ‘Adam, what are you doing here?’

  He looks surprised at my clipped tone. ‘Your mum told me where you were and I wanted to come and see you.’ He spreads his hands as though asking how I could question such a simple, natural thing.

  I stare at him. I have a vague memory of having loved this man once, of being devastated when he broke my heart, but it seems ludicrous now. He looks pallid and half-formed compared to Dominic, with his non-descript messy hair, plump face and pale blue eyes.

  ‘But Adam,’ I say, trying to sound measured and reasonable, ‘last time I saw you, we broke up. You were fucking Hannah, remember? You dumped me for her.’

  Adam makes a face and waves his hand in an impatient gesture. ‘Oh that. Yeah. Listen, I came to say sorry. That’s all over. It was a mistake and I regret it. But the great news is, I really want to give us another chance!’ He beams at me again, and waits, as though expecting me to scream and whoop with joy.

  ‘Adam—’ I stare at him helplessly. I don’t know what to say.

  ‘What’s a guy got to do to get a cup of tea around here?’ he asks, and starts opening doors. When he finds the kitchen, he says, ‘Bingo’ and goes in. I follow, hating the way he’s intruding into my ordered life. I remember now how he always used to barge in and help himself to anything he wanted, leaving a mess in his wake.

  ‘Adam, you can’t just show up like this. You should have called.’

  ‘I wanted to surprise you,’ he says, looking a little hurt. He takes the kettle to the sink and starts to fill it. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’ He gives me little-boy-look, the one that used to melt my heart.

  ‘To be honest, it’s not a great time.’

  For goodness’ sake, don’t try to spare his feelings! He didn’t do the same for you! Just tell him to sling his hook and get out!

  ‘You don’t look too busy. Your mum said you might be at work and to wait till later or call you, but I thought I’d swing by and see what’s happening, and here you are! Fate, you see.’ The kettle is back on its cradle and switched on.

  Okay, one cup of tea, then he’s out.

  I make two mugs of tea while he tells me of his trip to London on the train and his experience of the Underground. I take him through to the sitting room, where De Havilland is sitting sentinel at the window, gazing out at the pigeons as he often does. He turns his yellow stare to us, blinks and returns to the window, hi
s tail tucked round his legs.

  ‘This is a bloody nice place,’ Adam says, looking around the room. ‘Whose is it?’

  ‘My dad’s godmother. She’s called Celia.’

  ‘Oh. Well, play your cards right and you might inherit it.’ He gives me a knowing look. ‘That’d be nice.’

  We sit on the sofa. I wonder what on earth I’m going to say to him. Then I remember the recent past. ‘So. Hannah. It hasn’t worked out?’

  He wrinkles his nose as though he’s just thought of something distasteful. ‘Nah. We just didn’t gel. It was more of a physical connection, you know? Which was all very nice for a bit, but it got boring.’

  I see the image them in bed together, but it doesn’t hurt or appal me now. In fact, they seem well suited. I have a flashback to Adam making love to me, panting hard in my ear as he pumped away, in, out, in, out, in exactly the same way every time. It was perfunctory and quick. Sweet, because I loved him, but darkly passionate? Stirring and exciting? Did he push boundaries and help me discover aspects of myself that I didn’t know existed?

  Of course not. Dominic did that.

  I suddenly realise that I’ve been changed forever by my experience with Dominic. I can never go back to someone like Adam now. Dominic might have some kinky tastes and unusual pleasures, but at least he wasn’t boring.

  Adam is gazing at me now, his hands wrapped round his mug. ‘That’s why I wanted to come and find you. Because what we had was really special. I was an idiot and I hurt you, but I’ve put all that behind me now. I want us to get back together.’

  ‘I . . . I don’t . . . think . . .’ I take a deep breath and say, ‘No, Adam. That isn’t going to happen.’

  His face falls. ‘It isn’t?’

  I shake my head. ‘No. I’ve got a new life now. A job.’

  ‘A boyfriend?’ he asks swiftly.

  ‘Well, not really. No.’ It looks like Dominic and I are over, after all. ‘But that doesn’t change anything. There’s no future for us now.’