Trina fingered the scar. ‘Yes,’ she said, with a hint of bravado. ‘Kyle Gallagher did it with a knife.’
‘I know,’ said Jessica. ‘I bet it hurt, didn’t it?’
‘A bit,’ said Trina, enjoying the attention.
Then Jessica lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘That Kyle Gallagher’s horrible. Him and his friends really scared me. My dad wanted to go to the police but my mam said it was best not to because they hadn’t done any real damage. Did your mam go to the police?’
‘No, but my mam says him and his friends won’t bother me again.’
‘Why not?’ asked Jessica.
‘My mam went to see Mrs Gallagher and she told her they’d leave me alone now.’
‘Is that all?’ asked Jessica. ‘Why didn’t she go to the police? What they did was really bad, wasn’t it, Laura?’
Laura nodded her agreement.
‘My dad would have gone to the police if they’d have done that to me,’ Jessica continued. ‘He said they can’t expect to get away with going around using knives. They want locking up. I bet your mam was frightened of going to the police because of what Mr Gallagher would do.’
Trina didn’t know how to respond so she shrugged then said, ‘I’m going to the shop. See you later.’
As Trina walked away Jessica’s comments played on her mind. Why hadn’t her mother gone to the police? It wasn’t right. Why did her mother trust the word of Mrs Gallagher who was known for being argumentative and aggressive? But, deep down, Trina knew the answer to her own questions. The Gallagher family were fearsome and that was why Kyle Gallagher got away with such bad things.
The worry that Kyle might even go back on his mother’s promise, and attack her again, sent a shiver of fear through her. But she became annoyed at her own fear. Trina didn’t like that feeling of powerlessness or the knowledge that she and her family were so vulnerable. She already had a mistrust and dislike of all males, but her powerlessness at the hands of the opposite sex fed those insecurities and a burgeoning ill-feeling.
15
April 1992
Trina looked across the room at her two cousins, Josh and Calvin. While Ellis was trying to impress them by telling them about the mischief he had been up to, they largely ignored him. They soon became bored, and turned their attention to Trina instead.
‘What was the name of the lad that did that to you, Trina?’ asked Josh.
‘Kyle Gallagher.’
‘You heard of him?’ he asked his brother.
‘Nah, does he live round here?’ Calvin asked Trina.
‘Yeah, just up the road.’
‘How old is he?’ Josh asked.
‘Twelve.’
‘Aah, small fry,’ said Calvin. ‘I wouldn’t have let him get away with that. I would have kicked that knife right out of his hand then smacked him in the mouth.’
‘I would have kicked the shit out of him,’ said Josh.
‘She can’t fight them, she’s only a girl,’ Calvin chipped in.
‘I didn’t have a chance,’ said Trina, growing agitated. ‘Anyway, there wasn’t just him. He had two friends with him too.’
‘Were they small fry too?’
Trina shrugged.
‘Go on,’ Calvin persisted. ‘How old are they?’
‘About the same as him.’
Calvin hissed. ‘Ha, like I said, they’re small fry.’
Trina soon grew tired of her cousins’ interrogation. It wasn’t as if they were offering to help. Her mother wouldn’t have allowed any reprisals anyway for fear of stirring things up even more with the Gallaghers.
She walked out of the living room and headed towards the kitchen. She was about to push the door open when she heard the voice of her Aunty Tamara. Even louder than usual, she sounded irate, and Trina paused to hear what she was saying.
‘I couldn’t believe my eyes, Daisy. It’s terrible! They want shooting.’
‘I know,’ said Daisy, resignedly. ‘They hurt my Trina real bad, even tore the clothes off her. I don’t think she’ll ever be the same again. The poor child has no idea how badly this will affect her for the rest of her life, and I haven’t the heart to tell her.’
Trina heard a tremor in her mother’s voice as she spoke the last few words, and she felt the breath catch in her throat. It got to her that her mother should get so upset when discussing what had happened. But then she dismissed it; her mother had always been a bit of a softie anyway.
Not wanting to witness an emotional scene or, worse still, an awkward silence followed by a swift change of topic, she returned to the lounge. As it was raining, her mother had forbidden them to go outside. She therefore had no choice but to carry on listening to her cousins as they boasted about their designer gear and the cool friends they hung about with. Her mind wasn’t on them, but on her scar. Where she had initially felt brave, she no longer did. Instead she now saw her scar as a failing.
*
The first time Mrs Gallagher saw Trina’s scar was several weeks after the attack. Trina had had her stiches taken out a while ago and, although the scar didn’t look as bad as it had done, it was still bright red and the flesh was raised. Her mother had told her that in time it would become smoother and the redness would fade, and she had seen no reason not to believe her.
As soon as Mrs Gallagher spotted Trina’s scar, she failed to hide her look of alarm and repulsion. Her eyes were fixed on Trina’s face for what seemed like an eternity, her brows drawn tightly together, before she became aware of Trina’s concern and swiftly looked away. Shock waves tore through Trina’s consciousness. Did it really look that bad?
In the weeks following the attack, Trina had had many pitying looks from adults, some of them whispering knowingly amongst themselves. She’d tried not to think about it too much. They were bound to gossip; after all, Kyle had used a knife on her, which was enough to disturb even the most hardened gossips.
Up to now Trina had done her best to avoid looking at the scar in the mirror, hoping it would disappear in time or at least lessen substantially as her mother had assured her. Now, though, she was beginning to view the scar in a different light. She’d become fed up of the stares and whispers and was already longing for the time when the scar wouldn’t be as noticeable. But Mrs Gallagher’s reaction made her anxious.
Back indoors she couldn’t stop thinking about her scar and went to the bathroom to examine it. Locking the door behind her, she stepped gingerly up to the mirror and studied it. It was an angry red and cut diagonally across the fullest part of her cheek. She ran her finger along the length of it, feeling the raised flesh at either side of the cut. Then she looked at it again, in detail.
As she studied it in the mirror, she realised that it would always be there; perhaps smoother and less discoloured, but still there. And it would always label her as the girl who had been attacked for trying to stand up to the boys. Suddenly her breath caught on a sob and tears gushed from her eyes. She sank down onto the cold bathroom floor, weeping bitterly for the girl she once was. In that moment she realised that she would never again be that girl. Her life had been changed irrevocably by one callous act.
Eventually Trina exhausted herself, and she could cry no more. But she didn’t want any more tears. What good would they do? She promised herself that it was the last time she would cry about the scar; now she just had to accept it. But her overwhelming feeling of bitterness and resentment against those responsible would never go away; just like the scar.
Trina detested Kyle Gallagher and his friends for what they had done to her, but her anger wasn’t just directed at them. She resented her parents too; her father for not being there to protect her, and her mother for failing to do so.
16
November 2006
Ruby checked her appearance in the full-length mirror. She had been putting in extra hours at the gym knowing that the rubber catsuit she had chosen for her role as dominatrix was very unforgiving. As she caught sight of her reflection, sh
e felt a sense of satisfaction. The outfit worked perfectly, hugging her toned body, and the black rubber with accompanying cat eye mask also emphasised her role.
As she patted down her hair and adjusted the mask, she felt a flutter in her chest. Her first client was due in five minutes and, although she knew him, she couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious. What if she couldn’t pull it off and the clients were dissatisfied?
Ruby quickly swallowed down her nerves, telling herself that if it didn’t work out then she’d just have to go back to what she was doing before. She still had her old clients anyway and knew that it would take some time till she built up her reputation as a dominatrix and the new clients joined her.
Ruby heard the sound of the doorbell then the patter of Tiffany’s footsteps as she went to answer it.
‘Yes, come in. She’s ready for you,’ she heard Tiffany say.
Ruby took a deep breath and braced herself as she saw the doorknob turn and Tiffany led her client into the room then smiled and left them alone.
‘Hi Ruby,’ said Victor, an older man who had been visiting Ruby for the past few months.
Victor was a very ordinary looking man. Small and balding, he had a habit of talking too much and loudly, and Ruby guessed that he must have been lonely. He’d previously told her about his visits to other dominatrices and had hinted at receiving the same services from her.
At the time she had instinctively turned it down and, at first, she’d been surprised when he continued to visit her. But then she surmised that, like a lot of clients, he had his favourite girls that he continued to visit regularly. But it didn’t stop him hinting again almost every time he visited her with an obsequiousness that she found pitiful. Maybe it was her natural dominance that he found appealing.
When Ruby had told Victor about her new line of work he was delighted. His excitement was palpable and Ruby had laughed about it afterwards with Tiffany, telling her that she had almost expected him to start frothing at the mouth. He’d become so exhilarated as she talked him through her various services, and he’d given his enthusiastic input as to what he would like to happen.
Now, as he walked through the door of Ruby’s Dungeon, he had the same excited expression on his face. His look of eagerness made Ruby feel empowered and her nervousness rapidly disappeared.
‘It’s Mistress Ruby!’ she said, in response to his greeting. Her tone was stern as she cracked the whip she was holding, and she was rewarded with his expression of nervous glee. ‘Get over there and take your clothes off. Then wait until I summon you.’
Victor dashed eagerly to the other side of the room where Ruby had removed the screen and laid out her instruments of torture ready for his arrival. As she watched him scurrying across the room, she smiled to herself. Maybe this line of work would turn out well after all.
*
‘Well, how did it go?’ asked Tiffany, getting up from the sofa.
Ruby grinned. ‘It was a breeze.’
‘Really? What did you have to do?’
‘Whip him, beat him and talk to him like he was a piece of shit.’ They both laughed then Ruby added, ‘He fuckin’ loved it, couldn’t get enough of it! And, he’s got a few Internet friends who are into the same sort of thing so he’s going to put the word out.’
She waved the wad of notes that she had been holding. ‘Look at this, three times what I would normally have earnt in that time. If I get enough clients, I should soon get back what I shelled out to set up the room.’
‘Brilliant!’ said Tiffany. ‘You still wouldn’t get me doing it though.’
‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to. Oh, and he suggested I get my own website to promote my services.’
‘Are you going to?’
‘Might do. It’s worth thinking about.’
‘Wow! Sounds like it’s gonna do well,’ said Tiffany.
‘Dead right,’ said Ruby, walking up to Tiffany and putting her arms around her. ‘We’re gonna be rich, girl. And when we are, I’ll be able to buy you anything you want.’
Tiffany kissed Ruby on the cheek then looked at her admiringly and smiled. ‘I knew you could do it.’
Ruby could see the look of joy on her girlfriend’s face, and she felt a warm glow inside. To think, she’d been nervous about her first session. Why? It couldn’t have gone better. And now that she’d got that out of the way she was looking forward to a very lucrative future for herself and Tiffany.
17
May 2007
Ruby’s client was right on time and as she went to answer the front door, she adopted her Mistress Ruby persona. He didn’t hesitate in crossing over the threshold while Ruby shut the door.
She had been working as a dominatrix for a few months now and it was going well, the number of clients gradually increasing. Once she had got the first few clients out of the way she became much more confident in her new role. She was getting to know each of them and their particular fetishes and, she liked to think, they went away happy. The repeat business was evidence of that. The only problem she had up to now was that some clients asked for things she couldn’t offer because the equipment required was too big to fit inside her spare bedroom.
As the client stepped inside, Ruby noticed her neighbour opposite. She had only lived there a few weeks and hadn’t been particularly friendly since she moved in, often just returning a swift hello but refusing to engage in conversation.
The way the neighbour looked at her drew Ruby’s attention to what she was wearing. Normally Tiffany would answer the door to avoid Ruby being spotted in her dominatrix gear but today she had had to go out. Looking across at the neighbour, Ruby felt she had no alternative other than to brazen it out.
‘Hi, alright?’ she said, but the neighbour didn’t reply; instead she quickly slammed the door shut.
It was obvious the woman wasn’t impressed by Ruby’s attire. But there was no time to think about that now; she had a client to tend to so she went into the spare room where she found the man already sitting on the bed, and ready to get down to business. She got to work straightaway, placing a dog-collar around his neck, and then telling him he had to address her as Mistress Ruby at all times and do exactly as he was ordered.
Ruby stood at well over six feet in her spiky-heeled, thigh-high boots. Dressed in a black rubber catsuit that clung to her feminine but toned physique and melded seamlessly into the dark leather boots, she was Amazonian in stature.
She looked down at the diminutive man sitting cowered before her and yanked the chain of his dog-collar, a faint smirk of amusement lighting up her strained features as she watched his keen reaction.
‘I want you over that stool, NOW!’ she commanded.
‘Yes,’ said the man, nodding obsequiously.
‘Yes, what?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Mistress Ruby,’ the man replied, anxious to please.
She pulled sharply on the chain and led him over to a stool placed beneath a rack full of her instruments of torture.
‘Bend over!’ she ordered, selecting a wooden paddle from the row of implements. It was less likely to mark than a leather one although far more painful.
He had no sooner bent over the stool than she let the chain fall loose in her hand while she paddled him viciously on his behind, gaining immense gratification as the man yelled in pain. She gauged his reaction just to the point where he could take no more then she put down the paddle and yanked the chain again.
As soon as he was on his feet, Ruby kicked the stool out of the way. The man jumped as the stool crashed and bounced along the black vinyl floor of Mistress Ruby’s dungeon, and she felt a frisson of excitement. Now for the next stage.
Ruby grabbed a whip from the rack. Like her boots, it was black leather. It had a sturdy wooden handle and fanned out into multiple tails, each capable of delivering a harsh stroke to exposed flesh. Perfect. Because Ruby knew there were some days when only the whip would do.
‘Turn your back to me and stand still!’ she ordered, and he
r client quickly complied.
She stepped back and brought the whip down onto the man’s bare back. He yelled. Ruby gave him only a second to recover before bringing the whip down again, drawing satisfaction at the sight of red weals beginning to form on his back and the lashing sound as the whip slashed through the air.
After five lashes of the whip, she gave the man a break. She always did this; it gave her clients a chance to decide whether they wanted to continue or whether they had had enough for the day. She could see his body tense and then relax as he drew in a deep breath.
‘Do you want more?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
She tutted. ‘Yes, Mistress Ruby. What have I told you?’
‘Sorry. Yes, Mistress Ruby.’
‘It’s not good enough. That’s twice you’ve disobeyed me by not using my name. It’s time you were really punished.’
Without waiting for the man to react, she brought the whip down on his back five times in quick succession. Then she stopped again, allowing him to recover.
‘Are you going to obey me in future?’ she asked.
But the man didn’t reply. Instead, to her astonishment, he quickly spun round. Then he grabbed the tails of the whip and dragged it out of her hand.
‘My turn,’ he said, leering at her. He nodded at the zipper on the front of her catsuit. ‘Open it. I want to see you in the flesh,’ he demanded.
‘Get back!’ she yelled. ‘Mistress Ruby hasn’t given you permission. Only Mistress Ruby can give orders.’
She desperately hoped that he was still prepared to act out his role. But the look on his face told her otherwise. He was fevered with excitement, his eyes wide and teeth bared, and it was obvious from looking at him that he couldn’t wait to get started on her.
Ruby quickly reached out to the rack and grabbed the dark handle of the knife she had secreted behind the other implements. She flicked a switch and the blade shot out just as the whip came crashing down on her face. Ignoring the smarting pain, she grabbed the tails with her other hand and pulled, closing the gap between her and the man. Then she shoved the knife up to his throat, nicking the flesh till a stream of blood ran down to his chest.
Ruby Page 8