Spirit

by Ashe Barker

  “Oh, right. Did you forget something, Mr Rosen?”

  “Mick, please. And no. But I decided to take you up on that offer of a drink, if that’s alright. Matt phoned and asked me to keep you company. He’s not back, is he?”

  “No, he isn’t. I really think…” I’m not certain why I’m so reluctant to let him in, but this unscheduled call makes me uncomfortable.

  “Then I’ll just pop in for a while. Come on, open the door, that’s a good girl.”

  “Just for a few minutes then. I have something… something I need to be getting on with.” It seems awkward to refuse, especially if Matt sent him. He’s his friend, a trusted close friend at that. I have no reason to be so inhospitable, especially as this is Matt’s place, not mine. I hit the button to grant him entry to the building, and then I open the front door to the flat.

  Only after I’ve done all that do I remember the bloody obvious. Matt left his phone here. He couldn’t have called Mick.

  When Mick saunters out of the lift I am by the door, waiting for him.

  “Did you say Matt phoned?”

  “Yes, just now. I was still in the area, so…”

  “He doesn’t have his phone.”

  Mick stops, his eyes narrow and his jovial expression falters. Not for long, it’s just a flicker, but the brief show of annoyance does nothing to put me at my ease.

  “He must have used someone else’s phone then. Or a landline. Look, are we hanging around out here all day or are you going to make me a coffee?”

  “I’m not sure. I…”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s just a coffee.” He marches past me and straight through the door into Matt’s flat.

  Why didn’t I lock it? Idiot!

  I trail after him, rattled now. I head for the kitchen and get busy with the kettle and a mug. I’m thinking, the sooner I provide him with the coffee he seems so set on, the sooner I can chivvy this oaf out of here. I turn to him, forcing a smile.

  “Coffee you said? Or I think Matt has some beers in the fridge.”

  “He usually does. I’ll help myself.” Mick joins me in the small kitchen, opening the fridge door to retrieve one of Matt’s bottles of Budweiser. He leans on the worktop beside where I am standing as he slots his finger in the ring pull. The compact space feels crowded, altogether to close.

  “Excuse me.” I make to pass him, expecting him to move to one side. He doesn’t. It seems city bankers lack much in the way of manners. I squeeze myself as tiny as I am able and slide past, but can’t avoid making contact with his hip. I resist the urge to wipe my hand across my stomach as though to erase any trace of him.

  Mick follows me back into the living room, his beer in his hand. I’ve lost interest in making coffee. I perch on the edge of the sofa, eying him with caution. The more I see of Matt’s college friend, the less I like him. I promise myself that if Matt does arrange to go for a drink with him, I’ll be washing my hair that night.

  Mick has sprawled himself on the sofa beside me, despite the presence of two perfectly good, unoccupied armchairs opposite. He waves his half empty beer bottle at me. “So, Beth, how long have you and Matt been… you know?”

  I’m not entirely sure I do know, but if I did, I’m sure as hell certain I don’t want to discuss it with Mick. I make a stab at an answer, anything to seem polite though my perfect hostess veneer is wearing very thin.

  “I’ve been here a few weeks.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Oh, as long as that?” He takes a casual swallow of his beer. I wonder how long before I can take the empty bottle, drop it in the recycling bin and shoo this unwanted guest out of here. Mick deposits his half-finished beer on the coffee table. “You must be good. A little on the young side though. Matt usually likes them a bit older. More experienced. Do you have hidden depths, Beth?”

  I’m confused and nervous, but not daft. I know when a conversation has taken a distinctly unwelcome turn. This is becoming personal. I don’t do personal. I might do intimate, but only with Matt.

  I get to my feet with a muttered ‘excuse me’ and march off in the direction of my bedroom, and close the door behind me with perhaps more of a slam than was necessary.

  Five minutes later I’ve given myself a stern talking to. This might be Matt’s flat, but I live here, at least for the time being. Matt may or may not have told Mick to call in, but I’ve had quite enough of his obnoxious company now. He has to leave.

  Thus fortified, I emerge to find my unwelcome guest still making himself at home on the sofa, and note he has helped himself to another bottle of beer. It’s to be hoped he didn’t drive here in Matt’s precious MG but I’m not minded to ask him. I need to get him out of here. This man gives me the creeps.

  “I’m sorry, Mr Rosen, but I’m not really feeling that well. I think I might go for a lie down, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

  “Not at all, best offer I’ve had all day. Is that the room you like to use then? Where your kinky boyfriend keeps all his pretty little toys?” He gets to his feet and starts for my bedroom, looking a little unsteady on his feet now. After only two beers as well.

  I watch baffled, as he opens my bedroom door and leans in. Then I find my voice.

  “What do you think you’re doing? That’s private. You can’t go in there.”

  “Shut it, slut.” As I gape at him he turns to look at me, a long, leering, insolent raking with his eyes. “Are you still dressed? I thought you lot couldn’t drop ‘em fast enough as a rule. Need a hand?”

  “I… What? Get out.”

  “Oh no, I’m going nowhere. At least, not yet. I fancy a slice of what Matt’s been having. I reckon I could give you a good time. Or a bad time. Whatever it is you slags like.”

  Outrage and fear are doing a war dance in my skull. Just at the moment outrage is winning, but it’s close. “Get out. Just go. I have no idea what you’re on about, and I’m not bloody interested. Just fuck off.”

  He ignores my words, continues as though I haven’t spoken. “Get over here, slut. If I have to come and get you, you’ll regret it.”

  “You’re mad, quite deranged if you think I’m coming anywhere near you. And if you don’t get out of here right now, I’m calling Matt.”

  “Oh, and what do you suppose he’ll have to say? He was going to share you with me later in any case. I’m just saving him the bother of having to tart you up to parade you around at that club of his.” He pauses, cocks his head to one side as though considering something of mild interest. “Bit of a kid like you’d probably not be let in, come to think of it. Not without a note from your mother. So we’ll just play here, shall we?”

  I back away, confused, revolted, and above all terrified. This man has more than a few screws loose. A lot of what he says makes no sense, but there’s no mistaking the core of how he intends to spend the remainder of the afternoon…

  I try for a last ditch attempt at assertive bravado. “No we bloody well won’t. I want you out of here. Now.” I pray he can’t hear the fear in my voice, something tells me he’d get off on that.

  “And I want you naked and on your knees. Now. Wonder which of us will get their way?” He lunges for me, seemingly forgetting that he has the remains of his bottle of beer still in his fist. The liquid flies everywhere, and in that instant of stunned disbelief he grabs me and hurls me onto the sofa. I’m no heavyweight, but I land with an almighty thud, the breath whooshing from my lungs. He’s on me before I can move, pinning both my hands above my head in one meaty fist. He buries his face in my neck, seeking to kiss me, of all things!

  I wriggle and kick, managing somehow to twist one wrist free and grab a handful of his hair. I pull hard and his head snaps back.

  I manage to find my voice again, ragged though it is. “Get off me, you vicious, sad bastard.”

  “Loving this, aren’t you. I know you pain sluts like it rough. Makes you all wet and horny.”

  “Fuck off. You’re fucking deluded
. Get off me and get out.”

  “Yeah, wet and horny, gagging for it. Let’s see shall we.”

  He ignores my frantic tearing at his hair, using his free hand to unbutton the fastening of my jeans. I was furious before, outraged, shocked. Now I’m just seized by a blind panic. I sink my teeth into his shoulder as he plunges his groping vile hand inside my jeans. His fingers are inside my knickers, seeking to cup my mound. I’m bucking, shrieking, desperate to wrestle my other hand free.

  He reaches lower, farther, deeper. I scream, horrified as his fingers slide over my bare pussy. He’s rough, the friction hurts. He forces his hand between my legs and in the next agonising moment he rams his finger inside me.

  Suddenly, he releases my other hand. Needing to pull my jeans past my hips he diverts his efforts to concentrate there, and I seize my chance. I bring up my knee and manage to land a glancing blow on his engorged cock, a clear target inside his jeans. Not quite the direct hit to the nuts I was going for, but enough to grab his attention. He drags his hand from inside my clothing to cup his abused cock and rolls off me.

  “Fucking whore. What was that for?”

  Free at last I bound over the back of the sofa, in the opposite direction from my assailant. I land in a tangled heap on the floor, then I scramble to my feet. Dragging my jeans back to something like right, I scan the room for something, anything, I can use to defend myself. There’s no way that animal is getting his paws on me again.

  I spot Matt’s cricket bat behind the sofa and I thank any deity who might still be on speaking terms with me that my lover is the sporty type. I grab it, test the solid, satisfying weight of it in both my hands, then brandish it before me as I circle the sofa. Mick is still on the floor, rubbing his dick and moaning.

  Git. It wasn’t even such a good shot.

  “Get up, and get out. Go on, fuck off. Or I’m calling the police.

  He glares at me, his face contorted into a malevolent mask. How did I ever think, even for a fleeting moment, that this knobhead was attractive? He curls his lip back into a snarl. “You don’t get to order me around, skank.”

  “No? Get used to it. Outside.” If he doesn’t show signs of shifting soon, I’ll bolt for the door myself. Not my favourite option, he could too easily catch me and drag me back. I lift the bat as though I do intend to hit him with it. And who’s to say I don’t?

  “How come you got so fucking picky all of a sudden? I thought you tramps were always gagging for it. Always begging for a bit of prime cock.”

  If his comments were less revolting, if I weren’t so shit scared right now, I might have laughed out loud. As it is, by the way he’s cradling his wounded pride I doubt anyone would describe the contents of this creep’s trousers as prime cock.

  “You’ve got ten seconds to get out, or I dial nine nine nine.”

  “Yeah, and tell ‘em what? That you changed your mind half way through the scene? Like they’d believe that. Not with that stash of whips and gags and fuck knows what else Logan keeps in there.” He gestures over his shoulder with his thumb, indicating Matt’s bedroom.

  I shake my head baffled, but any questions are not for this moment. No way am I getting into any sort of discussion.

  “Nine. Eight. Seven.” I angle the bat, measuring the distance between where I stand and his worthless skull. If I do have to hit him, I’ll probably only get one chance. I have to make it count.

  “Jesus, girl. Calm down. I was only fucking playing.”

  “Six. Five.” I keep my eyes fixed on him as I back away, inching towards the kitchen counter where I’m hoping Matt’s phone should still be plugged into the charger. If I can just get my hands on that, I can get help. Someone will come.

  Mick gropes for the sofa and uses it to haul himself to his feet, still hunching over, still grunting in pain. Perhaps my aim was better than I thought. I do hope so.

  The bat is still extended before me, menacing, my one weapon against this maniac. But my hands are shaking. The rush of adrenalin which helped to propel me from the sofa did its job well, but now it’s surging rampant through my body and making me clumsy. I need this to be over. I need this bastard gone.

  Still holding the bat with one hand I grope along the worktop with my other and find the phone. Thank God. I dislodge it from the charger and hit the start button. Help is just three nines away.

  “All right, all right. I’m going. For Christ’s sake, this is supposed to be fun. Why all the fucking drama?”

  I shake my head at him, incredulous. What planet is he on?

  “Four. Three…”

  “Right, right…” He stumbles in the direction of the door, still muttering his disgust at my apparent lack of interest in his attentions as he sidles though it. The instant it clicks shut behind him I leap forward and throw the bolt, but even with the vicious bastard now locked out on the landing I still don’t relinquish my weapon. I rush back to the kitchen and sink to my haunches against the worktop, still cuddling the bat to my chest and glaring at the door as though I half expect him to turn and somehow break it down. I’m rigid, hardly daring to breathe for several minutes. At last, I dissolve into sobbing.

  I have no idea how long I sit there, shocked, weeping, and so bloody thankful not to have been raped. The attack was bad enough as it was, but I know he intended more. Much more. I shudder in revulsion as I relive those moments when his thick, brutal fingers were inside me, violating me. My stomach heaves, forcing me to move. I get as far as the kitchen sink before I throw up.

  My stomach emptied, I stagger toward my bedroom. I need to lie down, before I fall down, but not the sofa. I don’t think I could ever bear to touch that again. Not where that vile pig was, where he, he…

  I reach my bed and collapse onto it. The events of the last few minutes are circling around in my head, a series of images, sensations, and through it all that dark, slimy thread of churning, paralysing fear.

  He intended to rape me, I have no doubt of it. From the bizarre things he said, I had the impression he never even considered what he was doing was in any way untoward. He seemed to imagine himself the injured party when I kneed him in the groin.

  I still have Matt’s phone in my hand. I could call him, he’d come straight back. I should do that. Or the police perhaps.

  But I don’t. I phone no one. Instead, as my breathing slows, as I regather my wits a little, I rewind through the weird conversation.

  Mick is a pervert, that much is clear, a vile excuse for a deranged dickhead. But still, some of what he said is eating away at me. He kept on about me enjoying what was happening, and did seem genuinely surprised at my reaction. He expected something else. Why? He talked about fun, about me gagging for it. He said he was playing.

  Rapist babble? Maybe, some of it. But there was more, something more. Something that concerns Matt.

  I lay his phone on the bed. I won’t call him, not yet. I need to think. I need to make sense of…

  Whips. Gags.

  Mick seemed to think Matt owns things like that, and that he has them in his bedroom. He doesn’t. I’d know if he did. Wouldn’t I? And, what did that pathetic shit mean about Matt sharing me? That would never happen, Matt wouldn’t dream of it, even if I were willing.

  He said something about a club too. Matt was intending to take me to a club tonight, but he meant… What did he mean? What sort of club?

  I trust Matt. Why would I not? Certainly I don’t trust anything that creep Mick has to say, he’s a sad, perverted creep, mad jealous of Matt I expect, and having to resort to forcing women to fuck him.

  But he sounded so sure, so convinced. Deluded he may have been, but what was it he thought he knew about me? About Matt?

  Without properly formulating the decision in my mind I shove the phone in my pocket and roll from my bed. I make my way next door, into Matt’s room, the room I now share with him. I stand in the middle of the floor and gaze around me.

  A stash of whips and ga
gs and such like. If it was here, where would he hide it?

  I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m actually contemplating searching Matt’s room, prying through his personal belongings on the say so of a twat who belongs on a sex offenders register.

  I drop to my knees and peer under the bed. Nothing. I open Matt’s wardrobe but find just the suits and shirts I already know are there. He has several belts which I suppose could be used for… No, that’s a stretch. I close the doors and sit on the side of the bed, wondering.

  The blanket box at the foot of the divan—that’s quite large, he could fit all sorts in there. I scuttle around the bed and kneel in front of the chest to lift the lid.

  Bingo!

  There’s a neat, innocuous looking stack of clean bedding at one side of the box, and the remaining space is filled with a dizzying assortment of so-called toys. I stare at them for a few moments, then lift out a pair of leather cuffs. They have metal links joining them together, and the insides are padded. I drop them back into the box and select another item, this time a length of rope. It is bright red, and made of some very smooth material, could be silk. The next item I pick up is, I think, a gag. It’s a ball attached to two straps. The first items I looked at were… not bad. Pretty in their way. But this last terrifies me. Why would this be here? Would Matt have used it on me, to keep me quiet whilst he… I can’t bear to even complete the thought.

  I slam the lid back on Matt’s paraphernalia and get to my feet. I’m shaking, trying to assimilate the relevance of this. The stuff is here, and Mick knew that it was. If he was right about that, and the evidence is plain, what else in his twisted logic did Mick get right?

  A discrete ping from Matt’s phone in my pocket indicates an incoming text. At first I ignore it, then I realise it might be Matt trying to reach me, perhaps to check if Mick has been. I should look.

  The text is not for me. It’s from Mick Rosen, to Matt. I scan it, incredulous.

  Hi mate. Just dropped off your money. You never said your latest sub was a live-in. Stunning too, but a bit touchy. I think I might have upset her. If I did, apologise for me. Going back to London today. See you soon.