by Olivia Fox
Lily forced herself to breathe. He was right - she would have to talk. “I'm not laughing at you. I don’t… I don’t think about you. Not any more.” And she realised it was true. All that moping she’d done when he’d dumped her, and now she’d moved on and he hadn’t.
Tom’s eyes seemed to hollow out into black pits. “Just fucking say sorry! Say you’re sorry and fucking well mean it. Then I'll go - I'll walk away - end of.”
“Sorry.” She said, too quickly.
“Mean it!”
His anger engulfed her. She understood now. He was letting himself get like this. Wanting to lose control so that he could do what he needed to do. And there was no way out. He was already decided. Nothing she could say would make any odds. Her vision blurred as tears crammed her eyes. “Sorry,” she whispered. One last, desperate attempt to appease.
“Liar.”
Something inside her snapped. She closed her eyes. He had her cornered. He was stronger than her. She would have to be strong too. Headstrong. He’d lit something inside her. If he was going to hurt her, she’d go down fighting.
She looked up at him and, through her tears, felt a fierce darkness fall across her own eyes too. “You're crazy. What I do has nothing to do with you anymore.”
“Bullshit. It's got everything to do with me. I played away from home and now this is your revenge. Well done. Now you're the bigger slut.”
Her arms were still tightly folded, a barrier between them. “Call me what you want. But whatever I've done has been for me. Just me.”
“Nice try, but I don’t buy it.” He took a step closer, pressing into Lily’s crossed arms, pushing her into the door.
“Do you want to frighten me?” She shouted. “It worked. I'm frightened.”
Pressing into her, Tom forced her arms apart. He brought a sweaty hand up to her face. Rough fingers stroked her cheek.
“Please don't do this.”
“Say your sorry.”
It was no use. Her left hand scrambled uselessly for the door handle, knowing it was pointless, trying anyway.
“Your choice.” He squeezed his hands in between them, yanking at the fly of his jeans.
“So what - you're going to rape me, are you? Because he's shown you a bit of paper saying it's OK?” She cried. “You think that'll stand up in court?!” Pinned against the door by his torso, she felt laugher ripple through his chest.
“I think you wouldn't risk damaging Lord Arsehole's reputation.” His jeans loosened, he began grappling with her skirt.
“Can’t argue with that kind of logic.” Grayson. He may as well have been filing his nails for all the interest he was showing.
Lily focused her eyes on Tom’s, willing him to soften. “Tom, please.”
He took a step back. For a fleeting second, she thought he might be seeing sense. The glint in his eyes told her otherwise.
“Take your knickers off.” He crossed his arms and looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her breasts.
She shook her head. The man was insane. No more begging. No more being on the defensive, waiting for him to attack. Apparently, Grayson wasn’t going to let Tom knock her about. She wondered what he’d do if she attacked Tom.
The small space between them was just enough for her to throw her weight at Tom, digging her nails into his bare forearms and thrusting him back a few feet. Instantly, Tom’s clenched fist swung back to find momentum.
“Hit her and you’re out!” Grayson yelled.
Tom’s fist hovered for a moment then uncurled and dropped to his side. His expression was bull-like. She turned to run at the door, to rip it off its hinges if she had to, but in a split second he was on her. He enveloped Lily in a suffocating hold, wrestling her to the ground. She twisted beneath him, clawing at the carpet, crawling forward, determined. But his weight pressed heavy on her back, pinning her, compressing her lungs.
The room turned hazy. Grey flecks speckled the edges of her vision. Don’t pass out. Please God, not now. Tom forced her legs apart. She tried to kick, each movement costing her precious breath, but she was angled awkwardly. Her boots barely scraped his sides. Her lungs ached as she gasped for air. He yanked up her skirt. Cool air swept across the back of her thighs. His weight shifted. She felt a hand press into her back, fingers splayed. His other hand, hot and rough, groped for her knickers. Keep breathing. Keep fighting. The room was closing in on itself.
"And cut. OK people, that’s a wrap!" Grayson.
She could breath. Thank Christ, she could breath. Slowly, Lily turned. Her eyes struggled to focus on what was happening. With blurry eyes, she watched as Grayson’s hands gripped Tom's shoulders, hauling him upwards.
"All right, Romeo. That'll do." Grayson said. Then he turned, gesturing to someone or something behind him. It didn’t make any sense.
"What the fuck?!!" Tom shook himself free and, still unbuckled around the middle, made lunge at Grayson.
“Whoa there, sailor. Aren’t you gonna smile for the camera?” Grayson pointed behind to the wall. “Touch me, dick-wad, and our little home-movie goes public,” he laughed. “Try to bribe me or mine, and I’ll ruin you.”
Me or mine, Lily thought. Ana. He did this for her.
The ugly pieces were crashing into place. Grayson had sat to one side the whole time, just out of shot. The whole thing was a set-up. A quick edit here and there, and he’d have the perfect weapon against Tom. The evidence that had been missing the first time Tom had hurt her. Proof he deserved that broken nose. How long had he been planning this. And at what point had he decided to punish her too; keeping her in the dark?
A key turned in the lock. Of course, thought Lily. Ana’s back to gloat. This was her achievement too; getting shot of Tom and evening the score with Seb. And what am I in all this? Just collateral damage… Lily pulled deep lung fulls of air into her body and pulled herself upright.
Tom’s fists flailed as he fought the urge to smash Grayson. For a few seconds he was all rage. Immobilized, impotent fury. “Cunt!” he finally roared. “You said… the contract… the fucking contract… You lying cunt bastard.”
Grayson snatched up the contract, scrunched it into a ball and threw it at Tom. “Not worth the paper it’s printed on. Now zip up your fly, you’re making me blush.”
Ana, stepped into the room. Lily wondered how she’d ever thought Ana was beautiful. Such hate. She was nothing but hard angular edges, posing in the doorway, hands on hips. Ana didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Her face was the picture of cruel satisfaction.
Staggering at first, Lily found her stride. Pushing past Ana, she burst into the hallway and ran. The office door was still open. She ducked in, snatched her bag from the table, and was back in the hall. Her head throbbed and her chest ached but still she kept on running. Out through the main door, into the cold, realizing too late that she’d left her coat. Too bad. She wasn’t turning back.
28
Her phone had rung incessantly the whole way to Emma's place. She'd put it on mute but could still feel Seb's calls vibrating through her pockets. But she couldn't talk to him; she needed to think. He'd insist on her going to the police, but she needed to make her own decisions and a 999 call would only drag Seb's name into the dirt and humiliate her to boot. But could she really just let it lie? Tom was out of control. If he hurt some other woman because she'd not stepped forward, it'd be her fault.
She knocked on Emma's door. No reply. She rang the bell. Nothing. But she wasn't going home; Seb might look for her there. She texted Emma, giving as little away as possible so as not to illicit a barrage of questions, then she huddled up on Em's doorstep waiting for her friend to get back to her. And, of course, that was the moment the sky decided to fall. Great cannonballs of rain pelted the ground, as Lily's phone vibrated for the umpteenth time. Emma.
"Has something happened?"
Lily couldn't speak. The words caught in her throat.
"Lily? Are you there? I'm just on my way back. Frickin rain! Can hardl
y hear a damn thing."
"I... See you soon then, " Lily managed, then the din of the rain made talking impossible.
Sometime later Emma arrived. Had ten minutes passed? An hour? Lily couldn't tell. He body shook with cold; but she was grateful for the numbness which had finally frozen her thoughts mid scream.
"Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! What's happened?! Lily? Lily, honey, can you hear me?" Emma crouched down and held Lily's face in her hands.
She looked at Emma, and slowly the numbing anesthetic of the cold began to melt away into Emma's warm hands. Lily's eyes clouded. The flood gates were about to open.
29
Emma sat with Lily into the early hours. Lily's phone kept ringing. She wanted to turn the stupid thing off, but she knew she'd have to respond to Seb's calls at some point. What could she say to him though? ‘Seb, your fucked up friends killed two birds with one stone; they dealt with Tom and gave your divorce the finger in one fell swoop. Neat, huh?’… He'd hit the roof and keep on going. She couldn't tell him. It wouldn't do either of them any good.
She and Seb had texted a little, earlier. The conversation was stunted. She knew her words must have hurt him. He’d texted first, begging her to respond: Lily, please answer my calls. Just found your coat at Hatherly. What the hell’s going on?!
Lily replied the only way she could. She needed a clean break. She had to make him see they were over. Over before they'd begun. Can't see you anymore. All a big mistake. A lump stuck in her throat as she pressed ‘send’, but it had to be done.
Did something happen with Christoph? Grayson? Please, just talk to me. She could hear how he’d say the words, his brow raging with worry.
Tears pounded her cheeks. But the clearer her thoughts became, the more it seemed that her sanity hinged on a clean break from all of them. Seb included. This was self preservation. If self preservation meant building a high brick wall between her and Seb, then she'd just have to do it. Much as it pained her. Much as the thought of not seeing him again made her want to curl up into a little ball right there on Emma’s couch and never unfurl.
I don’t want to talk about it. Please don’t contact me.
He’d stopped trying, then. Hours had passed. Hours of reliving fear and humiliation. Hours of trying to forget.
Now, as Lily huddled up next to Emma, her phone buzzed again. Another text. How she wished she could just pass it over to Emma to read like she had when Tom dumped her. Things were so much more complicated now.
"Do you want me to talk to him?" Emma offered, having pieced together the story in jagged bursts between sobs.
Perhaps Lily would have considered the offer of she'd believed there was a hope in hell of Emma staying level headed; but no, Em's involvement wasn't even an option.
Lily gathered her self together and read the message: Finally got story out of G and A. Sorry, Lily. Never should have trusted them. So sorry. I don't want to lose you but I understand. I won't do anything rash, but I can't do nothing. Hope you can forgive me some day, Lily Wilde.
She knew the natural response would have been to reply that she didn't need to forgive him; that it had never been his fault. But she couldn't quite bring herself to write it. Did she blame him? She knew she shouldn't. If anything she'd ignored his warnings; put herself at risk despite Seb's explicit advice. But, yes she blamed him. Unreasonable as it was, she couldn't shake the feeling that he'd sent her off on her dumb mission, pushing her straight into the path of a pack of wolves. And so she didn't respond. Some day she would, she decided. Once the aftershocks had died down, she'd email him and put their relationship - their non-relationship - properly to rest. But she wouldn't risk seeing him; couldn't trust herself to walk away. This was self preservation. Time to start building that wall.
30
June 1st
"You're gonna be late, honey. I gotta go - don't fall back to sleep, OK?!" Emma called, pulling Lily back from a drifting half-sleep.
Damn it, thought Lily, reaching out to check the snooze function on her mobile. She must have ignored it too many times, she thought. The stupid thing seemed to have finally given up on her.
Lily took a sip of water, cleared her throat and assured Emma she was up in the land of the living. "I'll text you, hon. Fancy a take-away tonight?" She called, as she grabbed her skirt from the floor and pulled it on - no time to be fussy - any crinkles would just have to fall out on her way to the office.
"Sure. Later then," Emma yelled, followed by the jangle-clank of the front door.
With stumbling haste, Lily yanked her knicker-drawer so hard it would have landed on her toes had she not caught it with a swift lift of her right knee, landing her a feisty bruise to her thigh in the process. Hopping, cursing, and jiggling the drawer back onto its runners, Lily did her best to focus her bleary eyes. She dug out a pair of nondescript black knickers and rummaged around for a decent bra. And that's when she felt it.
Her fingertips brushed the soft suede of its cover and something stirred in her; that habitual tingle of exhilaration, but now tainted, tarnished by other, darker sensations. Possibility had planted roots in her gut and grown slowly, cautiously; a sapling, small and fragile, but undeniably vital. Then, overnight, those once-green leaves had lost all but a dull gold glimmer of their previous life force. “Must have been a forest fire,” Lily murmured. It was the tiredness talking, the garbled nothingness of the barely conscious, yet in that moment it seemed to make a kind of sense.
She pulled the diary into view, and for a brief second forgot how to breathe. Spiralling snarls of regret seemed to seep from its binding, and not for the first time, the impulse to burn the bastard thing roared out loud and clear. But she could no more have done it in now than she could have three months ago. Burning it would be like condemning that initial impulse, that need to explore her desires. She regretted many things, but that wasn’t one of them. No - Emma had been right – ‘Put the blame where it belongs’ she’d said, and Lily was determined to do exactly that. As such, she chided herself only for trusting the wrong people. She’d trusted Tom, or kidded herself that she trusted him, for far longer than he’d deserved, and she’d been so quick to let Seb hand her protection over to Ana and Grayson. Yet she had to recognize her own willingness to be led by more experienced hands, asking far too few questions about where those hands might lead her. And Christoph… God, she’d come so close to - no - best not to think about it. She’d never been quite able to resolve her feelings where Christoph was concerned. She’d feared him. Wanted him. Feared wanting him. And still she wondered what it would have been like to let him take her. If her final encounter with Tom had taught her anything, it was the value of a man’s control. Lack of control was the real danger. Tom’s rage had steered his actions in a way she’d never thought possible. But Christoph was like Tom’s polar opposite. Christoph was control.
She shook her head. She’d had a narrow escape with Christoph and she needed to remember that. Needed not to be wondering just how far he would have challenged her desires. For God’s sake, Christoph was bad news. Jesus, he made Seb look like a soft option. Seb was not - definitely not - a soft option.
Do I blame Seb? Lily wondered. She’d tried not to blame him. He never would have risked her safety, or her sanity; not knowingly. But some part of Lily had trusted his judgments implicitly; and she’d struggled to see how he could have been so wrong about people he’d known so well, for so long. Surely he must have had an inkling of what they were capable of? Maybe not. After all, if she’d known for a second what Tom was capable of he’d have been dumped years ago.
She put the book back and closed the drawer. It was easier not to think of Seb at all. When she did think about him, she wanted him; wanted him with a ferocity she barely recognised as her own. And she didn’t want to want him. If ever there was a time to think about self preservation it was now. So, time and time again, Lily reminded herself that, in reality, she hardly knew Seb; and the little she did know held too many painful associations to make
seeing him any kind of an option. Though there’d been a couple of occasions she'd come close to phoning, she'd managed each time to talk herself round to reason. Best just to keep that whole crazy period cleanly tidied into the past. Pen down, book shut, drawer closed, Amen.
A new chapter had begun; a chapter laden with possibility, and Lily had much to be thankful for. She'd finally moved in with Emma for starters, a move which had upped her spirits and bank balance alike. And she'd finally found a job in publishing. It was only an entry level position, with more proofreading than actual writing, but it was for Artscape London, an internationally reputed bimonthly, and with a little luck there'd be chance for progression.
And that wasn't all. Since day one at Artscape, she'd suspected one of her coworkers might have a thing for her, and over time she'd started to see some appeal in him too. Justin was funny, and not in a smart-arsed innuendo-spurting Grayson way. And he was sweet too, not that she'd ever have told him so; men never seem overly thrilled at being tagged as 'sweet', yet Lily was starting to think that 'sweet' might be just what the doctor ordered.
So that morning, as Lily squeezed onto a crowded but sunlit bus, it was Justin she mused over; Justin with his totally infectious laugh; Justin with his ridiculously bad flirting technique. ‘You, me, munchy lunchy baby!!!’ he’d texted yesterday, while sitting at the adjacent desk, grinning like a doofus. She’d been too swamped to grab more than a quick cuppa and a loo break yesterday, but she’d suggested they might grab lunch together today instead. She’d played it cool - it was just lunch after all, but all the signals were there; that lunch date could oh-so-easily lead to a dinner date. She just had to work out whether that was something she wanted… The idea didn’t exactly make her heart spark with excitement, but nor was it without warmth. Justin was easy to be with. In fact, if it weren’t for the whole work-relationship never-a-good-idea thing, he’d make a pretty fine potential boyfriend - should she want one of those, that is, and she wasn’t too sure that she did. Still, she wasn’t going to break a sweat over it; it was what Emma would call a luxury problem.