I Own You

by Dawn McConnell

  ‘Yeah, it’s me. Do you know what’s happening here? I’ve lost my fucking job! That interfering bloody aunt of ours called my boss and told him that I wasn’t safe to be around children.’

  ‘In the call centre . . . ?’ I was confused. I’d heard through Mum that John was working in a call centre.

  ‘No. Not the fucking call centre. My job as a caretaker in the leisure centre after work and at weekends. I hold two fucking jobs here to make ends meet. So tell me, Dawn, why the fuck did you have to bring this up again and ruin my fucking life? Why couldn’t you just let it be?’

  Suddenly, I was angry.

  ‘Why should I hide?’ I countered bravely. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll tell everyone what you did to me, you arsehole. And don’t speak to me ever again!’

  With that, I slammed the phone down, shaking with rage. How dare he! I was outraged that he put this thing back onto me, and I found my anger gave me strength. I had spoken back to John. He couldn’t hurt me anymore.

  Still trembling, I pushed the paperwork on my desk away from me, unable to concentrate, and took a big gulp of breath, trying to calm myself. Why can’t it all just go away? I thought wretchedly.

  Since that conversation with Aunt Jenny, I’d felt so confused about everything. Now my ‘secret’ was out, the whole family knew. My sister Susy had called from London to sympathize with me. She said she was shocked to learn what John had done – and had confronted him about it. Apparently, he told her he felt awful about it, really guilty, but – I thought testily – I didn’t hear any sign of remorse in his phone call to me.

  Susy and I had been close as young girls, but living at opposite ends of the country, leading very different lives, meant we didn’t see or even speak to each other that often. Nonetheless, my kind-hearted sister wanted to know how she could help but, frankly, I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I couldn’t even bring myself to call the psychiatrist that Mum had found for me. My aunt had convinced me that going to the police would definitely be a bad idea and, since then, I’d just been too embarrassed to talk about it. So I thanked Susy for her concern but I told her I was fine. Like I did with everyone, I pushed her away, on the other side of the wall I’d built to protect myself.

  As for my so-called partner, Stuart was appalled the subject of me ‘dobbing’ on John had even come up. ‘Go to the fucking pigs?’ he railed at me, beer bottle in hand. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ It was against everything he believed in.

  My family and my boyfriend had made themselves quite clear. So there was nothing else for it – I had to put up and shut up. All I wanted to do now was forget about the abuse and get on with my life – bury the memories, try to put it behind me.

  The one thing I didn’t expect was that my mum would find it so easy to forget too. Within a couple of weeks, she was talking to John on the phone just like she did before. I overheard her one afternoon when I arrived with Callum, though she quickly put down the receiver when she realized I was there. Had she forgiven him so easily? Did his rape of me mean nothing to her?

  ‘Mum, how can you do that? Talk to him as if nothing’s happened?’ I asked her, shocked.

  ‘Because he’s my son,’ she said simply, as if that explained everything.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I replied.

  ‘Well, you won’t understand,’ she snapped and left it at that.

  By now my kidney stones were flaring up almost daily; maybe prompted by all the emotional trauma I was enduring at this time. The doctor had given me pethidine to cope with the worst attacks, when the stones moved, and I kept the painkillers in my bag at all times so that when I felt an attack come on, I could deal with the pain.

  It was late July when I accompanied Stuart to a photo-shoot with a local rugby team his property company, Mayfair Holdings, had sponsored. He enjoyed it when I came with him on official engagements, especially if I drove, which meant he could drink. But it was still early today so Stuart decided he would drive us in his Bentley. It meant I wasn’t driving us for a change – and thank goodness because, on the way back, I felt a twinge in my side and winced involuntarily, doubling up in pain. Thank God I’m on the waiting list for an operation, I thought, as I braced myself against the agony. It was absolutely unbearable.

  ‘How bad is it?’ Stuart asked, seemingly concerned.

  ‘It’s really bad. Worse than childbirth,’ I said. ‘If I didn’t have these pills, I’d be vomiting and shivering uncontrollably right now.’

  Stuart nodded, taking in that information. ‘How often do you get the attacks?’ he asked, probing me. ‘I mean often, like once an hour, once a day, what?’

  ‘Well, about every hour the pain comes and lasts about fifteen minutes, then it becomes a slow ache around my back and side. The pethidine keeps the worst of it at bay for around four hours, until I can take more.’

  ‘Can I see the pills the doctor gave you?’ he asked, casting me a gentle look as he drove.

  So I reached into my bag and pulled out the heavy box of pills. I handed them to Stuart, who promptly wound down the window and threw them out of the car.

  ‘What the hell . . . ? Why did you do that?’ I shouted at him, tears pricking my eyes at his cruelty. I expected him to brake and turn around so we could get them, the ‘hilarious’ joke over, but we didn’t slow down. Not one bit. ‘Stop the car, Stuart!’ I shrieked at him, clutching my side. ‘Stop driving!’

  But Stuart just laughed and kept motoring on.

  ‘You don’t need those,’ he said dismissively, in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘You just need rest. It’s all in your mind, ken?’

  I had lived with Stuart for six years now; I knew my partner well. I had a terrible feeling that he was planning something awful, but I didn’t dare disobey him when we got home and he told me to go to bed.

  I don’t know, maybe he just wants to show me a way to cope with the pain? Give me an alternative to taking the pills? I thought hopefully as I fell awkwardly into bed, spared for a moment the excruciating pains in my side. Hannah was out with Callum for the day so it was just the two of us at home. Or maybe, I thought, feeling a bit brighter, he’ll get me something else from the doctor, something more effective. I knew better than anyone that Stuart could pull strings when he wanted to. I felt myself drifting off. Once the pain had gone, I was always exhausted afterwards. It really took it out of me.

  ‘Just lay there and rest,’ Stuart shouted as he uncorked a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and switched on the TV. ‘Call me when the pain starts.’

  He sounded like any concerned husband would do.

  I did as I was told. I quickly fell asleep but, inevitably, some time later I was woken by a wave of pain that flooded my body.

  ‘It’s started!’ I shouted out to Stuart, hoping he would come through with some kind of relief. God knows, I needed it! The pain was stronger than ever, leaving me doubled up and breathless. I closed my eyes as it overtook me completely and my whole body just became a sharp shard of pain, vibrating at a high frequency.

  When I opened my eyes again, Stuart was standing in front of me, naked and masturbating.

  ‘Ha – I’m not going to stick this in your mouth, with you writhing in pain, you might bite it off!’ he laughed.

  Is this a joke to him? What is he doing? I couldn’t believe it – was he really getting off on watching me suffer? A sob escaped me now; I couldn’t bear it any longer. I needed my pills. But Stuart had other ideas. Once hard, he pinned me to the bed and started to fuck me. I screwed my eyes shut against the awfulness of it all.

  ‘Look into my eyes,’ he grunted. ‘Look at me, Dawn! I want to see your eyes!’

  But I couldn’t look at him; I couldn’t focus at all. I felt I had been cut adrift on a sea of pain and I barely registered what he was doing to me. All I wanted was to bring my knees into my chest, to give myself a little relief, but he pushed against me hard, using all his strength to pin me down.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’
he breathed hard as he thrust into me.

  Then he reached down and, using his fingers, he jabbed me in my right side so hard I screamed out.

  ‘It’s here, isn’t it?’ he murmured sadistically. ‘Go on! Scream. Cry. Let me see you in pain. That’s it, keep fighting, let the pain take over, make me fight you. C’mon . . . is that the best you can do?’

  All I wanted was to make him stop but the strength fled my body now and I collapsed under him, tears streaming down my face.

  ‘Please, please . . . please stop, Stuart,’ I whispered. ‘Please.’

  But when had any man listened when I’d asked them to stop?

  He kept on going, kept on and on, getting off on the expression on my face, on the tension in my body, as I endured spasms of pain that he timed to his unforgiving thrusts. Eventually, he came and rolled off me, then walked through to the lounge again. He picked up his red wine and took a long swig.

  Him closing the bedroom door was the last thing I saw before I passed out.

  The next day, I woke to the sound of Stuart showering next door. I hated him right then, hated him for what he had done to me and how he had used my pain against me. I fantasized about taking a knife from the kitchen and plunging it into his back while he was in the shower, just like in that scene from Psycho. I wanted to hurt him, but more than that I wanted him punished. But how? Who was I going to tell? Who would help me?

  I knew the answer to that one: nobody.

  No, I knew I couldn’t confront Stuart about this. I knew that by the time he came out of the shower, I would have to try and put it to the back of my mind. I had a lot of practice at that, at least.

  I didn’t always take Stuart’s sadistic sex and hurtful treatment of me in my stride. But whenever I had challenged him in the past about something awful he had done to me, he’d told me it was normal. That it was how relationships between men and women worked. And I didn’t know any different; he was the only man I’d ever been with, ever since I was fifteen years old.

  With the benefit of hindsight, I can see now that he duped me just as my brother had once duped me with his lies about what he did to me being ‘normal’. Stuart said the same. He said that since I was his woman, I was to do whatever he wanted and when. If I didn’t, he would get it elsewhere. And I knew that was true. After all, he had been unfaithful to Maria with me.

  ‘If you stay with me, I won’t hurt you,’ he’d said on several occasions. ‘You are inside the circle of protection.’

  He then grabbed my jaw and tilted my head to look at what he was doing with his other hand.

  ‘Look, do you get it?’

  He drew circles in the air . . . once, twice . . . before releasing me and gently slapping the side of my face.

  ‘If you leave then you are outside the circle and I can no longer protect you or be responsible for what might happen to you . . .’

  So, lying in bed that morning, I buried it. I buried the memories of what he had done the night before, just like I had buried the memories of John’s abuse. I thought I could forget, I thought that if I chose not to think about it, it would all go away.

  But although I got up and carried on with Stuart like nothing had happened, I did take some action. That morning, I called my doctor and told him I wanted to get the kidney stones removed privately. It would cost me a couple of grand, but that was a small price to pay. For I knew now that I couldn’t afford to show Stuart any kind of weakness – or he would exploit it.

  Just four days later I went under the knife. In my own small way, I was trying to fight back.

  Chapter 15

  Elvis on Astroturf

  Meanwhile, I had some spare cash so I took a few months off and allowed myself to enjoy life. For the first time in years I had some free time on my hands, so Stuart and I booked a long holiday to the States with Callum and Hannah. I didn’t really want Hannah to come – it was an expense we didn’t need – but Stuart had insisted, since we would be out every night and Callum needed a babysitter. Stuart told me that after this holiday Hannah would continue to be employed, as he would find me something to do straightaway and he needed her to take care of Callum. ‘The hours you work, I would need three Hannahs!’ he said. ‘And then how would I get my cut if all that money was on other staff? Hannah’s staying.’

  I couldn’t wait to go away. The night before we caught our plane, Hannah took me aside.

  ‘I think Stuart’s going to ask you to marry him while you’re in Las Vegas,’ she whispered.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ I asked, astonished.

  ‘Hmm? Just a feeling, that’s all. Would you do it?’

  ‘I don’t know . . .’ I was still very young, after all, and the idea of getting married filled me with dread. It seemed so permanent. I would be officially tying myself to the man who constantly threatened and belittled me, who always took and gave nothing in return. Then again, it wasn’t as if I was thinking of leaving Stuart. I couldn’t imagine leaving the ‘circle of protection’ or trying to bring up our little boy on my own.

  The following day I looked at him, as he downed tiny bottles of red wine on the flight, mulling over what Hannah had said. As much as I disliked many aspects of his character, in other ways I admired him – for the way he took what he wanted from life, the way he trampled over the rules (even if that did involve trampling over people). I had been brought up to adhere strictly to society’s perceptions of what was ‘acceptable’; my mother had been obsessed with how things looked on the outside, as if nothing else mattered except what other people thought of you. But Stuart didn’t give a toss what other people thought of him and that was strangely refreshing. He was fearless – and I wanted to be the same.

  No, I thought to myself, I don’t love him, but I respect him. No wonder I did; he was always banging on about ‘respect’ and demanding it from me. But it went beyond that: he had built a successful business empire and, even though he seemed pretty lazy to me now that he’d ‘made it’, the fact that he had done so at all showed he had something about him. There’s still a lot I could learn from him. On the other side of me, I kept Callum busy with colouring books throughout the flight; we both looked up as Stuart let out a loud belch after his latest bottle of vino. It was hardly what a prospective groom might do to romance his potential bride! Nah, I told myself. Hannah’s wrong. Stuart wouldn’t want to get hitched again. After all, he’s only just come out of a bad marriage. Why would he want to do all that again?

  With that, I put the ridiculous idea to the back of my mind. The holiday was great fun – we visited Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco and finally, on the third week, we had five nights booked at the Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. For Stuart, it was the ideal way to end the holiday – he liked nothing better than spending all day gambling and drinking. This was like his very own paradise!

  As for me, I didn’t really drink and I wasn’t interested in gambling either. Besides, I had to take care of Callum, so the two of us wandered in and out of the most luxurious hotels, admiring all the fountains and crazy architecture, while Stuart spent his days at the tables. Callum and I played crazy golf, went swimming and in the afternoons we saw a couple of shows on the Strip.

  Two days before the end of the holiday, we were all downstairs in the dining room, having breakfast, when Stuart turned to me and said: ‘Let’s get married today!’

  ‘What?’ I nearly choked on my croissant. Hannah was right . . .

  ‘I said – let’s get married. Today!’ He grinned. This was clearly his idea of a romantic proposal and I could see that he was completely serious.

  ‘But how can we get married?’ I smiled back, bemused. ‘Don’t you need documents? Erm, birth certificates and stuff?’

  ‘Yep, I got all that,’ he said.

  ‘Really? You planned this?’

  For a minute we just stared at each other while Callum shovelled Cheerios into his mouth. Then Stuart took a sip of his tea. When he put the cup down, there was a change in his
demeanour – the playfulness had disappeared and now he spoke with a certain cool detachment: ‘You know, if someone asks you to marry them and you say no, that’s effectively the end of the relationship. Did you know that?’

  He was staring into the distance as he spoke but I knew it was a threat. This was now or never. My mind was running at a hundred miles an hour. If I said no, then that was the end of us: I would be a single mum on the scrapheap and he would take everything. I couldn’t see a future without Stuart – where would I go? Back to my parents’? Urgh, the thought of returning to their house, where I had been abused so badly, was appalling.

  ‘Listen,’ he went on. ‘Why don’t you go to the hotel salon and get your hair done? Make yourself look nice. I’ll take Callum to the shops to get him something to wear. We’ll make a day of it. What do you say?’

  I just nodded. There was nothing else to say.

  Sat in the hairdresser’s chair that morning, I must have seemed like I was a million miles away as the customers and staff buzzed around me.

  ‘You getting married today, sweet pea?’ my hairdresser drawled as she clacked a piece of gum against the roof of her mouth. Her name tag read ‘Cindy’ and she had bright-orange fingernails and long hair extensions which reached right down to her bum.

  ‘Hmm . . . yeah. How did you know?’

  ‘Oh, everyone who comes in here is getting married, honey,’ Cindy laughed. Did my nervousness give me away? Or my quiet detachment? But something prompted her to say: ‘You know, it’s not too late to change your mind, sweet pea. We’ve heard it all in here. You know, the strippers who marry the men they’ve just met. Jilted brides who turn up to the church, only to find their men have gone and married their best friends! You name it, we’ve heard it. Nothing to be ashamed of, changing your mind. Because, you gotta know this, sweet pea, once it’s done in Vegas, it is D.O.N.E. Done!’

  She went on like that for a while as she styled my long blonde hair into loose, tumbling curls around my face and the other members of staff in the salon each contributed their own horror stories of weddings gone wrong. Eventually – I couldn’t help myself – I started laughing. I was glad they had cheered me up, if only for a short time. I had needed someone to take my mind off my predicament. Gratefully, I left them a big tip and went up to the room to change into my cream Whistles skirt and pale-blue blouse – they were the smartest clothes I had with me. Then I went to the front lobby, where Stuart had instructed me to meet him.