Persona - A Disturbing Psychological Thriller

by Horn, Marc

  Dave had longed for a girlfriend for years, and now that he appeared to have found one who could put up with all his shit, he’d do everything he could to hold on to her. That could easily mean telling her that his pal had slotted her best friend.

  Ryan smiled inside. Dave, the conscientious humanitarian, had stretched the tightrope Ryan was traversing back into a path. He’d put him back on track. Ryan knew he’d achieve nothing behind bars. He needed to be out here with the people, tracking down mines, finding his place. It was best for Dave too – he wouldn’t want to live with the burden of stitching up his best mate.

  ‘Ryan!’ Stacey whined, waving her hand in front of his face. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry, I was miles away.’

  ‘I was beginning to get self-conscious,’ she chuckled. ‘You were staring at my face.’

  ‘You have nothing to feel insecure about. You’re beautiful.’

  ‘Oh, whatever. You were going to tell me why you used a different name.’

  ‘It’s no big deal.’ He shrugged. ‘I just do it for a laugh. Haven’t you ever called yourself something different?’

  Stacey shook her head. ‘Not that I got my friends to go along with too.’

  ‘Dave does it too,’ he lied. ‘And when he does, I play ball.’

  ‘That’s bizarre,’ she responded, dissatisfied with his explanation but not feeling that now was the right time to find out the truth. Now was the time for rebuilding the relationship.

  ‘So how have you been? You look well,’ he said.

  ‘I was very shaken by that night we spent together, Ryan…’ She let the statement hang in the air. He waited for her to continue, but she just stared expectantly at him.

  ‘It was sex, Stacey.’

  Taken aback, she stuttered slightly when she spoke. ‘Sex with insults… Do you like me, Ryan?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do you care about me?’

  ‘Enough to bring you flowers!’

  ‘Just say yes or no.’

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered.

  She felt a glow flow through her. ‘Then you care about my feelings?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The way you treated me hurt me very much.’

  He just about managed to resist the urge to tell her exactly why he was with her. Did she really believe he was that desperate? No matchmaker in their wildest dreams would line him up with this fucking hag! He was a stud. He could model in birds’ porn. She should feel privileged that he’d fucked her in the mouth. Hundreds of girls dreamed of munching on his cock. Give an inch and they take a fucking mile… Getting annoyed was pointless though, as it merely resulted in more sweet-talking. There was one single reason why he was still here. He’d picked Stacey as the victim of an experiment and she would serve her purpose. He succeeded in everything he did. However much it took to do it, he would tie a leash to her and she’d eat his shit and drink his piss if he told her to.

  ‘I didn’t want to hurt you,’ he said.

  ‘You did, Ryan. Very badly.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Stacey. It’s just the way I am. Everyone has their sexual needs.’

  ‘Who taught you to be that way?’ She leaned towards him, listening carefully.

  ‘What you talking about?’

  It was the response she expected. ‘People influence other people,’ she explained. ‘It plays a part in making us who we are.’

  He glared at her, an instinctive reaction. The cunt was trying to understand him. She thought she could dissect him. ‘You a psychiatrist?’

  ‘No, Ryan, I’m not, but I believe I have a good understanding of people.’

  ‘So what’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘I just wondered who influenced you, that’s all,’ she said softly.

  ‘Is this your method of getting me to open up about my parents?’

  She rested her chin on top of her fingers. That response surprised her. It was as if he’d accepted that they were to blame. ‘If you want to,’ she said bravely.

  ‘I was taking the piss.’ He smirked. ‘They’re responsible for all abnormal behaviour, aren’t they?’

  Her morale slumped slightly, but she ignored the sarcasm. ‘In some people.’

  ‘In me, d’you think?’

  ‘You haven’t told me about them.’

  ‘Well then I must tell you everything about them, so you can heal me!’

  ‘I don’t want to offend or insult you. I just want to listen if you want to talk… Because I care about you.’ She put her hand on his and was relieved when he didn’t pull it away. Feeling emotional, she hoped tears didn’t form in her eyes. ‘I can help when people need it.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ he said in a way that he hoped denoted sympathy. ‘But I’m okay, Stacey. A little bit of rough in the bedroom doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘Rough is not insulting and hurtful. It’s physical not mental.’

  ‘Well I’m sorry. I went too far.’ He didn’t want to say this, it wasn’t consistent with progress, but there was no alternative – she was choking.

  ‘Would you be prepared to change for me?’ she asked.

  For seconds, he was speechless. That disturbed him. She was trying to take control. What did she think this was, a fucking love story? ‘You aren’t happy with who I am? There was me thinking you were attracted to me, and now it seems that you want me to become someone else?’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying, Ryan. I just can’t handle the abuse.’

  ‘So it’s an aspect of my character you’re not happy with?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, annoyed that she had to lie. This was so difficult.

  ‘Well that’s reasonable then. That makes me feel better about myself.’

  ‘Everyone can become a better person,’ she said.

  He stood up and laughed. ‘Is this a self-help class?’ He didn’t let her answer. ‘Have I enrolled on some poncy course? Because if I did, I didn’t fucking know what I was doing and I want out.’

  She bowed her head and started to cry. He was a rock and she felt that she was sinking. ‘I just don’t want to feel so hurt again. I want this to work, but I don’t want the pain. Is that too much to ask?’

  Ryan thrust his head in his hands. He hadn’t bargained for this. It was becoming detrimental. He dismissed the negative thoughts and sat down next to her. He forced his arm around her cellulite and pulled her toward him until the flab on the side of her arm moulded around his bicep. He listened to her sniff, leant his head against hers and kept silent.

  Suddenly he broke free and sprung to his feet. She looked up at him, startled.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, but she noticed his tone lacked its normal energy. ‘I need a piss,’ he mumbled and then walked briskly away.

  He locked the toilet door behind him and steadied himself in front of the mirror. It was emotion… he’d felt compassion towards her! A tiny amount, an insignificant amount, unsubstantial, barely recognisable, not worth the analysis. But it had been there! He squeezed his face in his hands and let fury consume him. When he looked back up, the reflection scowled like a demon. Blood vessels bulged and threatened to singe the whites of his eyes. How fucking dare she? How dare she try to alter his course? Ignorant, naive bitch! The stupid cunt had no idea of the threat he posed. He could walk in that room and snap her neck in two seconds. He could kick her in the head until blood pissed inside her skull, or stab her in the heart with a knife! He burst into laughter. Yes, if anything it was amusing. It was David and Goliath, except he was a subtle and astute Goliath… Exactly! He controlled his breathing until it was calmer. He couldn’t kill her. He’d be the prime suspect; there were too many leads. And what was he getting a hard-on about? A feeling? An irrelevant, fleeting feeling? What a load of shite! It was nothing. It was a wild, crazy thought that had surfaced because it was unwelcome, like a soldier’s fear in war. It taunted him because he knew it was damaging and t
ried so hard to shield himself from it. Like stage fright, writer’s block, a preacher’s wavering faith, a runner’s wall. It had had such an impact on him because it was so foreign to him, like experiencing new thoughts after being possessed.

  He turned the tap on and splashed his face. After dabbing it dry with a towel, he checked his appearance. Satisfied it was back to normal, he unlocked the door and sat back down beside a concerned-looking Stacey.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

  ‘You suddenly dashed to the toilet. I was worried.’

  ‘I have a weak bladder. I didn’t want to piss all over your new sofa.’

  She smiled weakly.

  An awkward atmosphere ensued as evening turned into night, and they said little to each other. They watched television until Ryan asked if he could sleep with her, emphasising that he had no sexual motives and just wanted to spend the night with her. After thinking about it, she decided to trust him and they went to bed.

  It was three-thirteen in the morning when it happened.

  Her alarm clock projected the time in huge white digits onto the wall in front of the bed. It was the first thing she saw when he woke her up.

  ‘Poke me,’ he whispered. ‘Go on, poke me. Stick your finger in my ribs. Come on. Please. Pleeeeeease…’

  She turned towards him and when her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see he had his back to her.

  A chill smothered her. ‘Ryan, are you dreaming?’

  ‘No, I’m awake. I’m talking to you.’ His voice was a menacing rasp. ‘Poke me. Come on, I want it. I’m waiting for you. Don’t tease me, dig your fingers in me…oh come on, you little tease!’

  Stacey pulled the sheets to her face. Terrified, her voice was a feeble whine. ‘Ryan…you’re dreaming…go to sleep.’

  ‘I don’t wanna fucking sleep. I want you to poke me. I always get what I want. I’m ordering you to poke me.’

  ‘Ryan…I need to use the toilet…I have to go.’ She couldn’t stop shaking. She wanted to leave the room so badly, but her muscles wouldn’t work and she struggled to push herself up.

  ‘Stay where you are, bitch,’ he hissed, ‘or I’ll rip your fucking heart out!’

  Stacey gasped, her elbows gave way and she slumped back onto the mattress. ‘Ryan, I’m scared, I’m so scared. Please don’t hurt me. You’re dreaming. It’s just a dream.’

  ‘Do what I say. I won’t hurt you. I’m the daddy now. Do what I say. Poke me. Poke me now...’

  She whimpered and wrapped herself in the sheet.

  ‘Do it! Or I swear I’ll break your head!’

  She screamed and pulled the sheet from her face. Turning towards him, she extended a trembling finger and pressed it weakly into his back.

  ‘Again,’ he demanded.

  She repeated the action.

  ‘Do it harder and faster and don’t stop till I say.’

  She did what he said, reacting through fear in the belief it was saving her life. He stayed silent as she prodded his back with her forefingers. After a short while she believed he had fallen asleep and prayed it was true. Gradually, she slowed her action until, convinced he was sleeping, she stopped.

  She shot back and screamed when he grabbed her nightdress at the throat and then, in one savage, heart-stopping movement, rammed her up against the wall. The cotton had ripped and now he held her by her neck.

  ‘You fucking bitch,’ he shouted. ‘You fucking bitch! You think I’m scared now? Think you can torture me, you stupid cunt? I’m the fucking daddy now. I give the fear, understand? I give it! Understand?’

  She couldn’t speak or breathe. His grip was too tight. All she could do was plead with her eyes.

  ‘Speak to me, bitch, speak to me, or I swear I’ll snap your fucking neck!’

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  ‘Still laughing at me? Still funny, eh? Amusing? Wanna die, bitch? Wanna die? Tell me you want to live. Tell me about the future. Tell me you’re happy…’

  Silence…

  He dropped her onto the ground and waited.

  She choked and pressed her fingers onto her neck. She tried to speak, but just croaked.

  ‘One chance. One chance,’ he warned. ‘Tell me you love life. Tell me now and I’ll let you go.’

  ‘I…love…life.’

  He laughed maniacally and pulled her to her feet. ‘Time to die, bitch. Life ends now!’ He pulled her hands from her neck.

  ‘Ryan,’ she wheezed. ‘I’m not Karen… I’m not your…mother!’

  He hesitated and stared at her with venomous eyes.

  She seized the opportunity. ‘I’m Sta…cey. You’re dreaming… I’m not…your mother.’ She coughed.

  ‘You’re lying, bitch.’ He pushed her into the corner and she fell to the floor. He felt confused.

  She forced herself to speak, ignoring the pain in her throat and back. She knew it could keep her alive. ‘I’m your girlfriend, Stacey…You’re mistaking me with Karen…your mother…She tortured you when you were a boy…by poking you in bed.’ She stared at his dark, monstrous form and desperately hoped he understood.

  He growled and leapt at her. She threw her fists at him, but they didn’t stop him. He lifted her clean off the ground and back against the wall. ‘Think you’re clever, don’t you, bitch? I’m too clever for you. How could you know about it unless you’re the cunt you are?’ He laughed in her face. ‘Last seconds… Enjoy!’

  As he reached for her throat, she shouted at him, rage replacing fear, frustration replacing desperation. ‘Dave told Fay about your…mother. Fay told me… That’s how I know.’

  Ryan struggled to think clearly. Dave wouldn’t have told anyone. Then he hazily remembered the confession Dave had made to him. He let go of her. Dave had said he’d only told Fay his name. Dave wouldn’t lie to him, would he?

  A light came on which blinded him, and then he lost his balance as she slapped him hard across the cheek. He staggered into the dresser and stared at her. It was Stacey. Reality flooded back.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Sorry?’ she cried, holding her neck. ‘Sorry? You nearly killed me!’ She leant forwards and coughed.

  ‘Dave lied to me,’ he said, more to himself than her.

  ‘Is that all you care about?’ Stacey screamed, her anger overtaking her pain. ‘If he hadn’t told Fay, you would have killed me!’ She stared at him incredulously and then burst into tears. Then she lay down on the bed. Ryan lay down beside her, took her in his arms and kissed her wet cheek.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m really sorry, Stacey.’

  She wanted to speak. She knew that right now he’d listen to her and tell her what she wanted to hear, but she was too exhausted, physically and mentally, to do that. Briefly, she felt annoyed with herself for forfeiting the opportunity, until she realised she was too obsessed with transforming Ryan. He’d tried to kill her for God’s sake. Her wellbeing came first. This was turning into a nightmare, sucking at her soul until nothing was left. She must relax. She deserved to rest once in a while.

  She turned away from him and tried to settle her nerves.

  An hour later, she still felt too tense to sleep.

  The light was still on, but Ryan was sleeping. Stacey edged her legs over the bed and walked to the bathroom. She turned the light on, looked in the mirror and felt a shiver inside. She had to press her hands against the wall to keep her balance as she saw her neck was red raw.

  She stormed out the room and pushed Ryan’s shoulder until he woke.

  ‘What you doing?’ he mumbled irritably.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘Can’t it wait till the morning?’

  Stacey waited for him to stop blinking. ‘Look,’ she said, pointing to her neck.

  He sighed. ‘I said I was sorry. It was a bad dream.’

  ‘I want answers, Ryan,’ she said sternly. ‘You owe me that.’

  He closed his eyes an
d re-opened them slowly.

  ‘Well lie down then,’ he said, not wanting her staring at him and sympathising which would piss him off. She sank into the bed. ‘What d’you want to know?’ he asked indifferently.

  ‘Tell me about Karen.’

  ‘I thought you already knew about her. Fay told you.’

  ‘She told me Karen used to poke you at night when you were a child. That’s all Dave would tell her.’

  ‘She tortured me. There’s nothing more to say.’

  ‘What else did she do to you?’

  He turned his head towards her and smiled. ‘Do you really want to know? I don’t think you’ve got the stomach for it. I didn’t have a fairytale upbringing like you.’

  ‘I nearly died,’ she said coldly. ‘I think I can handle it.’ She had to be firm. It was the language he understood.

  ‘Okay.’ Ryan nodded. ‘When I was a little boy asleep at night, my mother would suffocate me.’ He stared at her, anticipating shock. Conversely, she appeared eager to hear more. ‘She pinched my nostrils together usually with a peg, and then sealed my lips with Sellotape, or something else.’

  ‘That’s sick,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Why did she do that?’

  ‘My reaction amused her. Watching me panic to open my airways. I suppose it fascinated her too, experimenting with different devices to see which one I’d remove first.’ He waited for a response, but there wasn’t one. ‘Once or twice she even glued my lips together. Not with superglue, thank fuck, but she definitely used Pritt Stick; I could tell by the smell.’ He looked at her. She was trying to stay calm, but her appearance betrayed her - she was as white as a sheet. ‘I think she sacked that idea because the dry flakes on my lips were too hard to get off before school.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Her hand went to her mouth.

  ‘I don’t want sympathy, Stacey. It’s the past. It’s over. I’ve moved on. It means nothing to me. I’m telling you because you asked, not because I want to.’

  She knew it was the key. But she wanted to hear more before she said anything. ‘Did she do anything else?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, obviously she knocked me around a lot. She beat me until I couldn’t move a muscle. She knew how to fight and was a fucking animal, but she’d only do it when Will was away. She knew he’d kill her if he found out, because he was moulding me into an identical version of himself, whereas she was turning me into a nervous wreck. My childhood involved conflicting extremes – Will pushed me towards masculinity, while she subjected me to fear.’