Liarholic

by Kingsley Ash

  Go on, try me if you like. Fucking bring it on.

  I pelt a stone hard across the pavement.

  Christian Earhart is not my father.

  He is not my goddamn father.

  45

  YOU

  I WAKE TO DISCOVER FALLING SNOW.

  Swan Lake is wrapped in a huge white duvet, falling flakes gather on the window ledges and hang heavy on tree branches. The ice on the lake is like a magical land, hidden. I stay inside, where it’s so quiet my breath echoes. The other girls and Max are out on the hill, sliding on plastic bags and metal trays down below.

  Watching them through the window as they catch snowflakes on their tongues and scoop balls of snow to pelt at each other, I realise how old I feel, much older than twenty.

  Daisy and Max are spread-eagled on their back in the snow, moving their arms and legs vigorously, laughing. When Max jumps and sees me at the window he waves, pointing to the shape he’s left behind.

  A snow angel.

  With Daisy’s pale, almost-blue skin, her wide eyes, a pink knitted hat with a white pom-pom covering her head, a few curls escaping, she looks like nothing less.

  When Daisy and Max finally come inside, Daisy’s teeth are chattering and her lips are navy. I hold her hands in mine. Rather than giving her my heat, I can feel my arms turning icy.

  ‘I think you should see Rebecca,’ I say, when her skin hasn’t regained any colour after twenty minutes.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she says.

  But she isn’t.

  46

  YOU

  DAISY DIED IN THE NIGHT.

  Rebecca woke me with a gentle shake.

  ‘How?’ I ask, sitting up in bed.

  ‘Heart failure,’ she says, sitting heavily on the edge of my bed. ‘The staff on duty the other day should never have let her go out in the snow.’

  And then she stares at the window, at the water dripping from the melting icicles along the gutter, her hands clasped in her lap.

  The news seeps into my soul like poison. Snow angel, little Daisy, has starved herself to death. I let her down. I knew she lied about getting her period, I knew she was dying. And I kept quiet.

  ‘Where’s Max?’ I say.

  ‘Social services have taken him.’

  I didn’t get to hug Max.

  Rebecca leaves.

  I think about Elizabeth, and how I’ve abandoned her too. Not allowing her to visit, refusing any contact. Reading all of her letters, treasuring them, but never once replying.

  I mourn, but I don’t let the OCD win. I don’t hurt myself with checks. I don’t have a panic attack.

  Dig deep, and find the grit in you.

  I pick up the Black Magic Box and take out the Wedding Day DVD.

  The dark side of the world is in my hands.

  On the night of my seventeenth birthday, my father gave me his special camera. My sister got angry at him. She ran out and went into the shed. I followed. Inside the dark room, she told me everything. She showed me the reason why I was always forbidden to enter the shed.

  The locked chest. The DVDs.

  Something I’ve seen before when I was a little girl, I think, but remembered to forget.

  That night — before my father caught us in the shed, before my sister was violently knocked over and cracked her skull against the concrete ground, before my father locked me up in Swan Lake to keep me quiet — I managed to steal some of his films and hide them in my seahorse bag.

  Up and until now, I haven’t had the courage to watch my sister’s movie. For some reason, Daisy’s death and my guilt for keeping silent, and my determination to not fall into my old OCD patterns, spurs me on to face the past.

  I slip out the Wedding Day DVD from the container and slide it into my laptop drive. I gulp in breaths in the stale air, and hug my knees to my chin as the screen flickers into life.

  My sister’s wedding to Archer.

  Elizabeth is sat on a bed wearing her white wedding dress. She has her hair pinned up in a chignon, like a bride. She looks nervous as one too. This film is old. She looks younger, maybe only seventeen. But her eyes are the same, scarred . . . scared.

  As the camera pans back I see she’s in Archer’s studio at Pleasurepark. They’ve put a bottle of Buck’s Fizz on the table, and pink flowers, trying to make it look like a hotel room. But I can see the plastic table is still stained, the sheets on the bed aren’t hotel fresh, and the flowers are plastic.

  Elizabeth looks up at the screen, and says hesitantly, ‘I was waiting for this night. I’m a virgin.’

  ‘That’s okay, I’ll be gentle.’

  It’s Archer’s voice. Playful, coming from somewhere off-camera. Whoever is filming doesn’t care about him, and zooms in to focus only on Elizabeth. In the reflection of the window I can see three other men.

  One is hidden behind the camera, the other two are just leaning against the wall, watching.

  The picture is filled with Archer’s naked back, as he squats on the edge of the bed and reaches behind Elizabeth to unzip the dress.

  She looks directly at the camera, a tight smile. ‘I’m so happy right now. Can’t wait for everything that’s coming, the honeymoon, moving to our flat.’

  Archer has released her breasts. He’s not responding to anything she says. Elizabeth has her own script. A script of her own fantasy.

  My sister’s dream wedding was a fake. Her engagement to Archer was a fake. It was all a sick fantasy in his under-age pornographic movie.

  ‘Let’s take this dress off.’

  She sits straighter, staring intently in the direction of the camera. ‘What do you want me to do now?’

  She’s asking the cameraman. It’s him who is in control.

  Archer might have taken advantage of my sister — there were countless movies of her and him in the shed — but the man behind the camera had started the abuse. He was the one to rape my sister when she was just thirteen.

  I stop the movie.

  I don’t need to see the face of the cameraman. I know who he is.

  The room is silent, except for the beating of my heart. I look at the empty screen, feeling my sister’s pain. Chills, like a hundred spiders, crawl up my spine. I swallow away the bile scorching my throat.

  I stare off into the darkness, blood whooshing in my ears, fighting off a panic attack.

  Dig deep . . .

  I pick up the Black Magic Box and take out another DVD. A familiar face of a sad little teenage girl stares blankly up at me.

  Please don’t hate me, Shepherd. I’d die without you.

  When you’re silent for so long, you lose your voice. But I can’t keep quiet anymore.

  Memories where the lights went out, are now turning back on.

  47

  YOU

  My eyes are like two thick raindrops. I manage to type a message and send it to Shepherd.

  Can I come over? A

  Door’s open, S

  I remember the look on Shepherd’s face the last time he came to my room. How his eyes had been bottomless with hunger when he said, ‘Can't keep my promise, Amy.’

  Unchecked. Unnoticed. Purely animal.

  ‘Hello . . . ?’ I say. I go inside his room. My ballet shoes sound like the light patter of rain on the hardwood.

  He’s there in the dimly lit space, sitting at the table with his laptop in front of him.

  ‘This is a surprise.’ He doesn’t look surprised. He looks dangerous and it only softens a little smile. ‘You want some ice cream?’

  ‘You — have more ice cream?’

  ‘Got more in for you.’

  Feeling his gaze on me, I say, ‘I'm not hungry,’ too nervous to be. My body sticky and hot.

  ‘So,’ he says when I go quiet for a moment. ‘You decide you don't hate me that much?’

  ‘I just wanted to see you.’

  ‘That wasn't really the question, was it? Sit down, Amy. We can't have a conversation with you standing there looking like you pla
n to run away.’

  It startles me, to be caught out doing what I haven’t even realised I’m doing. I stand at the doorway, my back against the frame, my hands tight at my sides. Prepared for fight or flight. With three careful steps, I approach the table. I pull out the chair opposite him and sit down. Even then, I stay at the edge of the seat.

  ‘You still scared of me?’ he says.

  Tell him, Amy. Tell him!

  Dark whispers smother my head.

  Let the monsters out . . .

  I slam the door on them. Look down at my lap.

  ‘I still have things to lose,’ I say.

  His eyes are all pupil. ‘I said, are you scared of me?’

  I close my eyes for a moment. I cram a mental fist in my mouth to stop from screaming. Hurtful tears threaten to leak down my cheeks.

  I just hurt so much.

  I open my eyes and stare into the black void that is dark as a grave.

  ‘No I’m not.’

  ‘After all the things I've done to you?’

  There are worse monsters to be afraid of . . .

  ‘You’ve helped me, Shepherd. That’s what you’ve done.’

  ‘I know. It's probably a good thing you don't love me as much as I love you, but how much do you hate me?’ He speaks in a quiet but calm voice, as though he says, ‘I love you,’ on a regular basis. I’m sure he’s never said it before.

  ‘Not as much as you want. You anger me sometimes, but not enough to want you dead. Most of the time.’

  He roars with laughter, jarring the table. It makes me jump in my skin.

  ‘You said it. They're not opposites,’ I say. I’m practically stuck to my seat. I look up at him. ‘Sometimes they're so close together it scares me.’

  He walks around the table to my chair. Stands behind me, not speaking. I put my hand on the edge of the table to steady myself, to stand, listening to his breathing. Going faster, heavy on the inhale. Smelling me.

  I can feel his heart beating through his black shirt. I want to sink down again into him.

  ‘I'm glad you came here, but you need to go, Amy. Right now.’ Voice a low rumble, he says, ‘You know what I think about, Amy? I think about how the next time you won't come into my room to see me, I can walk into your room and carry you to your bed. I can rip your dress off, throw you down on the carpet and fuck you until you're screaming, begging for me to stop. Hell, I can keep you in my bed and fuck you for days.

  ‘That's why I don't come to see you anymore, because it's just a matter of time before I break my promise to leave you alone. There's no way I can keep that promise forever, but tonight, it's still under control. So you better leave. While you can.’

  My heart caves in. I’m struck blind. ‘I want to stay.’

  I want to stay and tell him the truth, but what does this mean for us? It means I’m further away from him . . .

  I’m caught between a rock and a hard place.

  I look at those black diamonds that’s his eyes. He’s so handsome that the truth is ready to spill out on the tip of my tongue. Shepherd, the hero slaying my monsters and freeing me from my cage.

  But I’m scared of the repercussions. I’m scared he’ll go crazy and kill someone. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. His fiery temper. I saw how easily he could have killed somebody when they put their hands on me. That was small compared to this secret.

  And I’m scared he’ll be thrown back into prison. It’ll be my fault if the bars close around him again. I can’t risk him sinking back into the darkness. I can’t do that to him.

  I need more time to think.

  Or . . . is this an excuse I’m giving myself to not face the monster in the dark?

  He brings his hands to rest on the table on either side of my chair, trapping me. Then he isn’t just breathing hard. He is panting against my neck.

  ‘Amy, baby, did you come here because you want me to fuck you?’

  ‘If you want to,’ I whisper.

  ‘If I want to? If I want to? I watch you go in and out of my building, with my cock so hard it feels like I'm losing my mind. Go to your flat, knowing you can't even stand to be in the same room with me. Just so I can smell you, knowing how dangerous it is. Spend a lot of time thinking about what I'm going to do to you once I lose control. Thinking about how sweet it's going to be when I break that flimsy little promise.

  ‘How one of these days I'm gonna show up at your room and fuck you hard and fast. But I gotta say, this is much better than anything I was imagining. How you're here on your own, needing me.’

  His lips brush against my neck. One hand comes to rest on my knee and snakes up my thigh. When I stand up, I’m already in his grasp. One hand clasps the back of my neck, and the other presses hard between my thighs as he kisses my throat.

  I disgust myself. Knowing what happened to my sister, and to the other girls . . . and I’m what? Keeping quiet and setting my body on fire from the sensations of his touch? I make my own flesh crawl.

  But I can’t leave, knowing what he’ll do if I stay.

  My knees feel weak, because he terrifies me, always has done. And because his hand between my legs arouses me. Has he finally trained me to like it? Have I learnt to enjoy feeling guilt and pleasure at the same time?

  Why did I come here?

  Because I love him. Because he wants me. Not in any sane, normal way, but he wants me.

  Shepherd is like breathing. He makes me suffer, but I can’t imagine not needing him. And if I stop . . . it’ll feel like drowning.

  I need Shepherd, I realise, as much as I need the air to breathe.

  He pushes me against the edge of the table, rips open my dress and closes his mouth over my breast. A damp feeling sets in my panties.

  He presses against me hard and groans into my neck. Just below my ear, he sinks his teeth into my neck, and then relents. ‘Say my nickname when you come. Okay?’

  ‘L —’ I intend to say it then, as a gesture of good faith, but it stalls in my throat. He is already devouring me.

  He tosses me over his shoulder and carries me towards the bedroom, like a caveman. As he goes, he flicks off the light switch, throwing everything into darkness. I want to ask for the light, but there’s no time to ask once he puts me on the bed. In the darkness, he’s simply an enormous shape, pressing on me, pawing at me, biting me.

  My monster.

  ‘Shepherd,’ I try to say, but he swallows the word out of my mouth. Swallows my breath, nearly swallows me whole. He grabs my hands and pins them down.

  Tears well up in my eyes. I close them and squeeze my eyelids tight until I see white lights, hoping to push the tears back inside.

  ‘What’s wrong, baby girl?’

  ‘I’m not a very good person,’ I whisper.

  ‘Daisy wasn’t your fault, Amy.’

  I shake my head. ‘It is my fault Elizabeth is damaged.’

  ‘Amy, that ain’t true. You’re the sweetest girl in the whole fucking universe,’ he says against my shoulder.

  In this moment, I feel like I could confess. But Shepherd beats me to the finish line with his own sins.

  ‘That’s why I can’t lie to you anymore, Amy. I went to see your father. He tried to bribe me to stay clear of you but I threw the money back at him.’

  I shiver. ‘You promised me, Shepherd.’

  ‘You don’t get the whole picture, Amy.’ He looks straight into my eyes as if we’re old friends again. ‘Figure while you’re pissed off with me in the now, it’s probably a good time as any to tell you I lied. I’m not a psychologist, Amy. Not even close. Hell, I need to go see a doctor.’

  My whole world collapses underneath me.

  I am.

  A.

  Joke.

  I fell for it again.

  When he pushes himself up, I try to run away from him, but he catches my arm. I strike at him futilely in the dark.

  ‘Amy, stop. Just stop for a second, baby.’

  I bleed and he doesn’t.

 
; ‘You promised not to hurt me again and that — that — you do that? You lie about being a psychologist? Have I been one huge joke to you all this time?’

  He catches my other arm, forces me back down on the bed. In the black lights his eyes shine. And I cry. Anger and fear burning hot in my chest. I can’t get away from him. In the dark I don’t know what he’s doing. He pins me under him at a strange angle, lying across me, and releases one of my arms. It occurs to me then that he’s reaching under the bed for something.

  ‘It's okay, baby.’ His voice is muffled.

  ‘It's not okay.’

  Then something casts back the darkness.

  A nightlight, in the shape of a star, spills soft yellow light out from under the bed. That’s what he’d been reaching for. He pulls himself back up on the bed, but still pins me under him.

  ‘I bought you this. For when you stay at mine.’

  The gesture is too sweet. I don’t know whether to hug him for the light or slap him for lying.

  ‘Let me go,’ I say. I grab at the headboard with my free hand, trying to gain leverage against him. ‘You lied to me. I trusted you.’

  ‘I didn’t mean for that to happen. I don’t want to hurt you. I never mean to hurt you. You got to know that, Amy.’

  That’s what his mouth says, but his eyes are still full of that crazed, consuming lust I remember so well. The kind that can’t be dissuaded with begging or tears.

  ‘Really? All the times you hurt me, but only now you care?’

  He licks the tears from my cheeks, makes a pleased sound. The scared part of me wants to fight him, to go on resisting, but the needy part of me wants to disappear into him.

  Two souls twisted into one bad fate.

  When Shepherd releases my arms, I rise on my elbows and try to get out from under him. That quickly, he grabs me again.

  ‘I didn’t mean for a lot of them to happen. A lot of things I wish I hadn't done to you. Lot of other things I want to do again. I told you I can’t stay away from you. How I can’t control myself. It's been a long time, Amy.’