Imperfect Strangers (26 page)

“I want to see it.”

“Please
,” I whisper, as if trying to prevent the younger Keith from hearing, as if trying to get the older version on my side.

“No. Sally’s going to show you the angel in her instead.”

I don’t want to, but I stand in readiness. Raising my arms will cause the sheer thing to ride up. As it is it only just covers my buttocks. Raising my arms to blow a kiss to the ceiling will show everything I’ve got. Keith is looking at my face though. I realise then that his eyes have not left my face since I stripped to my bra and knickers. I do as he requested: look to the ceiling, pucker my lips and throw the imaginary kiss with raised hands. The hem of the frail garment strokes my skin as it rides up, but Keith’s eyes do not deviate from my face. I lower my arms and, folding them in front of my breasts, force a smile to my lips.

“Lovely,” Keith says, his voice all whispery
and light and creepy. “I’m going to switch the light off now, and then I want you to do it again.”

Shit. What’s he going to do to me
in the dark while I do that?

Keith turns off the light. Some orange streetlight filters
into the room around the edge the curtains, but it’s hard to make out anything in the room, especially at the far side near the door where Keith is standing.

“Go on, then,” he says, patiently. “Do it.”

I guess my silhouette is quite defined against the curtains. I raise my arms and blow a kiss to the ceiling.

“Hold it like that,” he s
ays.

I hear the click of a switch and then a whirring sound, above, in the ceiling, or the loft. Fuck, what is it. Another click
sounds into the room and then a bright spotlight pains the backs of my eyes. My eyes adjust, and I realise that the source of the whirring is a disco ball; its mirrored surface is throwing bright speckles around the room. I can’t believe I didn’t see it up there. It should have stuck out like a sore-thumb; it’s the only thing, apart from a wine stain, that differs from my room back at home. It actually looks nice, and were it not for the circumstances, I would say so.

‘Beautiful,” Keith says. “Don’t you think?”

Try and act cool, I tell myself. I force a smile. It’s a real effort, but I manage it. “Thank you, Keith. I didn’t think I’d like all this, but it’s really nice. Thank you.”

“
That dress looks lovely on you. Lovely. And with the sparkles, you look even more like the angel on your desk. Now blow a kiss to me.”

I comply.

“Lovely,” he says, rubbing his thighs.

Maybe this is it then. Perhaps he just wants to adore me like a prize pet
, like a trophy. Again, I smile. He seems to be calming, even his breathing has slowed to near normal.

“I’ll get us a drink, okay? You get comfortable.”

I breathe a sigh of relief when he leaves the room. This is not yet over, though. I take the opportunity to hide the belt under the pillow.

CHAPTER
37

I know Keith is going to come back up – of course he is – but even so
, a creak at the bottom of the stairs makes me stiffen just as much as if it were unexpected. And then I gasp at the sound of bolts sliding home. I could have got dressed while he was gone, but that might have made him angry. As it is, he might possibly be happy to have a drink, and then thinking all is fine, go off and sleep in the other room. The door opens. I press against the headboard, draw my knees tight into my chest, and pull the quilt up to my shoulders. The door is opened only partially, and a moment passes before he enters. He’s smiling broadly, obviously extremely pleased with himself, as he enters carrying a bottle of champagne in one hand and two champagne glasses in the other. He’s wearing only boxer shorts. The ones he bought when shopping with Poppy and me. The very memory of that day now sickens me. I was unaware at the time, but that was the point when this relationship began to turn from something uncomfortable to something positively dangerous. Poppy’s good intentions, my own good intentions, and the interference of others have all been catalysts that have pushed me in a direction I would otherwise not have gone.

“I thought we’d celebrate,”
Keith says, pushing the door closed with his shoulders, his eyes fixed on mine. “We’re going to be alright now, Sally, you and me. I’ve got more money than you know about – stocks and shares – must be forty-thousand at least. I’ll quit my job, that’s what I’ll do. You too. Then we can be together all the time. I’ll look after you.”

I simply smile, nodding as he speaks
, while he is walking closer to the bed. The sight of his pale, skinny legs reminds me what vomit tastes like. The glasses clink, and I notice his hand is trembling. Is it fear or excitement or both?

“I’ve never done this before, Sally.”

“Never done what?”

“I’ve never been with a woman. I’ve read books about it, so I sort of know what to do, but I might not be very good.”

Shit. He does intend to rape me. He might not think of it as rape, but that’s what it would amount to. Fuck. He believes I’m here, in this bed, willingly. “Perhaps we should wait,” I say, quickly, a tone of concern forced into my voice. “You know, wait until you’re ready.”

“No. I’m r-ready. I mean I’m not, b-but I don’t want to wait.”

“It’s always better if it happens naturally.” I struggle to keep the quiver of panic from my words as he lowers himself to sit on the bed. Without real thought, I draw the quilt tighter.

A sudden loud hammering makes
me jump so hard I bang the headboard against the wall Keith jumps too, but with a gasping intake of breath. As much as I flinched it was nowhere near as much as Keith. Maybe it’s because I’m already so tightly constricted my muscles had little freedom to move. In the following silence, I begin to wonder if I imagined the banging, and only flinched because Keith did.

Again
, though, the hammering thunders through the house. It sounds like it’s coming from downstairs: the front door? Another round of hammering thunders through the house; this time it’s much louder and is driven with much more urgency. Now I’m certain, it is the front door.

“SALLY.”

It’s Steve’s voice.

“Sally.” Again
comes the hammering on the door. “Sally you in there? I just want to talk.”

Steve
will break the bloody door down if he knows I’m in trouble. I know he will. Even if he doesn’t get an answer, if he knows I’m in here, he’ll break the bloody door down; he’ll break it down and ask questions later. If he’s the person I think he is, that’s what he will do. But then again, he might think I’m ignoring him; he might think that I don’t want to talk to him. I open my mouth to shout. To shout what, I haven’t decided. Keith’s eyes open wide. He drops the bottle and glasses. Time seems to go slow motion, like being in a car accident. He must have realised I was going to shout before I myself realised. The glasses bounce on the carpet, clatter against the bottle and shatter. Keith leaps onto me, his knee passing between my raised legs, striking my gut. It forces the wind from my lungs. He draws himself closer, pulling me away from the headboard, settling there himself, and clamping a hand over my mouth, he pulls me against his chest. With his free hand he strokes my shoulder, rhythmically, like you’d stroke comfort from a cat.

“Shush, shush,” he says, in a soothing tone. I consider biting his hand, but it is clamped so tightly over my mouth that I can’t move my jaw. “Shush,” he continues, now stroking my hair. “It’s alright. I won’t let him in. You’re with me now. I’m going to take care of you. If we just ignore him he’ll go away.”

Not if he’s the Steve I know, he won’t. He’d better not. I hope I know him, hope Kerry – for he must have spoken to Kerry – has filled his head with poison for Keith. There’s some doubt there, though, doubt which tells me he’ll make a lot of noise and then simply go away. In my mind, I will him to break down that door.

“Sally. SAL! I just want to talk.
Pete’s with me. It’s them photos, Sal, they’re fake. Pete will tell you.”

I know they are, there’s more up here. Not as convincing
as the others, but they’re equally fake.

All goes quiet for a moment.
For a long moment, too long of a moment, there’s silence. Panic rises in me, as Keith seems to relax slightly. We are like an emotional see-saw. Has Steve gone, I wonder, or is he still there and taking a moment to talk to Pete? Pete doesn’t like confrontation. Pete is probably trying to get Steve to consider coming back in the morning. Maybe he already has convinced him. Maybe they’re walking away right now.
I’m up here
, I silently scream.
Norman fucking Bates is getting ready to rape me.

They must have seen the light on in the bedroom window. They
’ll have guessed that I’m awake and infer that I am ignoring them. Pete will have said something along the lines of,
come on mate; we’ll come back in the morning, yes
? The silence, probably mere minutes if not seconds, already feels an age. Keith obviously feels so too, because he has relaxed even more. His hand is still over my mouth, but it is no longer clamping tight. Steve is not the type to give up so easily. I know he isn’t. He might take Pete’s advice and begin to walk away, but then he’ll change his mind and storm back. I’m sure of it. If he is there still, I’m going to be ready.

“SAL
,” shouts Steve. “Sal, just listen to me and then I’ll go. If you want me to.”

On the first ‘Sal’, I snap
ped my teeth onto Keith’s finger. I bit down hard. So hard I felt gristle and bone giving way to the pressure. I can taste his blood on my tongue. Keith screams out. Actually screams. I squirm from his grasp and head toward the window, screaming myself, screaming as loud as I can, screaming for all my lungs are worth. To my ears though, it does not sound loud enough to be heard beyond the confines of this room. It feels like a dream, the kind of dream where I am running from something unknown. It’s always something unknown. I am running for all I’m worth, but my feet won’t move quickly enough. I’m screaming but no sound escapes my mouth. I keep running, and the pavement turns to glue, it holds me back, slows me down. In such a dream, the victim’s voice never works; my voice doesn’t work and gives out a croak, nothing more.

I launch a fist at the curtains. If my hand goes through the glass, if I cut my arm to shreds I don’t care. At least with the glass broken Steve will hear me scream. Even if he doesn’t
, the glass will alert him that all is not well. I hear a grunt of pain behind me. My knuckles brush the curtain as Keith’s arm curls around my gut, shifting my momentum to the left. Together we fall heavily to the floor. His hand clamps over my mouth, muffling my cries for help. Blood is oozing from his finger. The iron tang of it rubs against my lips, invades my mouth. The metallic scent infiltrates my nostrils making my gag.

“It’s okay,” he’s saying as he drags me back to the bed. “He’s upset you. I know that. Things were going fine until he called out. He’ll go soon. We won’t let him in.”

Keith’s left foot leaves crimson prints on the cream carpet. A shard of glass protrudes from the side of his heel. He seems oblivious to it, doesn’t even pause to pull it out as he drags us both under the quilt. The glass cuts into my calf as he draws me into a tight embrace, his leg closing over my thighs. It stings and immediately I feel the blood trickling over my skin. I figure it must be deep. One arm around my head holding his hand over my mouth, Keith worms his other hand between us, forcefully over my stomach and on up to my breast. He squeezes it hard. He moans as he slips his hand inside my bra, takes a nipple and pinches it, pinches it hard.

Please have heard me Steve, I’m saying in my head, over and over
like a mantra. Break the bloody door down. Break in and break this fucker’s neck. I feel a sticky wetness on my thigh, dribbling down onto the sheet. Blood, dribbling, I think, like the blood from my calf. The way I’m thrashing about, the way he’s struggling to hold me, I could by now be cut elsewhere too. It could be pee. Fear can make you empty your bladder. Then I smell it in the air. Semen. Ejaculate. Initially I’m disgusted, but then pleased. Maybe he won’t be able to take me straight away. His still hard erection, pressing against my belly, tells me this is a false hope. His sexual desire is driven with adolescent-like excitement. Keith’s hand slides down to my legs and squeezes between my thighs.

“Shut up,” he shouts. “No, this is different
.” His voice sounds childlike again, and with a chill of fear I realise that the younger version has taken control. “Heather Unwin was an evil bitch! She told lies, and that’s why Mother punished us... No we won’t get punished this time… I do know... Because Sally’s different, that’s why. You said so. She won’t tell lies… I don’t care if you don’t want to do this, I do. No, stop it; leave her alone. I won’t, and you can’t make me.”

I try to stop listening t
o Keith’s duelling voices and focus on the sound of banging. “That’s a strong door,” I hear Steve complain.

“It’s not as strong as you, Steve. Kick it,” Pete answers. Pete, who’s so passive
; even he’s worried.

Pete must have joined
Steve, now, in kicking the door. Alternate blows hammer against it.

“It’s giving,” Pete shouts.

Keith’s hand, the one over my mouth, has shifted slightly, and is now partly covering my nose. What with that and my nostrils being constricted with the drying blood from his wounded finger I’m finding it hard to breathe. The whole world seems to be a tumultuous confusion of noise. The sound of pounding fills the air: the door and my heart seemingly in harmony. Keith is moaning and grunting one moment, and arguing with the imaginary little Keith the next. It’s the little Keith that wants to rape, not the actual Keith. Strange to think of one person as two, but that’s the way it seems to be. The bed is creaking. All sound merges into one as I begin to feel faint. Maybe it’s the panic, the fear of passing out that gives me strength. Maybe my right leg just calls for all the reserve my body has to offer, but I force it up, hard, into his crotch. He feels it; I can see he does. I can see the look of pain in his eyes, but it doesn’t make him stop. It has caused a pause in his action, though. His grip over my mouth has shifted. I can now breathe at least.

The pounding noise rises above everything else as my consciousness manages to draw a focus beyond the panic of fainting. I can hear wood splintering
: a jarring, ripping sound. At some point in the struggle, Keith removed his boxers. His semi-hard, wet cock is jammed against my thigh. The flimsy nightdress is up above my chest. The quilt is on the floor. Again the sound of splintering wood rips into my mind as if wrenching me from a potential flap of hysteria. Steve is trying to get to me. My ultimate goal is not to get raped before he does so, not to have Keith inside of me. Steve is trying to get here. He must have heard the scream. I just need to hold out, I need to try and get through to the actual Keith, get him to act reasonably, to take charge of himself.

Keith rips my knickers away, forces his hand between my legs, worm
s his fingers inside me. I try to clamp my legs tighter together, but his knee is in the way, trapped between my own. The glass protruding from his foot strikes against the roof of my foot as he shifts his weight. I know he is positioning himself to get on top. The pounding on the door continues to sound. The splintering of wood, strong wood, screams like a monster fighting back, an echo almost of the silent scream in my head.

Then I hear it
: the door crashing in. I hear it bang against the internal wall. I hear the reverberation run through the building. I relax, only momentarily, but it’s enough for Keith to act. He’s on top of me, positioned between my open legs. Both my hands are free now as Keith uses both of his to support his weight, to adjust his position. I recall then that Steve is not yet able to get to me. The door at the bottom of the stairs is also locked, heavy bolts, one at the top and one in the middle. I claw at Keith’s face as my panic reaches a new height. It’s a panic that shows me a vision of Steve not making it to me in time. I find Keith’s eye socket with my thumb and push. His eye is closed, but I feel the delicate skin of his eyelid under my nail. It’s enough to give him pause. Keith pulls back rising to his knees above me. His fist crashes into my face. I didn’t even see it coming. Stars fill my vision. I hear the downstairs door break. It obviously wasn’t as strong as the outer door. I hear footsteps pounding, ascending the stairs. The room is spinning and I’m uncertain. Maybe the pounding is still on the outer door.