My head whirlsas I stare into the fridge, unable to process enough to decide anything, not even what to eat.
Evie’s declaration sent me into a tailspin. I should have said something back, but my tongue tied in knots. The opportunity passed me by. I need to prepare in case it comes again; surely an inevitability. Better yet, next time the admission should come from me.
Warmth blossoms in my chest. It feels good.
Then again, everything about Evie feels good. New and clean and shiny.
But it’s also overwhelming. Sending me on an inward spiral, out of control.
The pulse in my wrist is a good point of focus and I let my mind explore the sensation, the ache of the jagged edges, the throb of the surrounding flesh, appalled by the attack.
Other thoughts try to intrude, awakened from their dark caves, sharpening their claws before slouching towards the light.
I push them back, the phantom hands pinning my shoulders, the touch on my hip; a voice whispering in my ear.
Keep quiet or I’ll really hurt you.
The cold kiss of a knife against the tender skin on the inside of my thighs.
“Sandwich,” I mumble under my breath. “Bread. Butter. Cheese. Ham.” My eyes scour the shelves, finding a jar of gherkins and grabbing it though I hate them. Remembering Evie taking a sliver from my fingers, the spark of electricity between us frightening me then.
The fading tingles from touching her, being inside her, scare me now.
Pressure weighs upon my shoulders. Shame and pleasure contort in my chest.
“Bread. Butter.” I grab a knife from the cutlery drawer, a plate from the cupboard. “Cheese. Ham. Gherkin.”
A hand grasps my throat, lips curling into a snarl.
“Bread.”
The tip of a knife, stippling my skin, raising dots of blood.
“Butter.”
A pulse twists through my abdomen, tightening my balls, blood pumping, head throbbing, chased by a bucket of ice water, dousing any arousal, leaving me shaking, nerves oversensitive to pain.
The butter knife slips in my hand, and I grip it harder, staring at the dull blade, wondering how much effort it would take to do damage.
You tell anyone and I’ll kill you.
A film coats my eyes, remaining after I blink, after I wipe my arm across my forehead to mop up the clammy drops of sweat.
No one will ever believe a snivelling dog like you.
I peel back the plastic cover on the Swiss cheese slices, placing one on the bread, then adding another at a different angle to cover the holes in the first.
You’re worth nothing. Less than nothing.
“Fuck!”
The plate, the food is on the floor, hand stinging where it swiped everything off the bench. My breathing is hard and heavy, head spinning.
Get a fucking grip. You’re out of control.
I hear the creak of floorboards from the storey below, Evie’s light tread as she moves around. She’ll be here in a minute and the only thing I’ve made is a mess. There’s a pan and brush in the cupboard and I pull them out, quickly sweeping up the broken crockery, my eyes drawn to the sharp edges.
Then the garage door mechanism rattles into life. A new dump of adrenaline hits my bloodstream, narrowing my vision, everything brighter and sharper than it should be.
