Billy had been jiggling about in front of her to one of his jazz records. He’d looked ungainly and odd to Rita’s blurry eyes, like a drunken octopus. I’m seeing double, she’d thought, alarmed. She really shouldn’t have had that third glass of wine. She should tell Billy that she could only stay another hour and if they were going to do things on the couch, they really ought to do it now.
‘Well … I,’ she’d begun, but Billy had pulled her up, his laughter loud in her ears. Her head had been aching badly and the dancing hadn’t helped one little bit.
‘La di da di da,’ he’d sung, swinging Rita around until she’d felt dizzy. He’d led her effortlessly into his bedroom. Rita’s head had been spinning so much that she hadn’t even noticed that they’d gone into another room.
‘The boudoir,’ Billy had slurred in his alcoholic stupor.
Rita had never seen Billy’s bedroom before and had been surprised by how messy it was. Discarded clothes had covered the floor and the unmistakable odour of sweat was thick in the air along with the distinctive smell of damp towels. Rita had glimpsed a grubby white one lying over a chair and grimaced. Billy had pushed her roughly onto the unmade bed and while part of her had been pleased to rest her aching head, the rest of her had panicked. There was only one reason Billy would want her on his bed and there was no way on earth she could do that. While her virginity remained intact, Rita could rest assured that she was clean and pure. She could convince herself that she had not sinned in the eyes of God. Billy’s body had been hot and heavy on hers. With one hand, she had fought to keep her skirt down, while with the other she had pushed firmly at Billy’s chest.
‘Come on babe,’ he had coaxed. ‘It’s about time huh?’
She blamed herself, of course. She shouldn’t have led him on. That’s what her mother would have said.
His lips had travelled down her neck. His wine fuelled breath mixed with the sweaty bed sheets had made her feel sick. She’d kept swallowing but she couldn’t stop the warm feeling rising in her chest. A sharp pain had cut across her stomach and she’d given Billy an almighty shove.
‘I’m going to throw up.’
Billy had leapt off her with such force that he’d tumbled backwards onto the floor. Rita had stumbled to the bathroom and buckled over Billy’s limescale-stained sink. With a heaving lurch she’d thrown up the contents of her stomach. Her ashen reflection in the water-splashed mirror had shocked her. She’d looked terrible, her eyes all bloodshot.
‘Christ babe,’ Billy had called. ‘Are you alright?’
Rita had wiped the sweat from her face and leaned heavily on the sink. Hot water washed away the Indian takeaway she had eaten earlier.
‘Do you have any paracetamol?’ she’d asked.
That’s all she’d wanted, something for the thumping headache.
‘Oh yeah, in the bathroom cabinet I think there’s some.’
Rita’s head had been throbbing and without thinking, she’d opened the cupboard door under the sink, mistaking it for the cabinet. Her hand had frozen on the door handle and she’d stared uncomprehendingly. On a shelf in Billy’s bathroom cupboard sat a gun. Her eyes had become glued to it. It’s not real, she’d thought. Billy wouldn’t have a real gun in his house. Her hands had itched to touch it. Her heart had fluttered like butterfly wings as she’d reached into the cupboard. The metal had felt cold in her hand and she’d stroked the barrel carefully.
‘Did you find …?’ began Billy coming up behind her.
Rita had jumped, turning frightened eyes onto him. He’d stared at the gun in her hands and Rita had seen his jaw twitch. She’d tried to avoid his eyes. She hadn’t wanted to see the frightening glint.
‘What are you doing?’ he’d asked gruffly.
Rita had dropped the gun back onto the shelf and Billy had quickly slammed the cupboard door shut. Rita had jerked backwards, realising what was about to come but hadn’t been quick enough. The back of Billy’s hand had hit her cheek with such force that her whole body reeled backwards. Rita had clutched her face fearfully.
‘I was looking for the paracetamol,’ she’d said shakily.
Her words had sounded strange, like they did when you’d just been to the dentist and you still couldn’t feel your face.
‘I told you, they’re in the bathroom cabinet,’ he’d snapped.
Billy’s features seemed to strangely contort into Rita’s father’s, and she’d had to blink several times to make him disappear.
‘I …’ she’d stammered, but the left side of her face was totally numb now and the words wouldn’t come out. He’d opened the door of a small cabinet above the sink and after fiddling around for a bit, handed her a packet of pills. Rita had taken them without meeting his eyes.
‘I’m sorry babe,’ he’d said. ‘It frightened me seeing you with your hand on it like that. It’s dangerous, you see.’
He’d hugged her and Rita had tried to understand. Perhaps it had scared him. He’d stroked her cheek and said softly.
‘I don’t know what came over me.’
Rita’s body had relaxed slightly.
‘Why have you got a gun?’ she’d asked quietly.
