and tight and pretty. I’ve seen her through
the school gates, playing with her friends. I think my friends would like to
play with her very much.”
Lana knew that she should rush him,
go for the throat, the eyes: attack the soft parts. But it was futile; he was
too strong, and had always possessed the upper hand. Right from the start, he’d
played her along, upping the odds until she came to him and offered him exactly
what he wanted and could have taken at any point. But he did not want to take;
it was the very act of offering that turned him on, made him shine.
“Where’s your compassion?” she said,
failing to penetrate his armour. “Your basic human decency?” She hated the
desperation in her voice, but it was all she had left to offer.
Bright stood and came out from
behind the desk. He was shorter than she remembered in his stocking feet;
barely came up to her shoulder once she’d put on her heels. His skin looked
soft, malleable, and his eyes protruded like boiled eggs from a face as flat
and round as a polished plate. Bright’s shoulders were hunched; his posture was
awkward, as if years of ingesting horse steroids and the mindless repetition of
punishing routines with heavy weights had altered his basic body shape. He
slowly raised his hands and began to slip off his shirt.
“For that, dear Lana, I’d have to be
human.”
The leather mask had prevented her
from seeing it before, but his naked body was a mass of lumps and abrasions.
They looked like ripe tumours: they dangled in clumps from beneath his armpits,
clustered around his nipples; made a ribbed embossment down his hairless belly.
There were mouths in there, amid the globules and curlicues of flesh, and eyes
that blinked uncomprehendingly. A nose or a sex gland twitched; snot or semen
spilled from its shiny, puckered end. It was a whole community of beings,
perhaps even the souls of the people he’d absorbed as repayment for debts even
greater than her own, loans whose rate of interest was infinite.
“Bring the girl next time. I’ll show
her a whole new world of hurt.”
She was surprised he didn’t try to
stop her as she fled. The door was unlocked and there was no one on the
landing. She clattered down the wooden stairs in her too-high heels and almost
fell out of the main door when it opened at her touch. She could hear Bright’s
laughter following her as she ran along the dark street, looking for answers to
questions she could not even remember asking.
Hayley was in the living room when
she got back to the flat, sitting with her legs crossed and watching the empty
space where they TV had always stood. Lana went to her daughter, but the girl
seemed dazed, out of it. Lana checked her arms for track marks, opened her
mouth and looked inside for the powder traces of pills. She found nothing, so
assumed this fugue was simply another symptom of her disorder, the condition
the doctors consistently failed to explain.
Finally, she carried Hayley through
to her room and lay her down on the single bed, pulling the covers over her
frail form and kissing her sweat-slick forehead. Sirens wailed in the distance,
tracking criminals along shadowy streets. Someone screamed a name, over and
over again, but Lana could not make out what it was. Eventually the shouting
faded, but the backbeat of dance music drifted on the evening air, its sonorous
moan synching with the rhythm of the blood as it throbbed in her veins.
Lana left her daughter and went to
the bathroom. She ran a bath and stood naked by the tub while it filled,
staring at her reflection in the steaming mirror. She lay in the bath and let
the badness boil out of her; the water buoyed her, kept her in the world,
floating like a dead fish. After scrubbing her flesh, inside and out, she sat
up and took the razor blade from the shelf, where it lay behind an old bottle
of baby lotion.
She stared at the veins on her
wrists, wondering if she would ever be able to do it. Then, carefully,
the school gates, playing with her friends. I think my friends would like to
play with her very much.”
Lana knew that she should rush him,
go for the throat, the eyes: attack the soft parts. But it was futile; he was
too strong, and had always possessed the upper hand. Right from the start, he’d
played her along, upping the odds until she came to him and offered him exactly
what he wanted and could have taken at any point. But he did not want to take;
it was the very act of offering that turned him on, made him shine.
“Where’s your compassion?” she said,
failing to penetrate his armour. “Your basic human decency?” She hated the
desperation in her voice, but it was all she had left to offer.
Bright stood and came out from
behind the desk. He was shorter than she remembered in his stocking feet;
barely came up to her shoulder once she’d put on her heels. His skin looked
soft, malleable, and his eyes protruded like boiled eggs from a face as flat
and round as a polished plate. Bright’s shoulders were hunched; his posture was
awkward, as if years of ingesting horse steroids and the mindless repetition of
punishing routines with heavy weights had altered his basic body shape. He
slowly raised his hands and began to slip off his shirt.
“For that, dear Lana, I’d have to be
human.”
The leather mask had prevented her
from seeing it before, but his naked body was a mass of lumps and abrasions.
They looked like ripe tumours: they dangled in clumps from beneath his armpits,
clustered around his nipples; made a ribbed embossment down his hairless belly.
There were mouths in there, amid the globules and curlicues of flesh, and eyes
that blinked uncomprehendingly. A nose or a sex gland twitched; snot or semen
spilled from its shiny, puckered end. It was a whole community of beings,
perhaps even the souls of the people he’d absorbed as repayment for debts even
greater than her own, loans whose rate of interest was infinite.
“Bring the girl next time. I’ll show
her a whole new world of hurt.”
She was surprised he didn’t try to
stop her as she fled. The door was unlocked and there was no one on the
landing. She clattered down the wooden stairs in her too-high heels and almost
fell out of the main door when it opened at her touch. She could hear Bright’s
laughter following her as she ran along the dark street, looking for answers to
questions she could not even remember asking.
Hayley was in the living room when
she got back to the flat, sitting with her legs crossed and watching the empty
space where they TV had always stood. Lana went to her daughter, but the girl
seemed dazed, out of it. Lana checked her arms for track marks, opened her
mouth and looked inside for the powder traces of pills. She found nothing, so
assumed this fugue was simply another symptom of her disorder, the condition
the doctors consistently failed to explain.
Finally, she carried Hayley through
to her room and lay her down on the single bed, pulling the covers over her
frail form and kissing her sweat-slick forehead. Sirens wailed in the distance,
tracking criminals along shadowy streets. Someone screamed a name, over and
over again, but Lana could not make out what it was. Eventually the shouting
faded, but the backbeat of dance music drifted on the evening air, its sonorous
moan synching with the rhythm of the blood as it throbbed in her veins.
Lana left her daughter and went to
the bathroom. She ran a bath and stood naked by the tub while it filled,
staring at her reflection in the steaming mirror. She lay in the bath and let
the badness boil out of her; the water buoyed her, kept her in the world,
floating like a dead fish. After scrubbing her flesh, inside and out, she sat
up and took the razor blade from the shelf, where it lay behind an old bottle
of baby lotion.
She stared at the veins on her
wrists, wondering if she would ever be able to do it. Then, carefully,
Similar Books
