Last Rites by Neil White

closer all she could see was his dark shadow, the room filled with the rasping breaths emanating from under the hood.
    He didn't move as he stood and looked down at her.
    Sarah thought of her parents, and she felt tears choke her up. She took a deep breath, tried to swallow them away, and asked, ‘What do you want me to do?’ When he didn't respond immediately, she added, ‘I'll do what you want, if you'll just let me go.’ Her voice broke as she pleaded with him and a tear ran down her cheek.
    ‘Take off your clothes,’ he said, his voice deep and muffled, almost gravelly.
    Sarah closed her eyes and grabbed the open neck of her shirt, pulling it tight. This was it now, the reason, what it was all about. Just close your eyes, she told herself. Don't think about it. Give him what he wants, and then get out. She started to shake, felt her chin tremble, more tears on her cheek. She took a deep breath and shook her head, tried to find some reserves of courage.
    He took one step forward. Sarah took one step back.
    ‘Why are you doing this?’ she shouted at him.
    He kept on walking towards her. Sarah stepped back again, but the wall stopped her. She could smell cigarettes on him, rolling tobacco, strong, pungent.
    Sarah looked down and reached for the top button of her shirt.
    ‘Don't hurt me,’ she screamed, and then she began to sob, unable to stop herself. She flicked at the button, her hands trembling, and the top of her shirt fell open. It was one of Luke's shirts and it was too big for her. She flicked at the next button and felt the coldness of the room against her breasts. She was exposed to him, goose-pimples across her chest, and she could smell oil on him, and sweat.
    Sarah yelped as he grabbed her chin and made her look at him. She could see only the black cloth of the hood, moving in and out faster now, his breaths deeper.
    He grabbed at the next button down, his fingers rough and dry. Her cleavage was flecked with sweat despite the cold. He ran his finger between her breasts and rubbed the moisture between his fingers. It seemed almosttender, caring, and then he said softly, ‘If you don't do as I say, I'll hurt you.’
    Sarah choked on a sob, and as she closed her eyes, she steeled herself, tried not to think about what she was doing.
    She undid the rest of her buttons and let the shirt fall to the floor. She looked down, saw the dirt on her jeans. She undid them and let them fall to her ankles, stepping out of them so that she was naked in front of him. She felt exposed, vulnerable, so she put her arms across her chest and pressed her thighs together. Make it quick, she thought, and looked at the ceiling. Don't make it hurt. Just do it and let me go. Please.
    Sarah opened her eyes when she heard movement. He was no longer there. She stepped away from the wall just as he came back into the room, except that this time he was carrying something. A hosepipe.
    She was confused at first, but then she looked down and saw how dirty she was. Her skin looked mottled and cold, and her legs were soiled from when she had been trapped in the box.
    She cried out as the blast of water hit her. It was icy, the stream coming at her like a punch. Sarah twisted, tried to get out of its way, but it followed her. The dirt around her feet turned into mud. She thought she heard someone else in the room, but maybe it was the water bouncing off the walls. It smacked into her chest, against her legs, her stomach. She cried out but the sound was lost in the noisy rush of water.
    Then the water stopped. Sarah gasped with cold as the water dried on her body, her hair still dripping wet.
    He moved towards her, his boots squelching in the mud. She didn't look up, just cried and flinched when she felt his hands on her shoulders. They felt warm and clammy against her frozen skin.
    ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked, her teeth chattering with cold.
    ‘I do it because I like it,’ he replied. ‘Isn't that a good enough