The White Room by Martyn Waites Page B

harsh, like flesh dragged over broken glass. ‘If you love me, you’ll do it.’
    She looked at him, the knife-like smile still in place on his face. She kneeled down in front of Brimson, took his semi-limp penis in her hand.
    â€˜That’s right, pet,’ Brimson slurred, laughing, ‘give it a good clean.’
    The other two laughed.
    She bent into his crotch, took him in her mouth. He tasted as if he hadn’t washed for several days. She did as she had been bid, working at keeping his drunken erection, holding him in place until he came.
    She tried not to think about what she was doing. It became secondary. She thought of the word. It was the first time Brian had said it to her.
    Love.
    â€˜Me next,’ said Eddie. His trousers were already down to his ankles.
    She repeated the act with him, all the while trying to ignore the taste and the smell, trying to absent herself from her actions. Trying to focus on the one word:
    Love.
    That’s what Brian had said.
    She finished off Eddie, grimacing and trying to hide it, and stood up. She turned to face her boyfriend, found a smile, put it on.
    Gene Vincent sang of his baby love, his baby love, his baby love.
    Love.
    â€˜What about you, Brian? Your turn now?’
    He turned to her, eyes as cold and hard as the stone their house was built from.
    â€˜Whore.’
    A whisper. A venomous, disgusted whisper.
    â€˜Fucking whore. Slag. Fucking slag.’
    The words long-drawn-out, every syllable enunciated to its twisted maximum.
    He lifted his arm, drew it back to strike her. Monica dropped her head, cowered in fear before him. She let out an involuntary whimper.
    â€˜Howay, Brian, man.’ Brimson. ‘Divvent hit ’er, man. She’ll not do it again.’
    Brimson’s voice cut the tension in the room, broke the spell. Eddie tried to laugh. Brian turned to him as if seeing him for the first time. The laugh died on Eddie’s lips. At that moment Monica became aware of the relationship between the three men. Brian was the boss. Brian was the one the other two feared.
    Brian turned back to Monica, blinked.
    â€˜Get to bed.’
    Monica just stared at him.
    â€˜Bed.’
    Her lower lip trembling, her eyes beginning to moisten, she turned and made for the stairs.
    Alone in the bedroom she let it all out.
    She was still awake when, hours later, Brian came up to bed. She was on her side staring at the curtains, watching the new day appear, hoping that it would bring with it enough light to illuminate the dark corners.
    The bedsprings creaked as Brian slid beneath the blankets and sheets, moved in to her. She felt his erection poking in to her back, his hands roughly working their way between her buttocks, her thighs. His fingers probing her vagina, pulling it open. His penis forcing its way inside her. Skin on flesh; for the first time no rubber between them. The rough friction of his back and forth thrusts. The tremble in his abdomen, his thighs as he came inside her. The instant withdrawal and squeal of bedsprings as he flopped on his back. The tickle between her legs as his semen slowly trickled out of her. She heard his snores as he fell into instant sleep. She sighed. She didn’t move.
    She lay on her side staring at the curtains.
    He had said the word. He had told her he loved her. And even rough love was better than no love at all.
    She was watching the new day appear, hoping that it would bring with it enough light to illuminate dark corners.
    But doubting it.
    They all slept in the next day. Brian woke Monica, told her to get up, make him his breakfast. Fearing what would happen if she refused, she did as she was told.
    Downstairs in the cramped kitchen, she cooked him bacon and egg.
    Brimson and Eddie didn’t stir.
    â€˜I’ve been thinkin’,’ said Brian, forking a load of egg into his mouth, sucking the yolk in.
    She turned from the sink to face him. Stood expectantly.
    â€˜What you did last