Six weeks earlier
He comes into the bathroom and watches me as I shower. I try to shield the parts of myself that I don’t want him to see. He removes his robe and climbs into the cubicle with me. Behind me, he kisses my neck and pushes me against the tiles. I draw my arms into my sides and wait for him to finish whatever it is he is doing.
He washes himself and then leaves. I continue washing, even though the water has gone cold. I scrub hardest at the parts where his body touched mine.
We have lunch together and he watches me eat. I feel like no matter what I do, he is watching me, even when I am alone.
After lunch, he suggests we go to London for a weekend away. I can go shopping and he can catch up with some business partners there. I smile and nod. I don’t need any more clothes, but it’s better just to accept his suggestions or he gets angry.
I never quite know what will make him angry and so it’s better just to say yes to everything, or at least not to say no. I try not to look at the clock on the wall. He has already told me he is going out later on, so all I have to do is play happy families and wait. He will be gone soon enough.
I keep my gaze fixed on my book. My eyes scan the text and I turn the pages at the right times, but I can’t tell anyone what this story is about. I am thinking about something else entirely. I am thinking about escaping.
I wait for ten minutes after he has left to make sure he is gone. I keep my book in my hand the whole time in case I have to get back into character.
I call a taxi. I have ten minutes to get my things together. I don’t want to take much. I have a bag hidden in the back of the wardrobe with some clothes inside. Simon has got passports; I don’t know where or how he got them. Still, I won’t allow myself even to hope that I can get away until it has actually happened.
The taxi ride is short and it’s only a short wait for the bus. Simon has given me a pay-as-you-go phone to contact him with. I made sure it was charged earlier this morning.
I try to suppress the excitement building inside me, but it’s almost impossible. Is this really happening? Can I really get away? My mother got away and so it can be done. I heard him tell her countless times that she belonged to him and he would find her wherever she went – then when she finally did go, he did nothing. Could I be so lucky?
I get off the bus and Simon is waiting for me. I try not to run towards him, but the excitement pushes me forwards. We hug and he brushes my hair out of my face. I never thought I could ever feel love, but maybe this feeling I have for Simon is love. I don’t know. I feel safe with him, something I am not sure I have ever felt before.
We go back to his apartment. As I cross the threshold to his flat, I get a bad feeling, as though someone is watching. I shake it off; there is no way R knows where I am. He wouldn’t even be home yet. We have to get going before he gets back to our house, though, because I don’t think it will take that long for him to find me here. I don’t have friends.
Simon tells me we have to go and visit his friend Leon, who is holding onto the passports for him. He was worried that R would figure it out and do something to him. Told me that if anything happened to him then I could get the passport from Leon Quick.
Simon’s bag is on his bed; he shows me the cash he has stashed inside. I don’t care about money, but I know that we need it to get away. He tells me my father will never hurt me again. I want to believe him, I really do.
I reach up and touch Simon’s face. I don’t know how much time we have but it feels right. He leans forward and kisses me again, and I kiss him back. In the back of my mind, I don’t truly believe we will escape. A part of me even wonders if I am awake and out of bed yet. Getting this far always felt like such an impossibility.
I push him onto the bed and climb on top of him, kissing his neck. We make love on the bed. I have never slept with anyone besides R. It’s different, it’s nice.
As we go to leave the apartment, I smell something; something familiar that makes my hair stand on end. R smokes these brown cigarillos. They aren’t very common, and I just know he is close by and that he knows.
He told the truth about me never getting away. It took him less than three hours to find me. There is nothing I can do now. He is here and it’s over. Does he have someone following me around? I wonder if Simon has realised we have been found. I should never have dragged him into this.
The front door bursts open with such force I let out a yelp. One of R’s men has kicked it at the lock. R walks in and two men in black knitted masks follow behind. I smooth my clothes and hair instinctively, hoping my appearance doesn’t displease him. As if somehow that will save me. I realise instantly how stupid that is. I don’t feel like I recognise the men, but then I rarely go onsite anymore and of course I can’t see their faces.
They each grab one of Simon’s arms and restrain him as R approaches me. There is no point playing games anymore. R looks and sees the bags on the floor by the door; he knows we are running away together.
My cheek burns before I even notice R’s hand as he swipes it across my face with such force it affects my hearing. My ear is ringing. I stumble, grabbing onto the doorframe for support.
R grabs a fistful of my hair and drags me into the bedroom. The men follow, pulling Simon along with them. I wonder if R can tell we slept together.
I watch as Simon futilely begs for my safety, not for himself, which makes me sad; he doesn’t deserve what’s about to happen. I know if I say anything, if I defend Simon in any way, that it will just make things worse. When R is angry like this my protests never help.
R tells the other men to hit Simon and he instructs me to watch. R says he is making an exception for me. He doesn’t usually get involved in the dirty work, but he wanted to see how this played out.
He doesn’t look at Simon as they hit him – he looks at me. He wants me to know this is all my fault. He doesn’t need to press the point home. I already know.
Within a few minutes, Simon is unrecognisable. That’s when I first see the gun. R is holding it, pointing it directly in Simon’s face. I can’t help but let out a sob and he cuffs me across the face with his other hand.
I see the fear go from Simon, a look of acceptance on his face. I recognise that face – I have worn it enough times.
R lets out a belly laugh and then raises the arm that’s holding the gun, allowing it to spin in his hand so that he is holding the barrel. He strikes at Simon, hitting him with the butt until Simon collapses on the floor, bleeding. His hand reaches out to me, either asking me to intervene, or just a final attempt to run away together – a delusion of hope.
My face is soaked with tears. I call R a bastard and he smiles. I tell him if he doesn’t let Simon go that I will run again; if he does, I will stay. R tells me that he’s done with me. That I am more trouble than I am worth. That I just don’t listen. That I belong to him.
I spit in his face and he slaps me again. He tells me he has to go, but that neither Simon nor I will ever get the chance to betray him again. He uses his fist this time when he hits me and I fall to the ground.
R turns to the men and tells them to take us both to the site on the business park and put us in the foundations. I listen helplessly. I am not sure if I hear R correctly, but he takes one of the men to the side and tells him that he wants Simon to suffer when we reach our destination. He wants him to make Simon his bitch before he kills him. I know R well enough to know what this means.
Simon is looking at me and I see him mouth the word sorry, as if he has anything to be sorry about. I am the one who should be sorry. I caused all this.
Reece leaves and we are dragged to the back of a van and bundled inside. After a while the van slows and I realise we must be on residential streets judging by our speed. I can hear them saying they are bringing us to the building site. The foundations for the community rock garden are being laid in the week and they can put us there. We need to get away. I watch Simon drift in and out of consciousness, his face swollen and disfigured, gashes where the metal of the gun hit his temple and jaw and tore through the skin.
As we are driving, we go over a large bump in the road, maybe a stray log or tree, and I feel the van tilt and rumble as they try to carry on driving. The tyre has blown. The men in the van start to argue. They stop the van and get out, opening the side door. I play possum and pretend to be unconscious as they start working on the tyre.
I can hear them arguing at the front of the van. It’s the front tyre. The back doors are ajar – it’s almost as if they have forgotten what is in the back of the van. I jostle Simon until he wakes. He is punch-drunk, but he understands when I tell him we have a chance to go.
We get out of the van and run, the sound of the men’s angry voices fading behind us. I vaguely recognise these roads: we are in Exeter. Maybe if we slip through the brush and walk along the river we can get to the quay and call for help.
It’s dark and the temperature has dropped. I feel cold and dizzy. I don’t know where we are anymore and Simon is barely moving behind me. I hear him fall in the water and I stop. He is too heavy for me to lift. I pull and pull but he doesn’t move. I try to wake him, but he is gone. I don’t have time to mourn and so I keep limping ahead, convinced that I can hear the men hot on my trail.
After what feels like forever labouring through the thickets along the bank on my own, I grow weaker without even noticing, the adrenaline wearing off and the pain kicking in. I am struggling but determined. I can see lights and try to get up a bank to get to the houses nearby and call for help.
I hear a car on the road and become convinced it’s my father’s men, come back to finish me. I crouch down as low as I can go to hide behind some bushes. I see the roof of the van as they stop and look around. I hear them calling out my name playfully as though we are playing a game of hide-and-seek.
I huddle to keep warm and rest my head against the bank, the fog in my mind taking me over. I feel powerless to stop myself from passing out as the last drops of energy leave my body.