Treasa, 2009
Treasa wanted to die. Of that, she was certain.
She didn’t know how long she’d been in the cellar, but it had been a while.
She did know that her family would be looking for her.
There’d be some who’d have written her off. ‘Ah, that’s Treasa for you. She’s always on the rip. Probably gone off to Ibiza for two weeks.’
But her father would know something was wrong. Treasa rang him every day, no matter where she was or what she was doing. One time, she’d got on the wrong train out of Budapest and ended up travelling to Russia with nothing but her passport, a travellers cheque worth about €50 and a packet of ecstasy tablets stuffed in her bra. And she’d still managed to find a phone to ring him and tell him she was fine – though it had required giving some old lad in the last carriage a blowjob.
She had to ring her dad daily. He worried about her so much. Ever since … well, they didn’t talk about that.
Eric would look for her too. Their relationship had been turbulent of late. It had started off as a bit of fun; she’d met him at a foam party in Lanzarote, for Christ’s sake. But then he’d moved to Ireland to work in pharmaceuticals, of all the luck, in her hometown in Cork. She introduced him to a few nightclubs in the city, then they started to meet up regularly. He was fun, but as soon as it became apparent that he was looking to get serious, she’d felt the familiar panic. She couldn’t go down that route. He was lovely, but she couldn’t do it. Not again.
Treasa had a reputation to maintain. She was the mad party animal, unable to commit, looking to shag all around her. Her friends had got annoyed with her over Eric. He was marriage material – tall, dark, a great sense of humour and a fantastic job. They made a great match. Treasa was a beauty – even she knew that, but not in a cocky way. It was just something she had always been. Long blonde hair, big blue eyes and full red lips. She and Eric could have had stunning-looking children.
Her circle of friends were all in their thirties and biological clocks were ticking. What, exactly, was she waiting for, they asked her?
But they didn’t understand.
Few people in her life these days knew about Kevin, her soul-mate. He’d died when they were both twenty-one. Just dropped dead on the GAA pitch while playing hurling. Sudden adult death syndrome, they called it.
Fewer still knew that he’d proposed to her the night before. Even though they were still so young and even though neither of them had ever been with anybody else.
‘You’ll get bored of me,’ Treasa had laughed. ‘You’ll want to be off shagging all around you when you’re up winning all-Ireland finals in Croke Park.’
‘Never,’ he’d said, serious, those big brown eyes she loved holding hers. ‘How could I stop loving the most beautiful girl in the world? Who could hold a candle to you?’
And the next day he was gone. She’d stood beside his coffin in the church, her hand in her pocket fingering the silver claddagh ring he’d placed on her finger hours before he died.
So, no. Treasa couldn’t settle with anybody else. And, yes, she partied – she had to do something to dull the pain.
His life had been cruelly taken from him. But she had wasted hers. She’d grown to hate herself. What would Kevin have thought of her? He was the first boy she’d ever even kissed, let alone anything else. Now, she couldn’t count the number of men she’d slept with. Her life had spiralled and nothing she did numbed the pain any more.
This man, this animal that had taken her, he didn’t know anything about her – how she really felt, the thoughts in her head, the dreams that haunted her. Even though he thought he did. He kept calling her a slut and a whore. Sometimes he beat her. Other times, he tried to be gentle. Giving her food. Telling her he loved her. It was all an act. He was a twisted, sick, evil bastard.
Why had she got into his car? Why hadn’t she fought more when he drove her here? She’d left work feeling a little better than usual. She was off the following day and was going to pop to the shops to get some clothes for her next holiday, which wouldn’t be far away.
And suddenly, all decisions were taken away from her.
The worst thing about being in the cellar was that it had given her time to think, to reflect.
Her kidnapper didn’t realise that he wasn’t the scariest thing in her world. No. That was what was in her head. She’d done everything to avoid spending too much time on her own for so many years. Now, she had nothing but time. And sober, to boot. She’d come to a conclusion.
She wanted him to kill her.
Something inside her had died when Kevin did. Perhaps she should have had that grief counselling that was offered. It was shock, they said. But it was more than that. Her heart had shattered into a million pieces. Nobody she’d loved had ever died – even both sets of grandparents had still been alive back then. The concept that anybody – especially somebody her age that she worshipped – could just drop dead, blew her mind. And it wasn’t just that Kevin was gone. Her whole future had gone with him. The second time she’d tried to take her own life, they wanted her to talk to somebody, but she couldn’t. She was afraid that what she had to say would sound so mad they’d stick her in a padded white room.
Yes, she loved her parents, her dad especially. But it was time for it all to stop. And this way, they wouldn’t blame her. They wouldn’t know that in the end, she was glad. She hadn’t betrayed them by doing it herself. It had been done to her.
She wanted to get off this merry-go-round of pain.
Please, she thought. Please. Just make it stop.