seventy

Lunchtime next day came too slowly and by the position of the sun I could tell that Justine was late. Justine was never late. I finally heard her footsteps echo down the corridor. Imprisonment in a room meant footsteps now were always precursors to her presence, were always how she made herself first felt.

It was my turn to play. Possum. I lay down on the bed, my arms dangling over the sides as if I were unconscious. The metal of the knife concealed in my left hand was sticking hotly to the flesh of my palm. I listened to the key turn in the lock and the door open. The sound of her footsteps clipping on the wooden floor as she crossed the room stopped abruptly. I, on the other hand, felt calm in this new black world where Justine had become reduced to a series of arrhythmic sounds. I heard her put the tray down on the floor, too loudly. I had unnerved her. Her grandmother footsteps started up again.

Justine’s breath smelt of lilies as she bent down over me.

In another world she would have been about to kiss me.

I swiftly brought up my arms about her neck as if in an embrace. I could hear her inhale sharply in surprise. With my eyes still shut I stabbed her sharply in the side of the neck. I could feel the metal of the knife penetrate the surface of the skin, meet bone. I had expected her to collapse. Instead Justine began to grapple with my body with what seemed superhuman strength. It was as if my action had created a monster.

I opened my eyes to be met with her face bearing down directly above me. It shone with beatific joy. It made her beauty seem demonic. The knife stuck out of the side of her neck like a bolt.

We fell from the bed on to the floor, our bodies intimately intertwined. I screamed out loud as the chain pulled my leg violently and painfully taut. Her body was muscular and powerful, resistant to all my attempts to subdue it. Relentless arms pulled back mine, her legs kicked up into my groin, her head butted into my face, forcing the back of my skull to bang hard against the floor. Pinioned to the floor, I looked up into her clear all-seeing eyes. My eyes slowly filled with tears.

Astride my prone body she stood up to her full height and looked down at me. Reaching up her hand to her neck, with a cursory movement she pulled out the knife.

She didn’t flinch. The knife came out unstained – the only trace of a neck-wound was the faint outline of a hole in the shape of a heart.

‘That was a mistake,’ she said.

She picked up the tray of untouched food and took it out of the room, locking the door behind her. Long after she had gone, I could still hear her footsteps echo down the corridor.