Arriving home from school yesterday, I immediately flung open my wardrobe.
My very first date! I thought ebulliently. What on earth will I wear? He’s seen me in the vest and skirt. Maybe I should wear something that’s more tight-fitting. But not revealing—I shook my head—nothing that will make me look like a slut. Something that will make me look grown-up.
I laid several different outfits out on the bed. Finally I decided upon the navy blue pants and embroidered pale pink cardigan.
Next, I inspected my underwear drawer. Lace or cotton? I asked myself. Sexy or snug? I selected the pink push-up bra and matching g-string with the bits of lace on them.
Bryce won’t even get to see my underwear, anyway. No one’s going to get naked, I told myself. I’m not ready for that (I just had my first real kiss afterall) and Bryce will respect that decision. I only want to feel nice for him—womanly.
I tried passing the time by doing my homework. I had picked up that library book Ms Tamosel had put aside for me on Monday. I opened it and read a few paragraphs, took a few notes, but I couldn’t concentrate. I looked down at the spiral notebook on my lap. My work was barely legible.
I said out loud, “What is wrong with you? You have to hand this in on Thursday. No extensions permitted. It’s Thursday or it’s failure for you. Big time.”
After some sterner cajoling, I got stuck into it. I skipped dinner. Instead I drank hot tea and nibbled on a slice of unbuttered toast.
At 6:30 p.m. I shoved the books away, shoved the crumbs away and rushed into the bathroom, feeling panicked. I showered and dressed. I put my make-up on. I fretted with my hair. Up or down? I asked myself. Wavy or straight?
Back in my room, I studied myself in the full-length mirror. Finished?
Not quite.
I noticed Mum’s pearl necklace with its fancy silver clasp, and remembered that she had saved it for special occasions.
This is a special occasion, I thought. A date. Very special. Very rare.
I plucked it from atop the dressing table where it had been sitting, untouched, for five years. It looked beautiful on.
At a few minutes to eight I heard the extended blast of a car horn. It was my cue to switch off the lights (leaving the lounge room light on, because Dad’s planning to stay at home tonight to watch some TV and sink a few beers), lock the doors and dash outside onto the street.
The frigid air penetrated my clothes, biting every inch of my skin. I had goose bumps all over me. I was conscious of my nipples hardening and of how exceedingly bright the streetlight was.
I folded my arms over my breasts. Too late. Bryce had been watching me from the moment I stepped off the verandah.
I told myself not to be embarrassed. You want him to see that you’re a woman. A woman with much to offer, besides her brain. And this is one way to go about it.
So I lowered my arms and shivered involuntarily.
The driver’s window was wound down fully. Bryce was visible from the chest up. He was wearing a maroon turtleneck sweater and, I later saw, khaki corduroy pants. His hair was neatly tied back with an elastic band.
“I thought you’d keep me waiting,” I said. I leaned in through the open window and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
“Couldn’t,” he said.
“Glad to hear it.”
“It feels like a year since I saw you last,” he conceded.
“Only a year?”
I rounded the front of the car and got in. I went to put on my seatbelt.
“Just a minute,” he said. “Come here.”
I was suddenly bashful again. Like this was our first kiss.
I put my hand on his leg, scooted closer to him and thought, I have to be more assertive, and he took me in his arms and kissed me like he hadn’t kissed me in a year.
When we finally surfaced, I felt giddy from the lack of oxygen. My lips tingled.
“You’re freezing,” he sympathised, rubbing my arm to warm it.
I smiled at him. “I’m melting from the inside out.”
He smiled back. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
“You smell good,” he said huskily. He fingered the string of pearls, which I hoped he thought made me look more elegant, or at least more ladylike. Then his hand moved up and around to the nape of my neck; he began kneading the muscles there. “You look even better. I love your hair up like that.”
I shrugged nonchalantly, but ached all over with pleasure. “It’s a change,” I said as his fingers continued to work the muscles in my neck, like a sculptor moulding a statue, a fine work of art, out of clay. I moaned.
“Like that?” he asked.
“Feels great. But you deserve a massage, too.”
“Oh? Well, maybe I’ll let you give me one later on.”
“Um…I guess I can always try. I doubt my hands are as delicate and lissom as yours. I might strangle you instead.”
He chuckled. “You couldn’t strangle a fly.”
“No. Not a fly,” I agreed.
Bryce gently swatted my knee with his hand before returning it to the steering wheel. When I was safely buckled, he put the car into drive and accelerated.
“Where to?” I asked him.
“I was thinking my unit.”
“Oh? Oh, okay.” Did I sound disappointed?
“There’s plenty of food there. And drinks. I hope you haven’t eaten.”
“Only a little.”
For someone who’s never had a weight problem, I thought.
“Hope you have a sweet tooth,” he said jovially.
“I’m sure it’s somewhere back there.”
“Just the two of us,” he said, almost to himself. “It’ll be cosy.”
“Sure. I guess.”
“You don’t mind?”
“No. I mean, there’ll be no risk of anyone seeing us together, in each other’s company. Unless you have some real inquisitive neighbours,” I added.
“Justice,” he said, glancing my way. “Please, don’t sound so resentful.”
“I’m not resentful. I understand. And what I understand, I don’t like. But I can live with it. I have to, right?”
“Just for the time being—until you graduate.”
“That’s in two-and-a-half years,” I whined, sounding my age.
He patted my thigh reassuringly. “It’ll go by quickly.”
“Do you think that we’ll still be together by then?”
“Who knows? Anything can happen.”
I didn’t like the way he said that.
“And often does,” I added sullenly, but I don’t think he heard.
I gazed out the window as we shot past the lake. I thought briefly of Caleb and wished I hadn’t.
“Next time, maybe we can go out of town,” I ventured. How does Antarctica sound?
“Maybe. What did you tell your father?” asked Bryce.
“I told him I was going out with friends.” I hated the deception, but it was unavoidable.
He grinned. “The most original excuse, huh? He didn’t ask questions?”
“He was…subdued,” I said. “He didn’t create a fuss. I wasn’t going to take no for an answer, anyway. Where Dad’s concerned, I’m free to do whatever I please.”
Which is true, I thought.
“But he doesn’t know about me, does he? About us?”
I shook my head. “Nor will he know.” Ever.
Bryce’s unit is situated closer to the high school than I’d thought. In fact, when he drove me halfway home the other day, little did I know that he had to double back. He had known it and not cared.
The unit stands way back from the street, behind units one and two.
Before getting out of the car, I braced myself for what I might see. I expected to confront a replica of his poky office: paper or clothes strewn about, furniture sparse. But once we were inside, I discovered that it was exceptionally neat and orderly—and expensive-looking. He seemed to favour hallway mirrors and Persian design rugs.
“You obviously don’t work from home,” I remarked in jest, grinning.
Bryce grabbed me from behind and spun me around. “I work my charms from home,” he said. He then proceeded to nuzzle and kiss my neck.
Sounding a tad disenchanted, I asked, “So you do this often?”
“No. It’s been quite some time. I assure you, Justice, I don’t fall for just anyone.” He kissed me under the chin. “The person has to be special. They have to be unique.”
“Unique, as in odd?”
I felt him smile as he kissed me on the jaw-line. “Your behaviour can be odd,” he admitted.
“How so?”
“How many girls will punch a hole through a mirror?”
“Not too many, I guess.”
“How many girls will throw up in front of their teacher, then confess to being in love with him?”
I nodded, finally convinced. “All right. You win. I’m a lunatic.”
He pulled me stiflingly close. “You’re my lunatic.”
Bryce urged me onto the sofa where we cuddled and kissed.
His large dexterous hands travelled the length of my body. Sometimes they followed the curve of my hips. Sometimes they traced my inner thighs. And sometimes they cupped my breasts. But he never let them linger there for too long. He released them just at the right moment. Just when I started to feel that things were getting too intimate. Too out of hand.
He moaned, voicing my name repeatedly. He was definitely turned on; so was I. But I was more inclined to stop, even though, deep down, I didn’t really want to.
I was crushed beneath him, but he knew to lift his weight a little so that I was comfortable lying there.
After a long period of time I patted him on the chest, commanding him to stop. He pulled back at once, questioning me with his eyes.
“I saw you today,” I told him.
He licked his lips, absently coiled a strand of my hair round his finger. “I saw you, too.”
“You did? Whereabouts?” I wanted to know.
“On the hill beside the gym. You were sitting with someone. A girl with dark hair.”
“Yeah, that was Pander.”
“You’ve made friends with her?”
I nodded. “She’s really nice.”
“Isn’t she a year twelve student?”
“Yeah. And she’s always with her boyfriend. But today he was sick.”
“I’m glad you’ve found someone who’s nice and friendly.”
“There’s a shortage of friendly people, I know.”
“Not here, there isn’t. I’m extremely friendly.” He went to kiss me again, but I covered his mouth with my uninjured hand.
“Wait. When you saw me, what was your initial thought?”
“I thought, there’s a girl with a lot of incredibly straight hair.”
I pouted. “Really?”
“My next thought was of how much I love that hair, and how I couldn’t wait to smell it and run my hands through it. Better?”
“Much. Okay, now it’s my turn.”
“For what?”
“I saw you, too, remember?”
“Mmm.”
“You were walking with Mr Weevil. I overheard the two of you talking about trailers and skiffs?”
Bryce nodded. “The Year Nine camp is next week. I’ll be supervising it, along with several other faculty members.”
“You’re going away? For how long?”
“Five days. But—”
“I know. Don’t tell me. It’ll go by quickly.” I tried sitting up. “Bryce, I seriously doubt that.”
He put his hand on my shoulder, forcing me back down so my head was once again resting on the jumble of sofa cushions. “I have a duty to fulfil,” he said.
“But I want you to supervise me.”
“I can supervise you every other day.”
“I know, but—”
He smothered the words with another kiss.
This time his actions were more ambitious—more needy. The kiss went on and on until I thought his desire would suffocate me.
I realised, that this is the way I want to die. I want to be kissed to death. I want to be asphyxiated by history’s most passionate kiss.
Maybe I’ll write a poem about it.
When it was over, I told him as much.
First, Bryce smiled at me, as if he appreciated the way my mind worked. Then, gradually, the smile disappeared. He just stared into my eyes for a moment before climbing off me.
“What?” I demanded.
“That’s morbid.”
I sat up. “Morbid? Really? I thought it was idealistic myself.”
“Idealistic? Tell me something, Justice. Do you fantasise about death? About dying?”
“What?”
What made him ask me that? I wonder now. Do I look the suicidal type? When people look at me, do they normally think to themselves: Now there’s a girl who wishes herself dead?
“Never mind.” He got to his feet. “I haven’t been much of a host so far. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“I think I’ll have a beer,” he muttered.
“Bryce?” I grabbed his wrist before he could leave. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing. Forget it.”
“You know I won’t forget it.”
He clutched my hand, silently telling me to let go of his wrist. I did so, reluctantly. Then he sat back down beside me, but he didn’t face me. He propped his elbows on his knees. He combed his fingers through his hair. “My last girlfriend died three years ago,” he explained quite out of the blue. “She drowned.”
“God, Bryce. How awful. I’m so sorry.”
Well that explains why he doesn’t date much, I thought.
He nodded. “Death is not an ideal component of life.”
No. Not an ideal component of life, I thought. I see it more as an ideal remedy for life.
Life can be a sickness, an affliction on the face of the planet, for which death is the only cure. Dad’s life, for instance. Perhaps mine.
“I know. If what I said upset you, I’m sorry.”
“It did upset me,” he said. “It still upsets me.”
“My mother died when I was only eleven,” I told him. “She… opted to go.”
“Jesus.”
“He didn’t stop her from leaving me.”
“What about your father?”
“He never discouraged her, either.”
Bryce was shocked.
“Yeah. She blundered the first two times, because they were able to resuscitate her, pump her stomach and give her a life-saving blood transfusion. Then… she’d been dead almost forty-eight hours when they found her. She’d settled on a nice quiet place where no one was likely to disturb her. Remembered to leave her mobile at home.” I coughed. “Third time lucky, I guess. Or it was simply well-planned.”
Or she acquired some help from her darling hubby, I thought.
Bryce looked unwell. “Justice…”
“Every fifteen minutes someone attempts suicide. Every four hours someone succeeds. Then there are those who think about it twenty-four-seven. I don’t blame Mum for what she did. Sure, there are other ways of coping. Therapy. Divorce. Whatever. But it’s really all about escaping, permanently, and not having to cope.”
“Why did she do it?”
I shrugged. “She had it tough. Certain people made it tough for her.”
“But you were her little girl. How could she have possibly abandoned you?”
“You’re sweet to say that. But it wasn’t about me, Bryce. And people we love do leave. All the time. You know it yourself.”
“It’s not fair.”
“I believe it’s what makes us stronger beings. And sometimes we’re better off without them. Sometimes,” I added quietly. I shook my head, uttered a strange laugh. “Listen to me. I sound like I’m ninety years old or something.”
“You’ve had a lot to endure.”
“A lot sounds like so little to my ears.”
“But you are strong, Justice. You have your health and your sanity. You certainly have knowledge and wisdom. You have the fundamental makings of a true survivor.”
“They’re all useless unless you happen to love life. Have an insatiable thirst for it. And anyway, how do you know I’m not insane? The mind’s a complex thing. You don’t know what it could be concealing. It’s like a minefield.”
“A minefield?”
“Think about it,” I said. “The mind’s the field. The thoughts and the emotions—rage, paranoia, fear—are the explosive devices that have the proclivity to annihilate people. Just like that.”
“Interesting perspective,” he said. “So what do we do? Tiptoe round our emotions to avoid hurting people?”
“Not so much tiptoe as be careful where you tread. Confront your emotions—don’t sidestep them—and deal with them before they expunge you. Or someone you know.”
“You’re a very discerning young woman, Professor.”
“Just call me Doctor, thank you.”
He leaned forward and kissed me, very affectionately. Then he sat back, turned and faced the television; the screen was blank.
I touched him on his shoulder. “Good film is it?”
“I’m sorry. I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“I’m thirty-one now,” he answered, looking sideways at me. “Did you know that?”
“Thirty-one? I thought you were at least forty.”
Bryce didn’t smile. “I’m fifteen years older than you. I was only six months older than my previous girlfriend.” He laughed suddenly, but it sounded forced, dry.
I wanted to know what he was laughing at. He just shook his head, as if to rid it of superfluous thoughts. “It’s nothing.”
“You’re laughing at us, aren’t you?”
“Age shouldn’t matter,” he said.
“But it matters to you.”
He turned and held my hands. I didn’t hold his. His hands were warm, unlike my own, which were deathly cold.
“No,” he said. “Not in this instance. What matters to me is your safety and welfare. You don’t realise how vulnerable you are, Justice.”
“Yes, I do. I’m not naïve. But sometimes…sometimes I can’t help being foolish and impulsive.”
“Are you being foolish now? Being here with me?”
“No. I told you, I don’t regret a thing.” I paused to analyse his handsome face. With a puckered brow, he looked more than a little confused about something. Was he already having second thoughts about us? I wondered. “Do you?” I asked him.
He went to reply but then he stopped himself.
“What are you not telling me, Bryce?”
“I can’t promise you that you’ll never be hurt, Justice. I can’t promise you that.”
“What makes you think I’ll be the one to get hurt? It might be that I end up hurting you.”
“I only wish.”
“Bryce, I’m not going to hurt you. And I kind of like to think that you’re not going to hurt me.”
“It’s not just me you have to worry about.”
“Now you’re beginning to upset me.”
Again, he didn’t say anything.
“Maybe I should go,” I suggested.
“Don’t.”
“Yes. I think I will.” I pulled my hands from his and stood. “I can walk. You have a lovely place, Bryce. I love what I got to see of it anyway.”
I was reaching for the doorknob when he grasped me by the shoulders and tried twisting me around.
“No, Bryce!” I yelled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I raced outside. He called my name twice, but I didn’t stop.
The long dark streets were an unexpected blessing. There was little traffic on the roads. I leapt a hundred or so kerbs. I weaved in and out of a million or so parked cars. I took a short cut through the park. To my right, the glassy lake reflected the waning opalescent moon. Tears blinded me. I misjudged the height of a step, tripped, and went sprawling face-first. I had the wind knocked out of me.
I lay there sobbing for a while and trying to catch my breath.
How did things get like this? I asked myself. Why did I run away? I need Bryce. I really need him.
Just talking to him, being near him, has a powerful effect on me. He makes me feel so good, so worthwhile.
But why did we have to go and argue like that and wreck everything? Now look where I am. Head in the grass, trying to hide from the—
Suddenly I felt hands on me. One hand was clamped to the back of my head, pushing my face deeper into the sodden earth. The other was busy fiddling with the button on the front of my pants.
“Bryce?” I mumbled into the ground. “What are you doing?”
There was no response, only heavy breathing.
The hand at my pants jerked downward. My face shot up for a split second. “Hey!” I cried, then I was tasting dirt again.
I tried to roll over, to sit up, to shove the hands away. But the person was too strong, too well-built for me to push them back.
Or maybe they’re just in a better position to fight, I reasoned. Him on top, me on the ground, flat on my stomach. Plus, he took me completely by surprise.
I hadn’t prepared myself for an attack—hadn’t anticipated one. I was at a disadvantage. I had no hope. Not a hope in the world of coming out of this unscathed.
This—my first sexual experience.
“Not like this,” I whispered. “Please, no.”
I fought, I resisted, but to no avail. I just made myself incredibly weak and at his mercy.
More tears worked their way to the corners of my mouth. My arms were bent painfully behind my back. Cold air hit the tops of my legs and buttocks. Then I felt my g-string get tugged down. Wet grass tickled my crotch, making me gasp.
Something—his ‘short arm’, I thought outrageously— impaled me the exact moment that I screamed. The pressure placed on the back of my head increased. I heard grunting. The pain inside me was acute. It went all the way through me like a huntsman’s spear.
Then, in a matter of seconds, it was over. I had lost my virginity. Not deflowered by a gentle loving beau, but depraved and violated by a vicious uncaring rapist.
The rapist dismounted my back, like a rider dismounting a spent animal. “Whore,” he spat.
Not Bryce, I thought, although I felt no relief, only despair and a vast quantity of anger.
I half lifted my head off the ground, finally able to breathe—
And saw a boy dashing away from me, clearly exposed by the school’s floodlights.
Caleb.