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Taryn
THE PERSON—THE MAN, it’s a man—shoves me toward a cubicle. I trip and fall heavily, catching my shin. I cry out and spin round, trying to get away.
He’s not speaking now. The man. Do I know his voice? It’s not Teddy or Jaidev, I know that. Trent’s voice is too high. But...but I can’t think as fear courses through my veins.
The man grabs my arm, yanking me to the right and then backward.
I scream and fight against him, but—the toilet. He’s pushing me toward the toilet.
“Get off me! Help!”
The toilet bowl gets closer. The lid is up.
No! But I know what he’s going to try and do. Know because I’ve seen it in films and books. The stereotype of bullying that I never thought actually happens.
But this, oh God. This is going to happen.
He grabs my shoulders and hauls me up. I try to twist and manage to scratch his wrists and one of his arms. He swears at me. Then he grabs me by my hair, a fistful, forcing my head closer, closer, closer.
Fear floods me.
He is going to do it.
Scream!
Maybe Teddy will hear me. Or someone.
But the thought of opening my mouth, so close to the toilet bowl, has me shaking even more.
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” An accent. Irish. A bad Irish accent? He’s putting it on? When he grabbed me in the corridor, I don’t think he spoke with an accent. Or if he did, I didn’t notice it. “Think you can just dance your way to the top, even though I know what you are? And soon, everyone will.”
My chest rises and falls too quickly.
“Please,” I whisper, then clamp my mouth tightly shut again. I get ready to hold my breath, but my chest shudders, and then I’m crying.
He laughs.
His hands shove me forward, and I scream involuntarily, try to move, but he forces my head into the bowl. No, no, no! I try to move away, throwing all my weight backward, but he’s pressing right against me. The cold rim of the ceramic bowl presses into the base of my throat, hard, bruising. The stench of piss fills my nostrils and—
Water. Spraying. The roar of it in my ears. Pouring over me.
I scream, another instinctual reaction. Cold water invades me. More and more of it. So much of it. I can’t breathe. Water in my throat, my lungs. Choking, spluttering. Gasping for breath, more water.
Stinging. My eyes. Can’t breathe.
Can’t breathe.
I try and move away, but he’s still there. I struggle against him—another torrent of water around my head.
More and more of it.
Until it...stops.
I fall back, shaking, crying. Water on the floor, everywhere. My hair—suddenly I feel it all in my hair. The toilet water and...and bacteria and....
My vision is blurry. But I see him, standing over me. A dark shape. The black balaclava. White skin around his eyes. He’s laughing. But then he stops.
“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he snarls. Still that stupid attempt at an Irish accent. He moves away, out of the cubicle, out of sight.
His footsteps disappear.
Then the outer door clicks. Shuts again.
I listen, my heart pounding.
Am I alone?
My tears come fast. Huge, shuddering tears. Tears I can’t stop.
And it sounds silly, but suddenly I feel my sister’s presence. Feel her concern. Her anger. Her annoyance at me.
You were wrong, she says.
And I know I was.
It wasn’t Marion or Victoria, because whoever has this vendetta against me is still at Roseheart.