Up the stairs. Into the room. Take your knickers off, he says. Slams the door and Oh God the state of the place. I missed you, I say. It’s nice that you care but you’re here to fuck aren’t you or why are you here? Don’t be like that. He drops his coat You can take your knickers off or you can go, either is fine by me. So there’ll be nothing like kindness between us tonight. Acquiescing the bargain, I tug at my tights, shy with his watching. Him, much tightened, gripping hold. Kissing full on but kissing cold. He’s off into this, I think, on his own, just with my body too. And it’s stripped impatiently like I’m a bold child. Fingers in til That hurts. Get on the bed. So I lie down to become bits of girl for him and one who’s going to have it bad. The fear of it though, what it will spoil. I switch from myself into her and he knows. Don’t fucking look at me that way, turn on your front. Then a rage at his belt. Fucking come on. Let me do it. Shut the fuck up. What? Just be quiet, and he gets it. Kneels down and Turn over, I said. So I give him the body, hope it is the trick but he takes it so hard and Christ you’re tight! Light streaking across the ceiling from the cars in the street as I struggle. Don’t you like it? You’re scaring me now. I’m just fucking you, he says No need for alarm. Something though. He eases off then. Lies himself down on my back. Does things with his mouth — which may or may not be a bite — but how he touches me makes my whole body soft, collapsing me onto my front. What’s wrong? I ask. Don’t, he says You ask so much. Then far again and hard as he can. Too much, I Too much you’re hurting me. Well now you know how it feels. What? Do you think this is easy? What is? Shut up, he says Shut up shut up, until I gasp with the take. How long will this be? Can I manage? Please not so deep. But the way he is. He. Fuck! and he comes. No! I NO! Ripping free. Him insisting at it as I claw from beneath. Turn, chaos-blind, and slap him in the face. Like woke, he Fuck! I hit him again How fucking dare you do that! He slumps against the wall, dick in his hand. He knows what he did and won’t meet my eye or look at his come making trails down my thigh. Race. Run. Get it out.
Now the lightless hall sings sanctuary from the frenzy left in there. But crouched in the loo I start to cry — no fucking toilet roll either. Don’t. Be grown-up now. Hunt the dressing-gown pocket. Used tissue there. Wipe it out. Take a breath, and myself, right back in.
Gloom. Him. Thin and long cat limbs stretched wrong-way on the bed. Limp in the aftermath. Head to the side. Wash between my legs. The anger though. He is not allowed and I can trespass too. So in the black, sit. Asleep or awake? Run a hand up him and take hold of it. Damp shrunk back in its bad self but I begin the graft. Soon there’s life and rub until — despite the drink — it’s hard. Flicker his lids up and What are you at? almost scared then Fuck! he knows what. Don’t you speak to me, I say and silent so, he lies. Only once reaches across and sounding like his old self asks Can I touch you too? No. I no to whatever he wants. Avoid his grasp. Still, he strokes my wrist. More tenderness in that caress than anything else this night. Although drink holds him off, I keep on until he does. Little, this time. Fragile almost. Spilt on me. I don’t care. Mess it into that dark hair. Gentle, he says but I do what I want and when it’s over, neither blinks. Or knows what to think about what’s gone on in here tonight. Just sit dishevelled, sore and drunk. At last, he says I’m going to sleep. Then go to fucking sleep, I say. But watch him fall off, far from me. Brush the hair back from his cheek. Its fine bones. His open lips. Beautiful for a man, I think, and know, I am afraid. If he was awake, I’d lie on his chest. Make him tell me it’s alright, even if it’s probably not. Not for me. Not for him. A half-way though is take his hand and in his sleep he squeezes mine. It is the best that can be done.
Later on, he climbs across. Naked, goes out. There’s throwing up. Under lowered lashes watch him falter back. Rinse in the sink. Mirror stare. No relief in water from what he sees there. You awake? he asks. I pretend I’m not as he slips in by again. Then warm and drunk, tired and scared, fall asleep together.
Rise up to morning from hours of dead. I open my eyes. You were snoring, he says. Sorry. I examine his face. Him examining mine. Quiet and grave as close we lie, shattered by the night. Its afters spread in the early light but link our hands beneath the quilt. Palm to palm like silent prayer. Soft and with more feeling, I think, than we know how to say. Soon enough though it’s too bright to hide. You came in me. He closes his eyes I know I’m sorry for everything last night will I take you to the. No tell me what happened? What does it matter now? I should never have called. Tell me? I sit up but following me he goes Fuck! What? He backs from the bed. Oh fuck oh fuck look what I did. I look and all down my arms skin pushes forth purple bruise. Oh. Jesus fucking Christ, he says I’m so sorry I’m so sorry. I forgive you, I say. Well you shouldn’t get dressed. Why? Because this isn’t right. I can’t be at this with you. You scared me, I say But No, I can’t see you again. You can. I can’t. So you’re throwing me away? I’m not. You fucking bastard! Agreed, he says starting to pass my clothes. I start to dress and I am so I am so after everything. Not to have or be with him. Please, I say. He shakes his head. Well if you don’t want me there’ll be someone else who’ll want me and want me. It’s not that, he says It isn’t that at all. Then why is it over? He hides his face. Because oh God I can’t manage this it’s fucking pathetic but I can’t and I don’t want something bad to happen. Something bad already has. Yes so nothing worse. And how he looks at me then. I know it’s done. And I am so crushed I walk straight out, hoping he will call me back then hear his door go BANG.
*
I find the smallest part of my life and crawl in there. I have no faith in the night or the morning either and cannot believe how this day dares glow all up to Kentish Town. Past Kwik Save. The steps off Patshull to where I live. To where I live. I live there and know that now. Every bit of you lives here. No bit of you lives anywhere else.
And my flatmate’s ejecting some girl at the door. She doesn’t seem to mind. He is sweet enough. When I squeeze by though he goes What the fuck? You look like shit on toast. Thanks.
If I could I’d lie under the bed but it’s only a mattress so the sheet instead. Minutes later he knocks, I ignore it. Then there’s a wallop outside on the glass. When I look up, he’s pressed to it You alright? I just want to be by myself. Okay, he says I’ll catch you later on. All later ons though I avoid, knowing what I should do. Get the morning after pill but that needs a face to look at me, which needs me being there. And I am busy in the smallest part of my life. I have crawled in here. It’s made for abstaining. A box of breath. Blood pumping and limbs shifting over pages of the A — Z. A couple of days and its good stead should have me flesh again. Nice again. Back on, though hoarse. Go get the morning after no, I don’t want. Cannot go. No volition to bring. I would rather lie here, make a face of my palm and listen to the traffic outside.