Once he’d walked into my apartment, I slowly closed the door, softly drew the bolts across while he prattled on about something behind me. Then I slowly turned around… and hit him really hard across the back of the head. I don’t agree with violence but it was incredibly gratifying to force him to the floor, place my knee in the small of his back and twist his arm behind him in a grip that would break the bone if he tried to resist — all before he’d even had time to utter more than a startled yelp. I had him. It didn’t matter which of us was the stronger now that I had him like this: he only needed to move a little to snap one of the bones in his arm. The bottle he’d been holding had fallen to the floor in the scuffle, and broken glass was floating in the spreading pool of red wine, staining his expensive white shirt as I held him to the floor.
‘ Why did you do it? ’ I hissed. ‘Answer me, answer me, answer me!’
His other hand was pinned beneath him and, although I felt him shift slightly, he was quite unable to free himself — not without breaking his arm, anyway. I heard him make this strange little sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. ‘Perhaps…’ he gasped, his voice muffled from where his face was pressed into the floor, ‘if I knew the question, Gabriel…’
I broke his arm then, in my mind. Revelled in the sound of the crack, as the bone snapped, and the scream of pain that came with it. Oh, I wanted to do it in real life, I wanted to. But I stopped myself. You see, I am the one who is in control here, not him. Not him!
‘You knew me before I lost my memory!’ I growled. ‘If you dare deny it, I’ll break your arm right now, I swear it. You get one warning, that’s it.’
‘Well, yes, I did know you before, you’re right.’
I gaped at the back of his head in amazement.
‘Aren’t you going to deny it?’
‘You just told me not to.’
‘Do you think this is a game?’ I shouted, forgetting myself and twisting his arm a little further, noting the harsh intake of breath with a grim satisfaction. ‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth from the beginning?’
‘Because… because you asked me not to,’ Stephomi gasped. ‘For God’s sake, Gabriel, let go of my arm before you really do fucking break it! You’re making a mistake! I’ve never been anything but a friend to you!’
I hesitated. He’d spoken so earnestly that the first doubtful butterflies began to flutter uncertainly inside me.
‘I’ll happily explain it to you if you’ll just let me go,’ Stephomi offered stiffly. Reluctantly, I released my hold on his arm and slowly got to my feet. With a sigh, Stephomi did the same and turned to face me.
‘Well, I never liked this shirt anyway,’ he said, a smile twisting his mouth as he glanced down at the dusky red wine staining his shirt, dripping like blood from his sleeve cuff and the tips of his fingers. The hand that had been pinned beneath him was bleeding and I could see small pieces of the broken bottle embedded in his palm. The same feeling of revulsion rose up in me as on the day of the rare steak incident — I could feel the bile rising in my throat and averted my gaze hurriedly. There were even a few flecks of wine down one side of his face and in his hair. He was gazing at the remains of the bottle sadly and, when he glanced up at me, there was a reproachful look in his eye. ‘Really, Gabriel, was all that necessary? If you wanted to know something, you only had to ask. I, er… admit I haven’t been completely truthful,’ he said frankly. ‘The fact is that I have known you for years. I followed you that day to Margaret’s Island and the second time to Heroes’ Square. I just wanted to make sure you were all right, that’s all.’
‘How very altruistic of you! Now can you please explain to me why you’ve been acting like a compulsive liar?’
‘Well, let’s not get carried away,’ Stephomi replied, looking mildly amused. He moved his hand to brush his wine-dampened hair from his eyes, and winced. Holding up his palm, he examined the shards of glass embedded in the skin. With a sigh, he let his hand drop back down to his side and glanced up to meet my uncertain gaze.
‘Look, the truth is you didn’t want me to tell you about your past. You made me promise that I wouldn’t. I’m not even supposed to be here.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ I snapped. ‘I don’t believe a word of it! Just tell me the fucking truth! Is Gabriel Antaeus even my real name?’
Stephomi hesitated a moment and then nodded. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘And how did we know each other before?’
‘I told you, we were friends.’
‘What about this, then?’ I asked, throwing the photograph onto the kitchen table.
Stephomi picked it up and I saw his mouth tighten with displeasure as he took in the quote on the back. A glint of irritation came into his eyes and he tossed the photo back onto the table.
‘We don’t look very friendly to me, Stephomi.’
‘I was telling you something you didn’t particularly want to hear at the time, I’m afraid. I’d like to answer your questions, Gabriel, but I made a promise to you and I have no intention of breaking it.’
‘Who is this?’ I asked, drawing the photo of the mystery woman from my pocket and holding it up.
‘Where did you get that?’ Stephomi asked sharply.
‘What does it matter? Do you know her?’
‘Don’t worry about her,’ Stephomi said quietly. ‘Throw the photo away, Gabriel.’
‘You know who she is, then? You do, don’t you? You know everything about this… this Godforsaken mess! Do you know how I lost my memory? Do you know where my family is?’ I asked, desperately. And then, when he remained silent, ‘Do you know who took the pictures? Do you know who sent them?’
‘I have a fairly good idea.’
‘But you’re not going to tell me, are you? You’re not going to tell me anything I want to know at all!’
‘No, Gabriel,’ Stephomi said with a wry smile. ‘Because you don’t really want to know it.’
I glared at him furiously, maddened by his attitude. How badly I wanted to hurt him in that moment. I could have beaten the truth from him, of course. After that back street incident with the Hungarian muggers, I was sure I would have been physically up to the task; but the thought of it chilled me, not least because it sprang so readily to my mind. That was not how civilised people behaved. That was not something a civilised person would think about doing.
‘You’re thinking about beating it out of me, aren’t you?’ Stephomi asked, with a smile. ‘It won’t work, you know.’
‘Don’t push me!’ I screamed at him. ‘For your own sake, don’t give me a reason!’ He couldn’t know how perilously close I was… but I was determined not to lose control this time… I wouldn’t let him force me into doing anything wrong. ‘Get out,’ I whispered.
He hesitated for a moment and then, with a shrug, he moved past me to the door and I heard it click softly shut behind him. I stood there for a minute after he’d gone, staring at the table and feeling more helpless, more completely alone than when I had first woken up, weeks ago, on the floor of this very kitchen.
The thought of not being in control is disgusting to me. Almost as if the aversion has been ingrained into my soul through years of disciplined habit. So after Stephomi had gone, I sat down at the kitchen table and calmly poured myself a glass of wine in an effort to stifle the urge to destroy my apartment again as I had done the night I’d lost Stephomi’s card. I was even briefly tempted to go out and find some muggers to attack. After all, they were only muggers. The desire to do violence to something strengthened until it was more a craving than a desire. I regretted letting Stephomi walk away like that — perhaps I should go after him? I knew where he lived… But it was no good, not in the mood I was in. It’s a terrible thing to say
… but I was frightened that if I let myself give in to these feelings I might go too far.
So I did the responsible thing and took control of the situation and poured myself another glass of wine. And then another and another. Soon I was opening a second bottle… The truth is that I drank myself senseless, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. It was intentional