I felt my knees start to give, and his hold around my waist tightened a little. He felt so strong, despite his injured shoulder.
I should be panicking. I should be fucking terrified, I thought. But I wasn’t. I didn’t want him to let me go.
He pulled away from me to look at me, one of his hands supporting me at my back, the other at my cheek. Perhaps he’s trying to see just how angry I am, I thought, curiously. But it wasn’t that. There was anxiety in those green eyes. He was checking I was okay.
Clearly I was fine, because he kissed me again, then, and I think it was a bit more forceful than he meant it to be—the day’s worth of stubble grazing my mouth.
Gradually he began to release me, and my hand slipped reluctantly from the skin of his lower back, which it had found by somehow getting up inside his shirt. He took a step backward so he could look at me.
I thought, Don’t you dare apologize for what just happened. Don’t you fucking dare say sorry.
“Will you come inside?” I asked, casting a glance at the door of the flat. I wanted to take his clothes off, and I wanted him to screw me. Right then, right at that moment, I think I might even have paid him to do it.
There was a long pause, which grew more terrible with every moment. Then he shook his head. He looked as though he was debating with himself over what to do next, and some sort of internal battle was suddenly won, because he took a step forward and kissed me again, quickly, on my hot cheek this time, and whispered, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” before turning and taking the stairs up to his flat two at a time. I heard the key in the lock, the door opening, and closing, and then it was silent and I was all alone outside my flat as though I’d just come in from work.
Except I was swaying a little as though there was a strong wind, and I was desperate for a pee.
Thursday 25 December 2003
My cell phone rang while we were still tangled up in each other. I found it easy to tune out the sound, concentrating on Lee’s body and the rhythm of it. He grimaced and I felt him tense, distracted. “Fucking phone,” he muttered, running a hand across his forehead.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “Leave it. Don’t stop.”
It changed the mood. He pushed me off roughly, took a handful of my hair and turned me onto my front. I yelped with the sudden pain but he took no notice, forcing himself into me from behind. I struggled against him but he pulled my head back and kept going, harder.
It only took a minute longer. I heard the noise he made when he came, then he pulled out of me and got off the bed immediately, went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him with such force that the window rattled.
My scalp was tingling from where he’d pulled my hair as I lay still, listening to my heart pounding in my chest. What the hell was that all about? I heard the shower starting.
When the phone rang again I answered it.
“Darling! Happy Christmas.” It was Sylvia.
“Hello, love, how are you?”
“Not drunk enough. You?”
“It’s only half-past twelve,” I said, checking the clock. “You’ve started already?”
“Course. Don’t tell me you’re still in bed.”
“Might be.”
“Well,” she said huffily, “I probably would be too if I had Lee to keep me company.”
“You’re welcome to him,” I said, “he’s in a foul mood this morning.”
“Hm,” she said. “Want me to come over and kick him into shape?”
“No, you’re all right,” I said, laughing at the thought of it. “What are you up to?”
“You know, stuff . . . Mother wants me to help her cook lunch, I want to go out in my new clothes. Same old.”
I finished the call a few minutes later and got dressed, scruffy jeans and a sweater, warm socks. Downstairs the kitchen was a mess, toast crumbs and used teabags in the sink. I was halfway through the dishes, singing along to Christmas carols on the radio, when Lee came downstairs. He was wearing jeans, nothing else. His upper body was taut, his skin damp. He grabbed me, arms around my waist, and made me jump.
“You all right?” I said.
He buried his face in my neck. “Yeah,” he said. “Apart from that fucking phone.