the floor—until she’s only wearing her skirt, high on her thighs.
Dr. Finch, pen still in hand, stares at her. “What the hell are you doing?”
Saying nothing, Bea lifts herself onto his desk, displacing student essays that drift to the floor like the leaves of Everwhere.
“No, wait—”
“Leave them.” Bea slides into his lap, wriggling her skirt up her thighs.
“I don’t understand,” Dr. Finch says, fumbling with his zip. “Last time, you said it wouldn’t happen—”
Bea pulls back. “You want me to go?”
“No,” he says, freeing himself. “No, no, no.”
“Right,” Bea says. “So shut the fuck up.”
Dr. Finch frowns, opening his mouth to speak but letting out a long sigh as Bea shifts her hips and slides onto him.
“Oh, good God . . .”
“I told you. Shut up.” Bea pushes him deeper as he moans louder. She pulls back her hand and, just as he closes his eyes, slaps him hard.
Dr. Finch’s eyes snap open. “What the fuck did you—?”
Bea slaps him again.
“Stop!”
She pulls back her hand a third time. “Make me.”
Dr. Finch seizes hold of Bea’s wrist, then locks his fingers around both her hands and holds her tight. Bea arches her back, twists her hips, and pulls herself free.
“Wait.” Dr. Finch lets her go. “Please, don’t—”
Bea turns, pressing her body, her breasts, her face, into his desk.
“Oh, God,” he gasps, grasping her buttocks with both hands and sliding into her again. “Oh, good God.”
“Slap me,” Bea whispers. “Slap me back.”
“What? No.”
“Do it,” she snaps.
He hesitates.
“Do it, you spineless—”
The slap stings her skin and clouds her sight. She bites her lip, leeching the blood. “Again.”
“Are you—”
“Otra vez. Again!” Bea bites down harder and tastes blood on her tongue. “Again.” Pain shoots up her spine.
“Oh God, oh God, oh . . .”
“Again.”
But he shudders and stops, dropping his cheek to her shoulder blade, hot quick breaths on her skin. Bea twists away, pushing him off, sliding her body back around the desk.
“Wait,” he says. “Where are you going? Don’t you want—”
“No.” She steps away from him, pulling her skirt back into place, bending down to pick up her discarded jumper from the rug. “This isn’t happening again.”
“Oh, come on,” Dr. Finch says, his flaccid penis still hanging through his trousers. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t fucking fantastic sex.”
“Zip yourself up.”
He glances down. “Bugger that. Give me ten minutes. I’ll do better next time.”
Ignoring him, Bea crosses the room. Already she feels the dribble of sperm sliding down her thigh. She needs a shower. Now. She needs to wash every trace of him away. She pulls on her coat, her boots; snatches up her bag.
“Wait.”
Bea looks up to his hand pressing against the door. She frowns at him—how had he crossed the room so silently, so quickly? “Move.”
He smiles. “You can’t fuck me like that then tell me it’ll never happen again.”
Bea grabs his wrist. She’s half his size but, right now, her fury makes her twice as strong. She thinks of Vali—will there ever be a time she doesn’t think of him? If she could do that to an innocent man, a man she loved, imagine what she could do to one she doesn’t even like.
“I can do whatever I want,” Bea snaps. “Now get the hell out of my way.”
Less than a decade ago
Goldie
He did it. I knew he would. My bastard stepfather flushed Juniper down the toilet. At least, he tried. Moron. He could have hacked her up, even burned her. But the idiot thought drowning would be the most effective method of extinction. I suppose I should be grateful for his stupidity. He was jealous, jealous that he couldn’t do anything creative. Couldn’t cook, couldn’t draw, couldn’t tend to a tree. He never created, only destroyed. Just as he was destroying me, little by little, every night. I felt his hands on me, inside me, even when he wasn’t within touching distance. I felt his gaze on me even when he wasn’t there.
I found Juniper one morning, plucked from her ceramic pot, roots stripped of soil, branches stripped of leaves, drowned. I plunged my hand into the water and pulled out my little tree. I held her, dripping, in my hands, and my tears only made her more wet. I’d never held a dead thing before. Not even an insect. It was strange, not to feel the pulse of life in her, just the shock between the warm rhythm of my veins and the cold stillness of hers. I locked the bathroom door and sat on the edge