S. Watson - Second Life

‘What the fuck are you doing? What the fuck—?’

‘Don’t be—’ he begins, but I interrupt again.

‘Where the hell were you? What the—?’

‘I was late—’ he begins, and I interrupt him, furious.

‘Late! Like you not being on time is the important thing we’re discussing here. Who was that guy? And how the hell do you know my husband’s name?’

‘What?’

‘That guy, he called him Hugh. I’ve never told you my husband’s called Hugh. Harvey. I’ve always called him Harvey…’

‘Yes, why did you do that?’

‘I’ve got every right to. But that’s not the point! How did you—?’

‘Relax. You slipped up. Just once. You called him Hugh. Weeks ago. You were upset, I guess. You called him Hugh, and I remembered.’

I try to think back, to remember, but it’s impossible. I want to believe him, though. I have to. Not to believe him about this might mean I have to not believe him about other things, too. And then everything would come crashing down.

‘Julia…’ He takes another step forward.

‘Don’t come near me!’ To my surprise he stays where he is. After a moment he turns, goes to the mini-bar.

‘More champagne?’

I snort with derision.

‘I don’t drink.’

‘Not with me. But you will with a stranger.’

I’m furious. ‘You ordered that bottle!’

‘And you drank it.’

I look away. I can’t be bothered to argue, there’s no point. I’ve been a fool. I don’t know him at all. I’ve rejected every warning, failed to see what was going on at every turn. He’s taken my deepest desires, the things I ought never to have told anyone, and turned them against me.

He opens a miniature – vodka, I think – and pours it into a glass. ‘You told me your fantasy was being rescued. Or one of them was, at least.’

‘You think that’s what I wanted?’

‘Didn’t you enjoy it?’

‘So you told him – that man – to be aggressive? To… to make me think… to behave like that? You shared everything I’d told you?’

‘Not everything. Just enough. I kept some of it to myself.’

‘I said no more games, Lukas! No more. Remember?’

I sit in the chair. He sits on the bed. I realize he’s between me and the door; a fundamental mistake, Hugh would say, though I don’t know why he’s ever had to worry; his patients don’t tend to be the aggressive type. I stand up again.

‘I thought it’d be fun.’ He sighs, runs his fingers through his hair. ‘Look, you told me. Your fantasy. Being in danger. Being rescued. You did say that?’

‘I said lots of things. That doesn’t mean I want them to happen. Not really. That’s why they’re called fantasies , Lukas.’

Dread hits. I remember the other things I’ve told him I fantasized about. Being taken by force, not quite against my will, but almost. Being tied to the bed, handcuffs, rope. Is he also planning that?

I try to backtrack. ‘Half of the things I said I wanted I only said to please you.’

‘Really? Like how Paddy had forced himself on you?’

He’s sneering. He looks as if he doesn’t care about me at all. I mean nothing to him.

‘Poor Paddy. Accused of all those things he didn’t do. And look where it got him.’

I back away. Every part of me wants to reject what he’s telling me is true. ‘It was you!’

‘It’s what you wanted—’

‘It was you !’ My heart hammers. I tense, as if for escape. ‘It was you, all along!’

‘And the mysterious figure outside your window…’

‘What?’

‘It’s what you want, isn’t it? To be scared?’

I try to work it out. The first time I’d thought I’d seen someone watching me was before I even met Lukas. But the other night? It’d seemed more real, then. Could that have been him?

No. No, he doesn’t know where I live. He’s using my paranoia against me.

‘You’re crazy.’

He looks at me and I return his gaze. Something slips within me, like a lever that’s been thrown. Somehow I see myself through him, reflected in his eyes. I see the clothes I’m wearing, the shoes, even the way I smell. I realize, as if for the first time, the place I’m in and how deep I’ve got.

I’ve been here before. In thrall to something that’s destroying me. Unable to escape. I think of Marcus, and of Frosty.

I force myself to say it.

‘I’m leaving now. This is over.’

The room is still. The words have escaped. I can’t unsay them now, even if I wanted to. He closes his eyes then opens them again. His face breaks, he smiles. He doesn’t believe me.

‘You’re not.’ His voice is low and heavy; it sounds like it belongs to someone else. All his pretence has gone, leaving in its place nothing but a heavy malevolence.

My eyes flick to the door. If he wants to stop me there’s no way I can overcome him.

I draw breath, summon as much strength as I can.

‘Get out of my way.’

‘I thought we were having fun?’

‘We were. But we aren’t now. Not any more.’

His mouth hangs, half open, then he speaks.

‘But I love you.’

It’s the last thing I expect him to say. I freeze. I’m disarmed, utterly shocked. My mouth opens, but I have no words.

‘I love you,’ he says again. I want him to stop, yet at the same time I don’t. I want to believe him, yet don’t think I can.

‘What?’

‘You heard me. I thought I was making you happy. All this’ – he gestures around the room – ‘was for you. I thought it’s what you wanted.’

I shake my head. It’s another game. I know it is. ‘No,’ I say. ‘Lukas, no—’

‘Tell me you love me, too?’

I look at him. His eyes are wide, imploring. I want to believe him. Just this once, I want to know he’s telling me the truth.

‘Lukas—’

He reaches out to me. ‘Julia. Tell me, please.’

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Yes. Yes—’

I freeze. His hands have dropped. He smiles, then starts to laugh.

‘It’s just another one of your fantasies, isn’t it? Me loving you?’

Suddenly I’m empty. Defeated. It’s as if everything has flooded out of me and, right now, I hate him.

‘Fuck you.’

‘Oh, Julia, come on. What’s the big deal? Today? David? You want to be rescued, I want to rescue you. I wanted you to think you really were in danger.’ He looks at me. He’s trying to see if I’m softening, if the anger is burning off. It’s not. Not really. ‘Look,’ he says. ‘All I said was he should try and pick you up. That you might be keen, you might not. Either way, he shouldn’t take no for an answer. Like you wanted.’

I take a step back. ‘You’re crazy.’ I whisper it. To myself as much as to him, but he ignores me.

‘Shall I tell you what I think? I think you’re getting cold feet just as it’s starting to get interesting.’ He pretends to reconsider. ‘Or maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe you’re enjoying yourself a little too much.’ I begin to speak, but he continues. ‘You’re worried that you don’t deserve it.’ He finishes his drink, pours another. ‘Look. It’s a game. You know that. And yet you can’t quite think of it like that. You still think of games as something that children play. Something you’ve outgrown.’

‘No,’ I say. My voice sounds cracked. I draw breath and say it again. ‘No. You’re wrong. It’s not a game.’

He laughs. ‘What is it, then?’ I want to get out. I can think only of escape. ‘Your problem,’ he says, ‘is that you’re still too attached to the old you. You can slip away to hotels, you can dress up in all the gear, but you’re still the little housewife, married to Hugh. You’re still the person that does his shopping and cooks his food and laughs at his jokes, even though you’ve heard them a million times before. You used to despise people whose only ambition in life was a nice rich husband and an adoring son and a house in Islington with a patio and a garden. Yet that’s exactly what you’ve turned into. You’re still someone who thinks there’s only one way to be married, only one way to have an affair.’