S. Watson - Second Life

I’m enraged, now. Ripped open. I want to scream at him. I want to hurt him. It’s as if he’s seen inside me, then emptied me out.

‘How does it feel to hate yourself?’

‘Get out of my way!’

He moves. He’s between me and the door.

‘You know, I was watching the whole time,’ he says. ‘Today. In the bar.’ He hesitates, then lowers his voice. ‘And you loved it. Didn’t you? The attention.’

He’s right. I know it, deep down. He’s right, and I’m ashamed. I despise him.

‘Please, just let me leave.’

‘Or else…?’

‘Lukas…’ I say. I try to push past him, but he blocks me.

I step back again. I look at him, this almost-stranger. He lowers his voice still further. He’s threatening now. He has the power; he wants me to know it.

‘You enjoyed it. Didn’t you? You liked knowing he wanted you. A stranger.’ He takes another step; this time I stay where I am. ‘No strings… nothing to worry about…’

I try a different tack.

‘So what if I did? What about if I’d decided I liked him? I was going to have him? This David? What then?’

‘Then things might have turned out differently,’ he says. ‘Were you tempted?’

I don’t hesitate. I want to see him hurt. More than anything, I want to see him feel some of the pain that he’s inflicting on me.

‘Maybe.’

He doesn’t move. I don’t know what he’s going to do.

‘Before he started to threaten you? Or after?’

‘Hard to say.’ I don’t move.

‘The fear added something. Admit it. That’s what turned you on.’ He’s whispering now, murmuring. When I’m silent he moves forward, towards me. His mouth is inches from my ear. His hand goes to my waist, I feel it on me. I pull away, but he’s strong. His flesh touches mine. ‘Would you have gone upstairs with him?’ He pulls me to him, I feel the warmth of his body, his hands on me, searching for my skin, moving firmly, grasping, kneading. It triggers something, a muscle memory, and without me wanting it to my body begins to respond. ‘Alone? Or with me?’

I don’t reply. Somewhere, deep within me, I know I should be crying out. I should be fighting, kicking. I should be screaming for help.

But I’m not. I don’t do any of those things. It’s as if my body has mutinied. It will no longer react to anything but his touch.

‘Please,’ I say. ‘Lukas…’

He tries to kiss me. I begin to respond, my body’s final betrayal. I gather my energy and force myself to speak.

‘Stop! Lukas. This has to stop.’

He does nothing. He continues to push himself against me. Harder now. ‘Stop me, if you want. If you really want.’

I feel his hands. They’re everywhere. At the back of my neck, in my hair, at my crotch. He’s pushing and grabbing, with more and more urgency. He tries to push me backwards, or turn me round. I flash on the time we’d had sex, in the cubicle, his hands around my neck; it’d been a game then, but it isn’t now. I have to get away from him.

I lash out, aiming at his face, his eyes. It’s only a glancing blow, but my nails draw blood. He wipes his hand across his face, wide-eyed and furious. He looks like he’s about to hit me and I try to step away.

We square up against each other. I open my mouth to speak but just then I hear the sound of the lock sliding open. Relief floods me. It’ll be a maid, perhaps, someone with room service. They’ll see what’s going on, Lukas will have to stop. I can dust myself down, make an excuse, leave. He won’t follow me. I won’t let him.

We both look to the door. Too late I see that Lukas is smiling. ‘Ah,’ he says. ‘I thought you’d got lost.’

Fear hits me, full in the gut. It’s David.

I grab my bag. I run. I slam past David, out into the corridor. Tears are coming, I close my eyes, crash into the walls as I run towards the stairs, but I carry on running. I see myself as if from a great height. It looks like me, but it isn’t me. She’s not wearing the clothes I wear. She’s not doing the things I do.

I run and run and run, and all at once I’m back in Berlin. I’m shivering, at an airport, not knowing how I’m going to get home. I’m phoning Hugh from a phone box in the departure lounge, then I’m waiting. Waiting to be rescued by the man I’ll soon marry while the one I’d thought was my whole life lies dead in a squat on the other side of the city.

I made it out of the hotel. My legs shook, I was sweating, my heart was hammering so hard I thought my chest might burst, yet still I managed to pretend to be calm as I walked through the lobby, on to the street. Once outside I walked and walked, and it wasn’t until I was sure I was out of sight of the hotel that I stopped to check what direction I’d gone in. I hailed a cab, got in. ‘Where to?’ the driver said, and I said, ‘Anywhere,’ and then, ‘The river,’ and then, ‘The South Bank.’ We began to drive, and he asked me if I was all right. ‘Yes,’ I said, even though I wasn’t, and when we reached the South Bank I found a bench overlooking the Thames and, because I knew Adrienne would say ‘I told you so,’ and I didn’t know who else to call, who there was that I hadn’t pushed away, I phoned Anna.

‘How’re you?’

I told her everything, blasting it out in a mess of non-sequiturs that must have been largely incomprehensible, and she first listened then calmed me down and asked me to try again. When I finished she said, ‘You must go to the police.’

She sounded steely, determined. Absolutely sure.

‘The police?’ It was as if it were the first time I’d considered it.

‘Yes! You’ve been attacked, Julia.’

I flashed on his hands on me, all over me, grabbing my flesh, tearing at my clothes.

‘But—’ I said.

‘Julia. You have to.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘No, they didn’t… he didn’t… and Hugh…’

I imagined telling Hugh, making the call to the police. What would I say?

I’ve heard the stories. Even if I had been raped, they almost certainly wouldn’t take me seriously, and if they did it’d be me who’d be on trial, not David, not Lukas. ‘And you went there for sex?’ they’d say, and I’d have to say yes. ‘Dressed in clothes that he sent you?’ Yes. ‘Having told him, more or less, that rape was a fantasy of yours?’

Yes.

And what would my defence be? I didn’t want it to happen, though. Not like that!

I felt myself crumple. I began to cry again as I imagined what might have happened, what Lukas might’ve done and got away with.

I thought of Hugh, and Connor. I imagined them finding out where I’d been, how I’d ended up. I’d have to tell them, there’s no way I’d be able to lie; I’ve done enough of that already.

‘I don’t even know where he lives.’

She paused. ‘Is there anything, anything at all, I can do to help?’

There’s nothing anyone can do, I thought. I just have to leave him, to walk away, to make the severance that, just a few hours earlier, I’d been dreading.

‘No.’

I went home. I knew what I had to do. Let Lukas recede into the past, do my best to forget him. Not log on. Not check my messages. Not raise my hopes that there’ll be flowers, apologies, explanations. Move on.

Mostly, I’ve succeeded. I’ve carried on working. I told Hugh I’d decided to stop seeing the counsellor but to start going back to my meetings. I’ve done so, and kept busy in other ways. I’ve called Ali and Dee and the rest of my friends, and spoken to Anna every day. I’ve spent more time with Connor, even tried to talk to him about Evie, to reassure him that he can tell me about his girlfriend, if he wants. ‘I’d like to meet her, one day,’ I said. His shrug was predictable, but at least I’d made the effort.