Irvine Welsh - The Sex Lives of Siamese Twins

Dad was silent on the drive home. — I nearly won, I pleaded.

— Nearly’s no good. You let that stuck-up little thing beat you again. He shook his head. — But you can’t help it. You’re just a girl.

And then it comes back to Clint Austin smiling at me in class, asking me if we’re gonna make out. Me saying maybe. But then when he and his friends surrounded me in the park, I just froze. Then he kissed me, put his tongue in my mouth. They started cheering. Then he took me into the bushes beside the tree, a big make-out spot, an almost concealed cave of overhanging branches and thick shrubs, but then he shouted for his friends to come in. — We wanna see your pussy, he said, and then I was on my back and they were grabbing me, holding me, and pulling at my clothes, and Clint was on top of me, and in me. I didn’t struggle, I didn’t protest. I was determined not to be a girl, like Dad said, not to cry and be weak and beg. I just lay there, in a trance and let him do it. I shut my eyes. Dug my nails and fingers into the ground beneath me as I felt a burning sensation sear me between my legs. Then the rest of them were scattering like flies, and Clint was out of me and off me and I saw Dad’s face looking down. I forgot the pain between my legs, and stood up and pulled up my panties and smoothed my skirt down. I didn’t want to tell him that I was raped, that I was bullied by a psycho and his gang, and that I couldn’t or didn’t fight back, like a real Brennan would have done. That I would have been probably been gangbanged by the rest, had he not found me then. No, I’d rather he thought me a slut than a weak coward, or even a girl: that would have been the biggest shame.

After that I went to tae kwon do, kickboxing, and karate. I wanted to show them all that I would never be scared, would never freeze like that, ever again. That I could do any fucking thing they could do. That I could damage those motherfuckers, that I could break them. .

. . I blink into sludgy consciousness with a team of miniature construction workers laying the foundations of another Walgreens inside my head. Lena Sorenson is standing over me. There’s an assortment of McDonald’s and Taco Bell fast food in bags on the floor, beside the two buckets. — Similar game, slightly different rules, I hear her explain, my throat too dry for me to speak out in protest. — You’ll be in here until you weigh two hundred pounds. That’s doable: thirty-five hundred cals per day equals an extra pound of fat. If you cram you should be out of here in no time. I’ve got Coke and potato chips for you to snack on, and cans of beer and wine boxes. .

I look at the bags she’s placing before me. My mouth is so dry. There’s no water so I pick up a can of Coca-Cola. It tastes like battery acid in my mouth and throat, and even more corrosive when it hits my gut, but it helps me find my voice. — Lena, I can see why you might feel that you want to do this, but you have to listen to me. . back at your place—

— Shut your mouth, you fascist psycho bitch! I’m fucking through listening to you! This is the part where you fucking well listen to me , she screams. — I’m gonna stuff you like a frigging French goose! Two hundred pounds! You get outta here when you hit that mark on that goddamned scale!

In panic I pull myself up to a seated position. — My mom’s back! She’s gonna be round here soon!

— You said we had another two weeks, you fucking lying bit— she stops herself, — you fucking liar!

We actually have more; they are heading for Tel Aviv tomorrow morning. I sit down and look at the shit in front of me. I glance over and I can see my iPhone on the table, with the Lifemap app.

— It’s. . there’s something I have to tell you—

— I said you’re through telling me—

— IT’S JERRY! I FUCKING KILLED HIM!

She looks at me in disbelief. — Don’t be stupid, how could you kill Jerry? He’s in New York—

— He’s on your rug with his head caved in.

— You really are fucking crazy! Lena roars, but there’s a look in her eyes that tells me she knows I’m not shitting her.

— No, no. . listen, I urge, convulsing, struggling for breath.

Lena’s mouth hangs open. Her eyes burn.

— I was over at your place to check your mail and he was waiting outside. I was confused, I’d had an argument with my dad, and I wasn’t thinking straight—

— As opposed to your normal, rational. . Lena interrupts, halfheartedly.

— He tricked me into letting him into the house. He was turning the place over, looking for some shit I had, I confess, a guilty shake of my head. — There’s a letter and notebook and some pictures in my purse, I nod over to the chair.

She goes to the purse and pulls out the package. Looks at the photographs, reads the letter, and starts to scour the notebook. Her eyes expand, then go glassy, then narrow. She’s struggling to keep her breathing under control as her nostrils flare.

— Like I said, I let him inside. I wasn’t thinking straight. Then I realized what he was doing and tried to get him out. He went crazy and we fought and I thought that he would kill me! He had me pinned down and I reached behind me and hit him with that ax, the ornamental one that you keep sharp, cause you sometimes use it to chop your animal carcasses. . it was an accident Lena, I swear it! I was trying to protect myself, but I didn’t mean to kill him!

Sorenson continues looking at the photographs. Then she turns on her heel and heads out of the apartment.

— LEEENAHH!!

But I hear the door slam shut and she’s gone. I’m left to contemplate my last meal on this planet that isn’t jail food. I pick up one of the Big Macs (540) and large fries (540) and start to take bites, chewing and swallowing, letting the sugar, salt, and chemical toxins rush through me. Rendering me giddy. Making me want more. . then I feel something rising in me as my body rejects the poisonous shit. .

I look at the pile of vomit on the floor in front of me, through watery eyes. I need to do this. It’s my penance. I go to the bag and try again, this time small nibbles, feeling the rush of sugar and salt flooding every part of my body. So I’m eating and drinking factory-made chemical excrement, waiting for the sound of far-off police sirens to draw closer and the cops to come and take me away, to share the same fate as McCandless and Balbosa. Then, as the time drags on, I realize that it’ll maybe play out even worse; perhaps an unhinged Sorenson will be at a Home Depot, stocking up on power tools to torture and mutilate me, the way I did with Winter, or even destroy me, like I did Jerry.

I’m scared, and I’m pulling, pushing at this bracelet, at the obstinate pillar, screaming in anger and fear and frustration for I don’t know how long. She’s gone for ages and it’s pitch black outside. I’m on the mattress, all cried out, staring at the ceiling, floating between horrific thought and terrifying dream. I feel weighed down by a grief so old it could have grown in the Garden of Eden. Then the dread snap of the bolt in the front door as I wait for the end of my life, or at least this phase of it. The morning light is almost up when Lena reappears, looking frazzled and exhausted, heavy bag slung over her shoulder. — Lena. . what happened. . what did you do? Where did you go?

— Home. I had to stop off at the Home Depot to buy some new tools.

Oh my God, it’s going to happen. .

— Lena, please. . I back toward the steel support pillar.

She shakes her head at me as she lowers the bag. — I’m not gonna hurt you, she says contemptuously, making me feel like a pathetic fool. — I fixed everything.

— What. .?

— I cleaned up your fucking mess.