I’ve noticed recently that he’s changing right before my eyes. His moods are becoming darker and more frequent. With my back to him I prepare our drinks. Mine is three-quarters vodka and a quarter orange juice. I carry our drinks over to the sofa and hand him his. I sit next to him and take a gulp. Heavens, it is strong.
‘I have some of your favorite caviar. I’ll go and get it,’ I say, attempting to stand.
His hand shoots out and clamps around my wrist. My shocked eyes fly to his face.
His thin, cruel mouth twitches. ‘I’m not hungry … for that.’
‘Oh, OK,’ I mumble anxiously, and take another gulp of my drink. I steal a glance at him and he is watching me with the kind of coldness that chills me to the bone.
‘Will you need to finish all of that before you can do anything?’ he asks, lighting a cigarette.
I nod and push the ashtray toward him.
He looks at me through swirls of smoke. ‘Go on then. Fucking finish half a bottle of vodka before I fuck you,’ he says. His words are vicious, but his tone excruciatingly courteous.
So I do. I drink the whole thing and it seeps into my limbs and deadens them. My head gets fucked and I no longer care about anything. I put the glass down carefully and look at him expressionlessly. ‘I’m ready,’ I tell him.
He stands and, pulling me up, carries my limp body to the bedroom. As bedrooms go it is unremarkable. All the furniture came with the apartment and I have not added anything to it. But it is clean. Very clean. I couldn’t bear it if it was not.
He helps me undress and when I am naked he lays me on the bed. He doesn’t undress fully. Just his trousers and his underpants. His legs are oddly stick-like compared to his upper half, which is thickly muscled and bull-like. His penis is dark red, erect and ready. The sight gives me a twinge of distaste, but I damp it down quickly.
I know he’s not a good man, but I owe him my life.
I stare up at him dumbly as he opens the first drawer and takes out a condom packet. He rips it open and rolls it on himself. Then he reaches into the drawer again and takes out a tube of KY jelly. I watch him with detachment as he unscrews the tube, chucks the top carelessly behind the bedside cabinet, and squeezes a couple of inches of gel onto his finger. He places the tube back on the cabinet surface, and comes up to me. His finger is gentle as it slides in, but the jelly is cold, and my muscles contract in rejection.
‘Shhh … relax,’ he urges, thrusting his finger deeper into me.
Don’t wo
rry, Snow, the way he tells it, it will not be a long tale of the night. Just a little story. A quick in and out. I turn my face to the side, and he climbs onto the bed and lets his mouth crawl from my neck down to my breasts.
‘You’re so fucking beautiful. So fucking beautiful. Anybody tries to take you away from me, I’ll fucking kill him,’ he mutters as he pushes deep into me.
I don’t make any sound. I start to feel that familiar feeling of being almost weightless. I know it is actually happening to me, but it feels removed as if it is happening to someone else and I am just watching.
As his body slaps against mine, my mind floats away to my childhood days. I am six years old again. My hair is in two long plaits that reach my waist and there are jasmine flowers woven into them. I can smell their strong fragrance. My nanny, Chitra, and I are standing barefoot at the entrance of an Indian temple.
Together we start ringing the big temple bell. We do so because the priest has given us special permission to help. The bell is made of different types of metal. The sound echoes into the distance to welcome the god and goddess.
Chitra and I walk into the temple together with all the other devotees. We stand with our hands clasped and watch the stone statue of the goddess being washed and dressed. A flame is waved around her then brought to us. We hold our cupped hands a few inches above the flame and touch our warm palms to our faces.
The priest, his mouth stained red with beetle juice, smiles indulgently at me, as he offers me half a coconut filled with a small banana and some flowers.
Chitra and I fall to our knees and let our foreheads touch the cool tiles. While she prays, I turn my face to look at her earnest eyes and think how beautiful she is and how much I love her. I love her more than I love anybody else in the whole wide world.
Then we stand and she bends and kisses me. She never lets her lips touch my skin; instead she presses her nose on my cheek and inhales audibly. When she moves her face away, her breath rushes against my skin. That is her way of kissing.
Lenny climaxes, as he always does, with a shrill scream.
His mouth is too close to my ear and the horrible sound startles me out of my dream. Suddenly, I feel the length of his body on mine, all the rough hairs on his legs and belly scratching my skin. He rests on his elbows and looks down at me with heavy-lidded, blank eyes. I stare back at him wordlessly.
‘Poor Snow,’ he says. For some inexplicable reason, his pity breaks the protective numbness.
‘Don’t,’ I whisper, and I feel my eyes fill with tears. They roll down the sides of my cheeks ‘Please don’t.’
‘For fuck’s sake. I’m sorry, OK? Don’t cry. Just fucking don’t cry again, OK?’
But I cannot stop. So he pulls out of me, takes the condom off, ties it, drops it to the side of the bed, and holds me while I cry. He cannot fix me, he knows that, but he is the only one who knows.