La Femme Macabre

I watched her, leaning against the wall, wrapped up in herself. Kate. Beautiful, and oh so naïve. The uniform she wore was neat enough, not pristine but close. Her hair was dark and dishevelled, hanging loose around her shoulders. She seemed bored, staring down at her feet aimlessly, idly scuffing at the ground. Off in a world of her own, and paying no attention to me, so I simply stood, and observed the girl I had known practically since the first coherent thought formed in her mind.
         We stood like this, for a moment or for an eternity, before a sound penetrated the silence. Someone had seized hold of the handle on the outside door, wrenching it open carelessly, a needless and vulgar display of power. The frame shuddered as he slammed it shut behind him, and her head came up, the corners of her eyes tightening as she sought to focus and then relaxing in recognition – relaxing somewhat, at least.
         Turning slightly I observed him myself, glancing up and down. The tattered, scruffy tracksuit, the stance of a predator – not so much a proud lion as a paranoid and unscrupulous fox – the arrogant swagger. His mouth seemed set in a permanent sneer of perceived superiority, and his crude hands seemed shaped correctly only when drawn up into fists. He glanced down at her, particularly at her breasts, before looking up somewhere just below her eyes.
         “Alright babe?” he said, his voice rough, the question not really a question. He didn’t particularly care how she felt, but went through the motions anyway.
         “I’m fine,” the quiet reply, voice soft and sweet.
         “Good. Right. I’ve bin thinking a bit.” A nice change, admittedly. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge my presence. “Sex. We should do it.”
         Her eyes widened in fear and something akin to shock. “I’m sorry Mike?”
         “We should. We’ve bin goin’ out for six months now.”
         “… but…”
         “All my mates have. Fucked their birds good and proper. Getting’ embarrassing that mine won’t put out.”
         “But...  I’m only fifteen…”
         “And?”
         “I’m not even… y’know… legal…”
         “… what’s yer point?”
         “It’s wrong!”
         “Says who? Some bloke in a suit in London or somethin’? Who cares about him?”
         “But I…”
         “What? Don’t wanna? Don’t thing I’m good enough?”
         “It’s not that… I’m…”
         “Useless. Bleeding ungrateful cow. I treat you good and this is it, you don’t wanna, you think it’s funny all my mates take the piss.”
         “No! It’s-“
         “Shut it, I don’t wanna hear it. I bet you’re doin’ some other bloke, that’s what it is.”
         “I…”
         “Yeah. Whatever.”
         He stormed out, opening the door in the same manner, as if it were some kind of challenger he had to fight and display his strength to, his physical prowess. She collapsed back against the wall, covering her face with her hands, numb. After a moment she began to tremble, and I heard soft sobs as she cried. I flew to her, wrapping my arms comfortingly around her. She froze for a moment, then in realisation the tension left as she wept.

         -----

         He wasn’t really her kind of a man. Her friends weren’t really her kind of friends, either. She had suffered in her first year here, alone, too quiet to fit into the popular group but too notably mature to stand the more childish factions in the classroom. So she had instead retreated inside herself, me her only friend and comfort. In the last two years she had caved in to peer pressure to conform, hanging around with the “cool” crowd, tolerating things she hated just so she didn’t feel alone. Mike had come later, rough and nasty, not her type at all but all she had. Her friends all thought he looked good, though she found him repulsive, so harried her endlessly until she gave in to his crude advances. And so it had been for months now, him too unconcerned with her to really pay much attention to her, her reviling him but too scared to rid herself of him. Now it seemed things had changed. A different kind of game was in play.
         Still, he had gone without forcing the issue too much, in her mind.

         ---

         In her room now. Alone again but for me, staying there to keep her company. My presence didn’t really register with her, hugging her knees with her eyes closed on her bed. A Friday night, she should be out but she’d begged off sick. Her friends, or at least the people she spent time with, had mocked her somewhat but been gentler than would have been expected – perhaps they thought she was really ill. So now she stayed there, rocking herself gently, replaying in her mind the scenes from earlier.
         A crash. Her head snapped up, expression terrified. Who was there?
         Footsteps on the stairs.
         The door opens. Mike. He always was good at getting into places he shouldn’t have been able to. Swaying slightly, drunk. Mad eyes. Staggering across the room, pawing at her, slurring obscene words. She shrieked as he grabbed at her, tearing roughly at her shirt, exposing her. I flew at him, grasping to try and pull him away, but he shrugged me off with ease – almost with a shiver, it seemed.
         I could only cower in the corner, too weak and numb to move as I watched him brutalising her…
         Sleep. Finished with his sport he had drifted off, not even bothering to acknowledge her. His snores rang out, the only sound in the room besides her crying. I gathered myself, moving towards her, laying my hand against her cheek. She looked up at me, the only person ever to acknowledge me, and smiled weakly through the tears. Her eternal comfort. I glanced towards her desk, the knife she had tried so hard to rend her own flesh with weeks ago, yet had failed – too sweet to truly hate herself. She followed my eyes and her expression filled with purpose.
         Taking up the blade, she turned to him, his mouth open wide. I could see her gazing down, taking in the sight of him, this thing she had allowed into her life and who had taken from her something more. Rough, brutal, stupid.
         Cruel. Dominating. Uncaring.
         Thief.
         The blade flashed. With a rush I was back in her mind, the most I ever had been. Release.