Chapter 7

I woke, feeling disoriented, and for a moment I basked in a sense of freedom from care. Then a wall of despair crashed and thundered about me, a giant tsunami of grief. What had I done to her? How could I have let her develop feelings for me? I waited for the blackness to abate and eventually I had strength to get up and get dressed. I contemplated dressing in the clothes that I wore yesterday, but then I decided that I ought, at least, to look presentable.

I laughed mirthlessly, sneering at the vanity of it, but still I washed and shaved, brushed my teeth, taking solace in the familiar routine, trying to fool my subconscious that yes, indeed things were normal, that this wasn't my last day on earth.

I dressed carefully in clean clothes and then I sat and thought about the arrangements that I had made. I tried to take comfort in the fact that Jenny would, at last, be free from economic hardship. Then I took one last look about me and retrieved the bottle of barbiturates from my overnight bag.

So this is how it ends, I thought, in a dingy room in an equally dingy hotel. I sat on my bed and contemplated the bottle of pills that I held in front of me. They represented peace, but my hands shook as I opened the bottle and I couldn't get even one of them into my hand. I threw it and the tablets against the wall and screamed my frustration.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit! Why can't do this one thing for her?"

"Because it's selfish, cowardly and wrong."

I turned in surprise at the sound of this unexpected interruption. I stared in shock at the sight of Jenny, white-faced and as angry as I'd ever seen her.

"Jenny? What are you... How did..." Her unexpected presence derailed coherent thought and her lips curled slightly at the sight of me reduced to a stuttering mess. I took a breath and started again. "How did you find me?" The question popped out of my mouth like one of those air driven bingo ball machines. There were so many questions; it could have been any one of them.

"You gave me a detective agency, I had to do something with it," she grinned at me, "they're really very good, especially when they're searching for someone that they're devoted to." I couldn't understand how she could be so buoyant. I'd raped her, she should be looking at me with scorn and loathing; I risked meeting her gaze and all I could see was love, this wasn't right, how could it be?

"Why? I mean now that you know, how can you..." I tailed off unable to continue, not really knowing what I wanted to ask anyway.

"Now that I know that you helped to gang-rape me, you mean?" Her tone hardened. I lowered my eyes and stared at the counterpane. Perhaps she could help me to take the tablets and then the pain would be over. She hadn't finished with me; she looked at the pill-bottle where it lay on the floor near the wall, "So this is your answer to your problems? The melodramatic final act of giving me all your worldly goods and then 'Goodbye cruel world'?"

Her sarcasm was vicious and cut through me like a sharp knife, paring away the altruistic veneer and exposing the selfish heartwood of my actions. I waited submissively for her to continue. I deserved everything that I got from her. She surprised me by sitting next to me and leaning her head against my shoulder. Almost without thinking I put my arms around her and hugged her. She sighed contentedly. We sat quietly while my mind continued to whirl with half-formed thoughts and questions. Eventually she started to speak.

"The drug that Steve gave me means that I can't remember that night properly. I get flashbacks and feelings, but I've long-since lost the ability to distinguish between actual memories and memories of memories. You think that you raped me? Well, perhaps in the eyes of a court you did, but I will never press charges against the person who's loved me for so long."

I tried to protest, but she cut me off, emphasising her words by gentle taps on my chest.

"Let's look at this dispassionately, shall we? You saved me from Steve; I've no doubt that, had I stayed, he'd have fed me more of the drug. You know it can cause permanent brain damage? Steve wouldn't have cared, just so long as I was his little fucktoy. Then you got me home, made sure I was safe and stayed with me until you were sure I was going to be all right. How long did that take?"

"Almost... almost three days."

"That long? Three days? I didn't know that."

"You were really out of it for the first couple of days. But I couldn't leave you alone, so I stayed. I watched you sleeping and the contrast between that and the way you were in the room..." I choked at the memory of that night, but she just hugged me until I could continue, "You were so beautiful." I realised as I said it, that I wasn't sure if I meant when she was sleeping or when she had been in the throes of passion. The incipient wave of self-loathing that this inspired was interrupted by a question.

"How did you manage for food? I never ate there myself."

I dragged myself away from the events of the party and answered her. "Just drank water; I wasn't hungry, I was scum - I didn't deserve to eat." I remembered the feelings of nausea that would overwhelm me each time I contemplated eating. By the time I'd met Stan I'd lost over a stone. The meal that I'd eaten, as I confessed my actions to him, had been the first proper meal that I had eaten in weeks.

"Stop that!" She hugged me hard, and then nudged my narrative along, "So you stayed with me for three days without food."

"Oh, there was food, I had to get you to eat. I got a friend of mine to do some shopping for me and drop it off. I said you were recovering from the 'flu'. Later when you were feeling better I made sure that she was the one you saw helping you. I couldn't have borne it if you'd thanked me."