Chapter 7

I've done a lot of stupid things in my life. We were staying at the home of the lead singer, front man of band that Mom was 'with' at the time. The previous night's party had faded with the darkness, everyone was sleeping, Mom too, though I didn't know who with.

I liked the dawn, the peace, nobody around, not even security, not there at the house. The swimming pool was mirror smooth, the water warm as I sat on the diving board swinging my legs and watching the sun's reflection on the water. I had found a wristwatch, heavy and gold and had picked it up intending to take it inside, but as I toyed with it I dropped it. I remember watching horrified as it fell into the water, sending ripples out across the mirror like surface as it dropped down to the bottom of the pool.

Aghast at my clumsy stupidity I didn't stop to think, just slipped off my smock and jumped in after it. I remember the conscious effort to open my eyes underwater, as I struggled deeper. Only after managing to grab the watch did I think about what I was doing, back then I couldn't swim very well, had never tried to hold my breath underwater, not properly, clinging onto the watch I struggled up towards the surface, lungs hurting with the need to breathe, the surface so bright, so far away, the darkness closing in as I ran out of air.

The darkness faded and I burst into the light, gasping for air, fighting the pain, fighting to thrash my arms, to swim, to live. I screamed when my arms couldn't move, screamed and fought until the voice spoke, the voice close to me, arms around me, the guard pulling me from the pool. I opened my eyes, he was a girl, my arms were cuffed above my head and the pain, oh fuck the pain, I screamed, screamed into the hand that clamped across my mouth. For a moment the darkness returned, the need to breathe, then the voice, barely a whisper, "I'm sorry, so sorry, please don't scream, we need to get away, now, fast, please don't hate me, I can't be gentle." The darkness faded and the pain returned, so much pain, too much, I wanted it to stop, it had to stop, it was too ... I closed my eyes and drifted, my mind and body separating as before, the oh so familiar sense of watching myself, my mind focused on the detail, intent on my subject, unaware of my hunger, my thirst, the loss of feeling in my leg folded beneath me as I sketched.

I don't know how I did it, maybe I didn't? Maybe the pain was just to much and it overloaded my senses? All I remember is feeling detached, watching the girl releasing me, her voice broken by her sobs as she pulled my arm over her shoulder, the other arm around my waist, dragging me, supporting me, saving me.

I watched us leave the room, followed us down the corridor and through a utility room to a back door, the white tiled floor smeared with red as we crossed to the door. I remember her face, the terror in her eyes, the words she repeated over and over, "I'm sorry. Fucking psycho bitch. I'm sorry. Fuc..." The patio was smooth and cold, the garden shed ahead. She pulled open the door, tools, a mower, a dog cage. She led me to the cage, reached inside and pulled out a blanket, laid it across the top of the cage, then gently lowered me forwards onto it, legs spread, body resting on the frame, just as well, I didn't think I could stand on my own, not right then. "I'll be back." The darkness rose up, drowning me.

I lay there in the darkness, trying to ignore the pain, the slow dripping that pooled at my feet and soaked into the blanket. Somehow I managed to keep detached, my mind ignoring my body, a nagging voice kept urging me to think, to act, to get myself away, but that meant loosing concentration on being detached, so I ignored the nagging and stayed detached, trusting that something would happen, and it did, the girl returned, agitated, frightened, but still willing to help me when she could have just run and saved herself.

"I grabbed these from the laundry, we need to get out of here, fast, and get you help." Her hand closed around my ankle, lifting, slipping a tennis shoe on my foot, lacing it up tight because it was several sizes to big. Then the other foot, her hands at my waist fitting a wrap-around skirt, then, "this is going to hurt, sorry, but you have to wear something." It felt funny, it was not until later I realised it was a black dustbin bag, holes ripped for my arms and head. Her quick thinking saved me a lot of later pain as the plastic didn't stick to the cuts when the doctors did their best to patch me up.

A lot of what happened is kind of blurry. In shutting out the pain and separating my mind and body I shut out what was happening as well. I only remember the parts that broke through, when the pain was to sharp, to unexpected, like when I had to bend my back to get in the car, and later to get out again at the hospital. I do know that the girl kept saying sorry to me and in between promised the driver she'd 'look after' him after he dropped me off...

The hospital I just don't want to remember. Not ever. Somehow I made it from the car to the doors, then it's sketchy. I know they wanted to know my name, to know what happened, the doctors, the nurses, the police. I never said a word, the doctors said it was shock, the police persisted for a while, the nurses took longer.

I don't remember the fire, I only knew about it because the policemen were discussing it, unaware of any connection, I'll never know if the girl started it for revenge, or the bitch used it to destroy the evidence, I do know it was started in the laundry room and that the bitch survived. Too bad.

Slowly my back healed, I could move, at first without flinching, then without thinking. One day I managed to look at myself in a mirror, happy I could twist enough to look as I studied the damage, the overlapping cicatrises, some freshly pink, a few still angry red.

Maybe it was because they'd grown used to me, perhaps it was because I never spoke, whatever the reason they discussed me without ever acknowledging my presence. When those discussions turned to more surgery, I chose to leave. That night I simply dressed in the few clothes I had, the Jean Jacket the girl had brought me from the laundry, a pair of jeans one of the nurses had found for me, a oversized T-shirt, the tennis shoes. I slipped past the nurses station and away into the darkness.

It took a while to walk home, back to the flat, to Chris. I had no key, no one was there, so I walked around the back to the yard behind the gallery. The cellar door had a key-code lock, inside it was dry, a little musty, I curled up on a pile of dust-sheets and slept, for the first time since that night I could relax, I was home, I was safe.

The urgent need to pee awoke me. I slipped out of the cellar, making sure the lock clicked shut, then hurried around the front of the building, it was dark, I must have slept the day away. I jammed my finger on the doorbell whilst hopping from one foot to another. Chris's voice on the intercom, "it's me," I almost screamed, the buzzer never had a chance, I was in the door and up the stairs like the proverbial ferret up the drainpipe, sidestepping Chris's welcome as I dashed to the bathroom, "I gotta pee..."