Dead Inside. Noelle Holten
I knew what would happen if I said no.
He wrapped his arm around my neck, pulled me closer. Tight, uncaring and rough, until he was almost choking me.
‘Please … don’t.’ There was a whimper in my voice.
Sometimes, my weakness made me sick.
‘I want you.’
‘I have to work in the morning, Patrick. Please … don’t.’
He shoved his hand between my legs. Not gentle or loving, but forceful.
Through gritted teeth he snarled, ‘I don’t care. I. Want. You.’
‘Please. Think of Siobhan. You’ll wake her.’
I remember tears flowing down my face like a waterfall. Like they’d never stop. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think of something else.
Anything else. Anything would be better than this.
I was dead inside, numb to it all, even as I tried to remember the happier times.
When I thought he loved me.
When I loved him.
That night was the first time my husband raped me.
The look in his eyes when he finished and cast me aside told me it wouldn’t be the last.
With only a few hours left in his shift, Amit was itching for a break. He saw Beacon Park up ahead and, as the moon reflected brightly off the bonnet of his black cab, he pulled up at the kerb and turned off his engine. It was nearly 4 a.m.
He stretched his arms and the twinge in his leg told him he needed to get out before they cramped up. He opened the door and felt the chill in the air. Reaching over to the passenger seat, he grabbed his jacket and stepped out of his car. It was so quiet. Not a person in sight, but as it wasn’t the best area in Markston, he made sure to lock his door before heading to the park entrance.
Amit stood by the gate and debated whether to have a quick walk down the path. The lamps were few and far between, thanks to the bloody council. He pulled the collar of his jacket up to keep his neck warm and started walking. A gust of wind blew a plastic bag in front of him and made him jump. He shook his head, looked over his shoulder. Laughed to himself.
In the distance, he could see something in the middle of the path – a large lump was blocking the way. He took out his mobile phone and searched for the flashlight app. Turning it on, he held the phone in front of him and saw that it was a person, lying flat on their back. Probably some drunk passed out after a few too many. Could be a potential fare if he played his cards right.
‘Hey! Are you OK?’ He waited for a response. Kept waiting. After a minute or so he decided to approach. They may have hit their head when they fell backwards. The clothing indicated that it was probably a man and, as he got closer, he noticed something wet on the ground. He must have been sick. The man’s arms were splayed out beside him, like he was rejoicing in the glory of his drunkenness.
Amit wasn’t prepared for the sight that met his eyes and he could feel the bile rise in his throat. Oh Christ!
The man was not sleeping – though Amit wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead. He shone the flashlight over his chest and couldn’t see it rising. It was then that he spotted the slash across his throat and realized that it wasn’t puke oozing beneath the man’s head – it was blood. He jumped back. Shit. Shit. Shhhhhhhit.
Hands shaking, he ran back along the path. Punched in 999 on his mobile and raised the phone to his ear. Time stood still as he stopped running, heaving in a breath. Heard the phone ring once, twice and finally an answer.
‘Uh … hell … hello? Yes, police p-p-please. I’ve found a body.’
His phone fell from his shaking hands and the contents of his dinner emptied on to the grass.
Lucy came downstairs and looked at Patrick. He was slumped in the chair with his hand wrapped around a can of lager and – for one appalling moment – Lucy hoped he was dead. She shook the thought from her head in disgust and focused instead on her busy morning. He was supposed to take Siobhan to school. Lucy told him last night that she had an early meeting with one of her offenders. She sighed.
Getting angry at Patrick was a waste of energy – it never achieved anything. With her parents and sister coming to dinner later, Lucy could do without anymore stress. All she wanted was for Patrick to be semi-sober and civil. Not too much to ask, or so she thought.
Seeing Patrick now, Lucy couldn’t explain what had drawn her to him in the first place. She supposed it was the usual things – cheeky smile, piercing eyes, and a charismatic personality. But it was what he was like behind closed doors that scared her. As a probation officer, Lucy knew all the signs – the I’m sorrys, it won’t happen again; I love you so much … the list of excuses was long and never-ending. Despite this, she still found herself unable to leave.
Lucy left the room and walked back upstairs, pushing Siobhan’s bedroom door open. She looked over at the bed and paused.
Social services had placed Siobhan in the care of Patrick, giving Lucy temporary special guardianship. The court battles were expensive and emotionally hard to endure, but Lucy wouldn’t have changed a thing. She loved Siobhan as her own.
Lucy tiptoed inside and shut the door behind her, looking around at the room. The pink walls and plush carpet were Siobhan’s choice, and matched her duvet perfectly. Her eyes fell on a photo of Siobhan’s grandparents, standing outside their house.
Ten-year-old Siobhan still had supervised contact with Becky Parks, her mother. She would spend most weekends at her maternal grandparent’s house, where Becky could go and visit. Lucy was fortunate to have forged a reasonably good relationship with Becky’s parents, Ed and Maria Parks. Although it was initially strained, they seemed to understand why their daughter needed to be kept away from solely raising Siobhan.
Lucy made excuses for herself. Reasons why she stayed, because to believe that she’d allow this to happen to herself was incomprehensible. Taking on Patrick’s daughter played a large part in Lucy staying in the relationship. Siobhan was the result of Patrick’s toxic past with Becky Parks – an alcoholic and pretty vile creature-of-a-woman, whose voice could send a shiver down your spine. But it wasn’t all bad; there were some good days with Patrick, when the house was filled with laughter, and Lucy even felt a little bit of love. She knew that things weren’t perfect, but she had made the decision to stay, so now she just had to deal with it.
Lucy crouched down next to the bed and gently pulled back the covers. ‘Siobhan, wake up, sleepyhead! Daddy is poorly, so I’m taking you to school today, OK?’
Siobhan rustled in her bed. ‘OK.’
Lucy headed back to her own room to get ready for work, knowing Siobhan could get dressed without any fuss. Lucy planned on leaving Patrick a note to remind him about their dinner plans. Picking up her mobile, she texted Sarah Hardy, her friend and colleague at Markston Probation, to let her know she was on her way.
Lucy looked in the mirror and stopped. She nearly cried, something that was becoming a bit of a habit. Once silky, her hair was now a greasy mess – always pulled back in a bun or ponytail. Eyes that previously held a mischievous sparkle, were dull and puffy. Looking herself up and down, she saw an overweight, frumpy woman who chose oversized jumpers and cheap trousers to hide her body and make herself less attractive.
Lucy was finally beginning to realize that she had gradually cocooned herself in a protective shell. Withdrawn from friends, family, and neighbours, she