When I smash my lips on hers, it’s a real kiss, an exchange instead of an assault. Her tongue against mine, slippery and tasting me. Oh, I bite her a little, I can’t help myself, but not too hard, and I keep the beast in check. There’s a way she moves her hips, a lift of invitation followed by a sudden retreat, that leaves me straining at the bit.
She's shaking all over, almost crying, holding onto my shirt. It upsets her that I've taken her there. It's one of the reasons I did it. She was afraid I'd go all the way, make her come, and that's something she didn’t want to do. Only now she has. Gone wet and panting for me, given up that little part of herself to me.
She’s quiet after that. Takes it all in silence. Her head turns so that she can look at the pool of light she begged for.
As soon as it’s over, she returns to that sterile, empty place she always goes to when I stop touching her. Like I’m no longer there.
Used then discarded.
I get off the bed, stand over her and consider the shape of her. She’s so small on that bed.
I go to the bathroom, wet my face in the sink and shake off the droplets of water. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, take a deep breath, and look at myself.
Amy’s a mystery I want to unlock. And I don’t fucking understand why the need is so intense. Feels like a never-ending burn, the pain never quits. Never stops scraping, biting, gnawing away.
‘Is that a new a tattoo?’ Amy says. She’s teetering outside the open bathroom door.
I lean forward on the sink, looking. She’s behind me, and that’s all it takes. My heart does all the annoying flippy shit it’s been doing for the past few weeks. Never felt a thing for another girl. Now the name Amy is encircled in hearts and floating in a fizzy bubble behind my ribs.
‘The one on your back,’ she says.
I’m half gone, don’t register her words. I’m all caught up over sunshine brain hair, little ears, and emerald cities.
I splash more water on my face. It’s not cold enough to wake up.
This is fucking ridiculous.
The newly-inked mermaid tattoo on my broad back is dark and painful against my pale skin.
‘Yeah,’ I reply.
‘Why a mermaid?’
I look at her reflection in the mirror.
The mermaid has a brain bun of hair on her head, with a little ray of sunshine on the side.
I just shrug.
Leaving the bathroom, Amy goes back and sits on her bed. I look at her for a long time, processing my thoughts.
‘What are you waiting for?’ she says.
‘You know what.’
‘You’ve come back to, what? Hurt me some more?’ She exhales loudly. ‘I can’t be hurt more, Shepherd. I wouldn’t want to waste your time.’
‘I told you, I’m not done with you,’ I rasp.
She lies on her side, facing the light, but her face is covered. Leaning over, I smoothe back her sweat-matted hair, look at her closely. Her eyes are empty, gazing far away.
‘When will you be done?’ she whispers.
‘Never.’
I don’t know if that’s true, if that gnawing thing in me might not eventually burn out. But I like how scared she looks when I say it. Makes my cock hard again when her juices on me aren’t even dry. I stroke her bare ass, peachy and soft, and stroke her shoulder blade.
‘Something like that would kill a person,’ she says.
‘I’m not gonna apologize for being obsessed with you, Amy. So get used to it.’
She meets my gaze. The thing is there again, in her eyes. The part of me that she had when we were fourteen. Sometimes I like seeing it in her eyes, but most of the time I want to get it back. That’s when the urge to hurt her is strongest. Say something nasty, do something vicious, just like I did all them years back.
It’s stupid and superstitious, but the moment when the ghosts leave her eyes, I have my soul back. And I need to leave while I still have it.
13
YOU
IT’S WEIGHING DAY.
I’m the only girl who isn’t worried. I don’t have an eating disorder. I’m naturally slight and skinny. Though, since my mother’s death, I have lost my appetite. The other day, Rebecca mentioned briefly if I was eating right. I looked too pale, she said.
Lilac is bent over the sink, glugging water from the tap. She isn’t anorexic, but I worry because Lilac has quite an influence over the other girls. Scarlett self-harms but she doesn’t have any issues with food. I don’t worry for her. I worry for Daisy. And for Max.
Daisy leans against the cold tiles, watching. I heard her crying the other night. I imagine the staff had to force her to finally leave her room. She’s wearing a tartan hat with a red bobble.
She reminds me of a woodland elf, so slight she could fly away.
‘What isn’t worth it?’ Daisy asks, nervously whispering, eyes bloodshot in her sunken face.
‘Lilac is waterloading. To weigh more on the scales.’
Lilac comes up from the tap like a drowning man, gasping for air, water dripping from her chin on to her Wonder Woman nightdress.
‘S’right,’ she tells Daisy. ‘Don’t let the scumbags beat you.’
Daisy moves forward to the tap, and bends to take some water, holding her hat with one hand so it doesn’t slip, and in that moment I see a girl, just a girl in a hat, who needs help. I put my hand
