I am silent and livid.
‘This isn’t just about you.’
I try to pull free; his fingers twist my skin. ‘You’re hurting me.’
‘I love you.’ His tone is desperate, pleading almost. ‘I’m in love with you, Elodie.’
I don’t know what my reaction is supposed to be – shocked, giddy, grateful? I am too angry to feel any of it. His declaration of love doesn’t touch me; it breaks like a wave upon the shore, reaching for my toes but never quite making it. All I can think is – why now? Why is he telling me this now?
‘Say something.’
‘I’m not going to tell the police you’re involved.’
He blinks, taken aback. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘If that’s why you told me you love me … I won’t tell them this was your idea.’
‘You think that’s why? I told you I love you because I fucking love you.’
He lets go of my wrist and cups my face, a parody of the embrace we shared last night; his fingers are not gentle, they are bruising. He’s not acting himself; he’s starting to scare me.
‘You love me. I know you do.’ I see resolve harden in his face and I know what he’s about to do.
‘Don’t—’ I start to object, but his lips crush mine. He kisses me angrily, roughly. I shove against his chest, but he adjusts his grip on me. Moving one hand around my neck and the other to the small of my back, he jerks me against him, trapping my hands between us – pain shoots up my pinned wrists and I cry out. He seizes the opportunity, forcing his tongue into my mouth. I struggle, but it’s useless; he is so much stronger, so much bigger.
I bite down, catching something soft between my teeth.
He releases me, fingers flying to his bloody mouth.
I stumble back.
We stare at each other through the pouring rain; it distorts his features; he is a grotesque reflection in a funhouse mirror. I expect him to jibber with apologies. I wait. There is blood on his teeth and tension in his body. He is not going to say he is sorry. An instinct older than time tells me to flee. Too late. He lunges. I leap back, but the earth is slick, and my trainer shoots out from beneath me. The air is pushed from my lungs as I smack the ground. I lie on my back, struggling to breathe. There’s no time to recover; he is on me, driving me hard into the dirt. I fight him, kicking and clawing. He catches my pounding, flailing fists. With one hand, he holds my wrists hostage above my head, so high up my shoulders burn.
‘Stop,’ I choke.
‘We’re in love. You felt it’ – his free hand grips my bare thigh hard enough to bruise – ‘when I was inside you.’
I squeeze my eyes shut and in the spinning dark I tell myself this is not happening. But I feel the roughness of jeans, the hardness of him digging into my upper thigh and I can’t pretend anymore; it’s happening. The realisation starts in the pit of my stomach and roars to life, rushing up from my gut and out of my mouth in a high-pitched, terrified shriek. Over and over, like a siren.
Mouth claiming mine again, he swallows my scream. His tongue is moist and warm, slug-like in my mouth. I want to turn my head away, but I’m trapped between him and the hard ground, shaking with adrenaline and exhaustion. Pinned beneath him, all I can do is whimper and pant as his fingers move like maggots up my thigh until they are wriggling between my legs, moving my knickers to one side.
He whispers into my ear, ‘Let me make you feel it.’
‘Jack,’ I scream. His name is the only word I can find.
But this isn’t Jack – this is a stranger.
I think back to us as children racing down to the little beach.
The stranger clamps a hand over my mouth and tells me to be quiet.
I think of Jack bringing croissants to my house first thing in the morning.
The stranger yanks my underwear down my thigh.
I think of Jack sitting beside me on his big green sofa with a glass of wine and a smile. The sound of a zipper brings me back to myself. He leans away, unhooking the button of his jeans with his thumb. I bring my knee up into his crotch. He lets go of my wrists to clutch his groin, cheeks puffing, and I scramble from beneath him, slip-sliding on the slick mud. I pull my knickers up and then I am running.
He bellows my name.
I crash through the woods, banging into trees that seem to spring up in my path. My legs are elastic bands that have been pulled too tight. Bark bites into my skin as I squeeze between trunks. Sharp twigs and thorns from bracken slice and scratch as I run. I hear my heart soaring all around, feel blood rushing in rivers through my veins.