That thing that could not be said erupts out of me and I choke back a sob.

He stops. ‘Are you ok?’

The dry tears are stuck at the back of my throat and it feels as if it is closing in. I make a sound like a wheeze.

‘Are you asthmatic?’ he asks. ‘Do you need your inhaler?’

I turn on my side, away from him, and vomit.

‘Jesus,’ he says. ‘Jesus … you had better go home, get some rest.’ He moves fast, handing me my clothes. ‘Who can I call?’

I’m ok now. Empty.

‘I’ll go and get some help.’ He leaves, banging the door hard.

The dark thoughts grow and multiply until there is nothing for it but to rock my head on the pillow. Back and forth, back and forth. I need to dislodge.

The man has returned and is watching me rocking. I do not know how long he is standing there but when I notice, I hold my head in my hands to stop.

‘What is it?’ he says.

I curl on my side again, away from him.

‘Where do you girls stay?’

I half-turn my body towards him. ‘I do not know.’

He is scratching the back of his neck over and over. ‘What does it look like?’

I try to describe the place as best I can: the houses that all look alike, the roundabout, the dead-end street, the big wall at the end. He is shaking his head. What did he think when he came here tonight? Something about the way he was with me makes me think he has done this before, many times. But, maybe he has never seen a mark of violence on a girl before; maybe he has never met someone as young as me; maybe the other girls were better at acting than I am; maybe no one has ever been sick in his company before. And maybe the fact that he knows Sammy brought his other life into the room with him. I slowly sit upright and risk looking him in the eye. I see you. He is the first to look away, and closes the door, gently this time.

40. Sammy

40

Sammy