The entire class turned to look at me and they all started giggling. Even Susan Tan was trying to smile, but not smile at the same time.

That night, I dreamt of demons and angels, and a paved road with thick, gnarled thorns, strewn with blood-red roses that led into an eternal fire. I heard mortal screams, and the raucous shrieks and snarls of lurking demons.

An incubus then came to me, sliding into my bed from the right. I felt his cold fingers creep over my shoulder and onto my budding breasts, and my body tingled with pleasure and paralysis. My limbs, mouth, frozen. Eyes glued shut. Heart thumping, I forced myself to pray—Hail Mary, Full of Grace, the Lord is with thee, Blessed art Thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus, Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death, Amen.

I could still feel it, a weight upon me, clutching my hands, gripping them like a vice. It was on me. I could not breathe.

Help, help me, Jesus.

With all the strength I could muster, I forced it off, bucking my knees and almost kicking the blanket off.

Hail Mary, Full of Grace, the Lord is with thee, Hail Mary, Full of Grace, the Lord is with thee, Hail Mary, Full of Grace, the Lord is with thee.

It was gone, and my bedroom smelled foul.

Mummy! Mummy! I screamed. She never came.

I was a sinner, I had sinned and I had paid for it. I had questioned Sister Martha and I had paid for it. A demon had visited me in the night and I felt the pleasure of his visit. It would be the first of many. I turned over and the clock displayed a gleaming 3.03am. I had sinned, and I had eternal damnation to pay.

He walked me to his car, guiding me gently by the elbow, and he opened the car door for me. The seat felt cool, the insides smelt of pine. KL was rousing to life. Traffic was sparse, and the air outside was balmy. He played U2 on the stereo.

We spoke a little, but my tongue felt knotted, dry. My jaw ached from the hours of needless chatter at the club. I was spent, dried out, my voice hoarse.

His name was Omar. Half Malay, half English. He was back from London where he worked and lived. His family had an apartment in the Pan Global building, which overlooked the club, and he had been walking to get breakfast when he saw me.

I was afraid to look at him. His nearness was disconcerting. I was coming down and I felt vulnerable, like the insides of a young coconut being scraped slowly by a child with a broken spoon, but it didn’t stop me from stealing glances at him when his eyes were on the road.