‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!’ Maggie screamed. ‘Fucking fuck off, you fucking bastard!’

He rubbed his cheek and temple. His left foot tapped on the floor. ‘I can’t,’ he began, ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this. This is awful, it’s’ – he puffed his cheeks out, his eyes twitching in agitation. ‘It’s simply not acceptable.’ The last words came out as a shout, and he glared at her, his body now still again. ‘Stop it. Stop it now. You’re ruining everything.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘You will,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to do this today. Not the first time we met. But I think I have to. I think I have to teach you a lesson. This really isn’t what I wanted, I’d like you to know that. But you leave me with no choice. This is your fault.’

His right hand went to the blue belt of his bathrobe. He undid the belt and the bathrobe opened. Underneath he was wearing a white T-shirt and pale blue Y-fronts. They were tented at the front. He gripped the cloth. ‘This is your doing, Fruitcake,’ he mumbled.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Please, no.’

‘You brought this on yourself,’ he said. His face was now fixed, a hungry, wild look in his eyes; he seemed almost like a different person. ‘Lie down. On your front.’

Maggie shook her head. ‘No. I’ll do what you want. I won’t swear. I’ll be good, I promise.’

‘This is what I want,’ he said, and took a step towards her. She shrank back, her shoulders pressing into the wall. He reached out, and grabbed her arm. He twisted it, forcing her on to her front. He lay on her, heavy, his breath hot against the back of her neck.

She tried to pull away from him but it was impossible. He was too strong. He forced her legs apart with his knee.

When he was finished, he grunted and stood up. She lay face down, her eyes closed.

‘I love you,’ he said. ‘I love you, Fruitcake.’

Monday, 18 June 2018

Five Days to Go

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