‘Shut up,’ the man says. ‘You want me to hit you again, you filthy bitch?’

My heart is thumping hard now, and I feel like I might throw up.

Carrie tries to shake her head, to signal that it’s OK, but I know it isn’t. But I also know that the man hasn’t seen me yet. He’s too engrossed in what he’s doing.

The red mist descends. I have been on my best behaviour. I have let her take centre stage. I’ve reined myself in, tried to be who she wanted me to be. But I can’t maintain this façade now. Not when this is happening right in front of my eyes.

Her eyes plead. Don’t come in. Don’t get involved.

He’s up on his knees now, pinning her with one arm, holding his bulging cock with the other. She’s stopped struggling. She closes her eyes.

He still hasn’t seen me. I walk slowly into the room, glad that I am wearing flat shoes – good drinking shoes, I think, with a smile. They make no sound on the lino floor. I pick up the lamp from the desk and carefully pull the plug from the wall. I notice there’s a bottle of vodka sitting there that wasn’t there before. I hesitate. Bottle or lamp?

Lamp.

He’s back on her now, grunting. Thrusting. Her eyes are now tightly closed, and he has one hand around her neck. I watch for a moment longer and then I raise my arm – the lamp is not as heavy as I thought, or perhaps adrenaline really does give you superhuman strength.

His breathing is faster now. His grunts are like the squeals of a disgusting fat pig.

But he’s not a pig. He is a wolf. A predator. And no matter what Carrie has done to me, I will not allow this to happen.

I take another step, and Carrie’s eyes fly open as I bring the base of the lamp down on the back of his head. Again. Again.

Again.

Carrie screams, and I throw myself onto the bed, pushing him off her onto the floor. I put a hand over her mouth. Blood is still coursing through my veins.

‘Shhh,’ I say. ‘You have to be quiet.’

Her eyes dart to the side, and I see what she can see.

He’s moving. Trying to pull himself up. He puts a hand to the back of his head, then looks at it quizzically. There’s a lot of blood, but head wounds tend to be like that.

Carrie opens her mouth to scream once more, and I launch myself back towards him, lamp in hand. I hit him in the face this time, and he staggers back, tripping over his own feet. Out of the open door and onto the balcony. He is trying to speak, but only bubbles of blood come from his mouth.