Entangled (2 page)

day 6

Day 6? How did
that
happen? Yesterday I stayed in bed, mostly alternating between crying and shouting (and sometimes both at the same time). It was awful. The first time Ethan came in I stayed under the duvet. I couldn’t bear to look at him. And when he came to take away my food tray, I tried pleading with him. It’s just too embarrassing – what I said, how I tried to bargain with him, what I
offered
him. Most of all though, I just kept asking him why. He stood with his back against the door, saying nothing for the longest time. I wanted to grab his stupid ears and smash his stupid head against the door until his stupid brains leaked out. Instead, I did nothing.

Oh, I’ve thought about attacking him. I’ve thought about it plenty. Even hatched some half-arsed schemes: the classic hiding-behind-the-door-with-a-vase trick being a particular favourite. Only one problem though: I don’t have a vase. And somehow I don’t think a pillow would be quite so effective. Still, I could at least
try
. Kick him in the balls, gouge out an eye, bust some Bruce Lee-style moves (not that I know any Bruce Leestyle moves, but a girl could improvise). I can’t quite work out why I’ve done nothing of the sort. Maybe he’s put some kind of voodoo magic mind-spell on me. Yeah, that must be it.

Now where was I? Ah yes, the totally undignified pleading and snivelling and asking him why. He listened and watched me with those stormysexysmoky eyes. I seemed to be troubling him. He looked like he actually felt sorry for me. Like he
genuinely
cares. I don’t get it. How can he look at me like that and yet STILL be putting me through this? If he wants me to be less pleady/snivelly he should FUCKING LET ME GO, SHOULDN’T HE?

Finally, when I was a crumpled, sobbing heap on the floor, he said softly, ‘Grace, it’s got to be this way. There’s nothing you can do about it. I’m sorry.’ He turned and opened the door, and with one last, particularly annoying ‘I’m sorry’ he was gone. I banged on the door with my fists until they were bruised and swollen, shouting, ‘IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE THIS WAY! IF YOU JUST LET ME GO, I WON’T TELL ANYONE! I PROMISE! ETHAN? ETHAN? COME BACK … PLEASE, ETHAN, COME BACK!’ Over and over and over again. Eventually I slid down the door and sat with my back against it – more hopeless than ever.

So yesterday sucked. Today’s better, but not much. For one thing, my hands hurt like a bastard. Beating your fists to a pulp is not such a great idea when the only thing you have to occupy your time is WRITING. Stupid cow.

Before I get back to The Tragic Story of Grace Carlyle’s Supposed Last Night on Earth, I thought it might be a good idea to describe my room/cell/ whatever. It really is kind of nice.

My room/cell/whatever – a list in seven points

1. It’s nearly double the size of my bedroom. The walls, ceiling and floorboards are all white as white can be. It smells newly painted too.

2. The bathroom. White again. Toilet, sink, shower. Two white towels (which Ethan takes away each day and brings back alpine fresh). There’s even cleaning stuff under the sink, but he’s got another think coming if he reckons I’m going to use it. Surely this is the one time a girl can skive off her chores without repercussions?

3. The window. Ah, the window – my least favourite thing. Boarded up (with white boards, of course). Unfortunately Ethan’s done a pretty good job of that. Even if I press my body up against the wall in a most attractive fashion, I can only see a tiny chink of light in the bottom left-hand corner. It’s easy to lose track of night and day, but I’m doing the best I can.

4. The bed. White again (sensing a theme yet? Maybe Ethan’s got some kind of complex or something? Purity. Innocence. Virginity? Sorry, you’ve got the wrong girl). Two white pillows, white duvet cover, white sheets.

5. The table and chair (white and whiter). In the middle of the room, facing the door. The paper and pens were on top of the table when I woke up that first day. There are forty-seven pens. They’re Bics. I really would have preferred pencils, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers and all that. And if beggars could be choosers, this beggar would have chosen a slightly more comfortable chair to sit on. Numb bum. Anyway, there’s also three massive wodges (reams?) of paper.

6. The light. There’s a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, right above the table. It really lets down the rest of the decor, to be honest.

7. The door. Well, it’s the way you come into or go out of the room, but I wouldn’t know much about that. There’s no keyhole. Sounds like there are a couple of deadbolts on the other side though. It seems a sturdy sort of a door.

Nap time.

Just woke up. Thought I was at home in my own bed. And then I crash-landed back to Earth with an almighty thump. Worst feeling ever.

It’s the not knowing that’s really getting to me. I’m not saying it would be better if Ethan had actually
done
something to me by now, but at least then I’d have some idea of what I’m up against. I could at least try and fight some perverted rapist. I can’t fight Ethan …

So I sat down on the swing next to this guy and said hello. And he looked at me in that weird way of his. I said hello again. He whispered a hoarse hello, then cleared his throat and said it again, louder. It reminded me of those mornings after a night on the piss. The ones when I lounge around watching kids’ telly in a kind of hazy post-alcoholic stupor, and then the phone rings and I find that I can’t speak properly cos I haven’t said a word for twelve hours or something.

I introduced myself and reached out to shake his hand. He looked at my hand like he wasn’t quite sure what to do, and then just as I was about to take it back, he reached out and shook it. His hand was soft and strong, and his grip was firm. Forgot to mention before, but Ethan has perfect hands too. Like he’d be awesome at playing the piano. God, he has beautiful
everything
. It’s really quite sickening.

He told me his name and I was surprised. Mum once told me that if I’d been a boy, I’d have been called Ethan. I’ve never met an Ethan before.

I asked if he wanted a swig of my gin. He shook his head slowly and looked at me strangely, cocking his head to the side and looking kind of quizzical, as if to say, ‘Are you sure you should be drinking that?’ Since he hadn’t actually said the question out loud, I thought I was perfectly within my rights to ignore it. I took a few gulps. It was starting to taste pretty good.

So far the conversation wasn’t exactly flowing smoothly, but I wasn’t going to let that put me off. I asked him where he was from, which is when he said ‘around’ (the suspicious-to-anyone-who’s-actually-paying-attention-and-cares-whether-they-live-or-die ‘around’). Anyway, I started babbling about nothing: the park, the irritating guy in the off-licence, the weather (yeah, the
weather
– can you even believe it?). Then I moved on to other stuff.
Proper
stuff. And somewhere along the line I forgot that I was supposed to be getting him to leave. I drank more, and soon got that oh-so-familiar feeling of the words that I wanted to say being very slightly too big for my mouth, so that I had to be careful to EN-UN-CI-ATE VE-RY CLEAR-LY.

Ethan didn’t seem to mind my onslaught of chat. Occasionally he’d smile at me, or ask a question about something I’d said.

Come to think of it, he asked a lot of questions. But whenever I asked
him
a question he evaded it neatly, either by being Master of Vagueness, or by chucking the same question right back at me. That’s cheating.

I didn’t feel wary of him at all. In fact, I felt strangely safe. I wasn’t
happy
exactly. I mean after all, I was still planning on topping myself. How happy can a girl be in that situation? It’s just that I felt that talking to Ethan really was the
right
way to spend the time I had left. And I felt like we had some kind of connection. Urgh. That looks even lamer written down than it sounded in my head.

So, moving on to the Main Event, which I remember surprisingly well. The time passed, the gin dwindled, and my head became more than a little bit fuzzy. I realized that I wanted to kiss Ethan; I wasn’t loving the idea of Nat being the last boy I ever got to kiss. I knew I would go for it eventually. It was just a matter of timing …

We’d been sitting in silence for a few minutes (a nice, friendly silence, I thought) when I scooted my swing nearer his. Ethan turned to me so our faces were really close. He looked at me through the bits of hair that fell in front of his eyes. I gently touched the scar above his lip, and asked him how he’d got it. He shrugged. And that’s when I kissed him. It seemed to take him by surprise – not that I’d hidden my intentions
at all
. His lips were warm and soft and comforting. But he didn’t exactly kiss me back.

I asked him what was wrong, and he shrugged. Again. ‘I don’t think it’s such a good idea. Sorry.’
Ouch
.

I did what any self-respecting girl would do in the face of a knock-back like that: I started to cry. Pathetic. But how was
I
supposed to know that I was trying to pull a boy who was planning on kidnapping me?

Ethan put his arm around me and made comforting ‘shhh, don’t cry’ noises. I was confused as hell, and drunk, and probably starting to remember that there’s-something-I-have-to-do-tonight-so-I’d-really-better-get-on-with-it-if-it’s-OK-with-you.

And that’s when I puked down his vest.

Well, there’s not really much more to say about that night. Post-puke, it gets even more hazy. What I do remember is that Ethan didn’t react like I would have done if some random had vommed on me. I was apologizing like crazy (still crying, I think) when he just whipped off his vest and chucked it in the bin behind the swings. He said something like, ‘Time to go,’ and held out his hand to me. I must have mumbled something about wanting to stay in the park, but I was feeling so dog-rough that I let him haul me up from the swing and lead me away. I remember seeing the van. I remember him leaning over me to buckle my seat belt. And then … not a lot. I
think
I remember that we were headed towards my house. Damn that gin – such a bad move. All I know after that is that I must have fallen asleep. And I woke up here.