She watched the girl below with long dark, nearly black hair
laying there moaning on the bed, naked from the waist down and
with her legs splayed open. She felt very sorry for her, for she knew
there would be no clearing of her soul after this.
Starting to come to again, snapshots of her immediate past flashed
through her mind with snippets of conversation playing themselves
out in the background.
“Just a quick jab and then it will be sorted; you won’t feel a
thing . . . Just a small scratch now, Sienna, and it will all be over, all back to normal.”
She could see him standing there, in the living room with a
loaded syringe. His eyes were glittering with madness, and for a
moment she could have sworn it was her mother standing in front
of her. She felt suddenly clammy and bile filled her throat. “What
the fuck . . .”
He laughed. “You never really believed I was going to let you go
through with this, did you? Stop playing silly games, Sienna. Do you
really think I’m going to be associated with your mess and risk losing
everything for some cheap little slut?” He shook his head in disbelief
as he inched closer towards her. She stepped back slowly towards the
wall, all the while keeping her eyes on that needle, she could not peel her eyes from that needle he held in his hand.
“You’re nothing but a greasy spick with big tits and a funny
accent,” he sneered, “you’re nothing but a curiosity to society.”
Sienna dropped her gaze to the floor. He knew she hated the way
she looked and the way it set her apart from everyone else. And then
HE was telling her softly that if she didn’t do as she was told that he 211
Little Wit & Creative Goth
would have Freya removed from her care, THAT’S RIGHT, that’s
what he had said, the bastard had a hold of her daughter. She had
to wake up.
A high-pitched pitiful sound escaped the back of her throat as
another image flashed before her of Clarke’s face bearing down on
her, his eyes full of pure hatred and she knew then that she had met
someone without a soul and that all people weren’t good underneath,
that some were just plain bad.
And the girl on the cloud was laughing at the sheer terror in her
eyes as they darted around the room nervously, mentally trying to
work out a means of escape.
“You’re fucking nuts, Clarke, you’re off your trolley if you think
I’m going to let you get away with this,” she yelled at him, frantic
now as the fear ran rivers down her back, her clothes sticking to
her body. “I have a serious job and a clinic to run, in,” he checked
his Rolex, “approximately twenty minutes, I don’t have time for
this nonsense, Sienna, so if we could just cut through the attention
seeking behaviour and sort this little problem out now and then
everything can go back to normal.”
She looked at him them and considered what a complete
manipulative dirty old bastard he was, one who was beginning to
panic now she had threatened to expose him for what he was. “GO
FUCK YOURSELF, CLARKE,” she spat in his face which was
almost on top of hers now as she inched her way around the wall.
“I will NOT let you do this.” He closed the gap between them by
another inch.
The girl on the cloud fell over backwards with tears of laughter
running from her eyes, she couldn’t believe her ears. She had never
such fight in Sienna.
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“WHAT did you just say to me?” Fury flashed in his eyes as she
took another step backwards as he moved towards her. “You’re SICK,
Sienna, mental y unstable, you’re not capable of looking after anyone,
you’re deranged . . . WHAT sort of person lets themselves be videoed,
lying there pouting for the camera like you’re something special,
just WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” ’ She was backed up
against the corner now when she noticed that Freya was standing in
the doorway sucking on her dummy, her yellow Teletubbie dangling
from her hand; she must’ve woken with the commotion. Clarke
turned round swiftly and grabbed her, yanking her off the ground,
he swung her in the air by one arm, the dummy fell from her mouth,
and the yellow Teletubbie fell from her grasp. And there was Freya,
gawping at her and turning blue in the face as she tried to catch her
breath, her round eyes terrorized, the scream frozen somewhere in
between her larynx and her mouth.
“CLARKE, LET HER GO, let her go, THERE’S
SOMETHING WRONG WITH HER, SHE’S CHOKING.”
Laughing at her, he looked at his prize, “why, the poor little
thing looks like she’s struggling to breathe,” and he turned to leave
the room with Freya under his arm.
“STOP . . . !” She made a futile grasp for Freya who had gone
limp in his hands, her heart was banging away inside her chest. She
could handle almost anything that life threw at her; just don’t hurt
her baby, not her baby.
“LET HER GO, CLARRKEE, PLLEEASEE, FOR GAWD’S
SAKES JUST LET HER GO . . . SHE’S NOT BREATHING.”
She made a lunge for her again and managed to unbalance him
enough so that he dropped Freya, who was now screaming for all she
was worth, when she hit the floor.Sienna held her arms out to her,
frantically trying to reach past Clarke so she could grab her.
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She screamed as Clarke slammed her back up against the wall,
the full force of his weight crushing up against her. “GET OFF ME!”
Her hands were clawing at his face and his eyes and her legs were
kicking out at his shins, his knees, anywhere she could reach as she
struggled to get free of him.
He grabbed both her hands and pinned them up above her head
“No way, never, Sienna—half breed Saverese.” He flicked off the
sheath of the needle.
“GET OFF ME!” she screamed and then she felt the needle
plunge through the thin fabric of her black leggings and into her
thigh.
Nine weeks and three days pregnant. As always, she had known
the day she had conceived. She knew her world would never be the
same again. Sienna dropped her head in prayer for her own soul and
for forgiveness of the sin she was about to commit. God save me, the
destroyer of life, there was no God to save her now. Not anymore.
Mustering up all her strength she tried to speak,
“NO!” she wanted to scream at him, “STOP, I’m sorry, I’ll do
anything you want me to do, anything, just not this, there is no justice
to this situation, the burning of human souls, there are no winners. ”
Her lips moved but no sound came out and she succumbed to the
comfort and the numbing of her soul and of her mind.
She drifted away. The drug was too strong. Sienna felt her grip on
reality go. Her body felt limp. She became aware of Freya’s presence
stood in the doorway screaming, and she tried to turn her head to
look at her but couldn’t, her head felt too heavy. The last thing she
remembered was Freya standing in the corner of the room screaming
and she couldn’t get to her.
Clarke lightly kicked her thigh and was satisfied that the sedative
he had injected her with had knocked her out, Sienna’s body moved
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with the momentum. He smiled to himself, and then his attention
turned back to the screaming brat that was now climbing onto her
mother’s back. Clarke roughly grabbed one pudgy flailing arm and
yanked the child into the air. For a moment he stood there, dangling
the squirming, dirty thing, observing it with some curiosity as to
its reaction; extreme, to say the least. He pondered about possibly
writing some thesis on the subject. Freya gave another piercing yell;
he reared his head back at the noise level; that was enough. Reaching
into his pocket he pulled out a pre-prepared syringe. Pulling Freya
into himself, he secured her against his own body, tilting her head
backwards firmly. Jamming the clear plastic into her left nostril he
pushed the plunger with some force. Freya stopped yelling with
the sheer shock, her tiny body became rigid and then she began to
relax. Within a few minutes, Freya’s eyes drooped and she flopped in
Clarke’s arms. He smiled, “Good girl, that’s a good girl, let’s go for a nice little sleep.” Clarke crossed the landing to Freya’s bedroom and
tossed the docile toddler into her cot. He looked at her sleepy form for a moment wondering what it was that Sienna doted on; he couldn’t
see the attraction, he left to get on with his mission.
Crossing back through to the landing, he began to run his next
steps in automated fashion through his mind, stepping hurriedly
down the stairs; a clinical procedure just like any other that needed
executing with professionalism, just like he always did. He’d read up
on it an hour earlier, nothing to it; in fact he very much doubted there was anything he couldn’t do if he so chose. He glanced at his Rolex
again; he would have to be quick; he had a conference regarding his
latest research into substance misuse that he was chairing.
Clarke clicked open the boot of his sedan and collected the
instruments he had prepared earlier. Snapping the car closed again,
he went back inside and up to the bedroom where Sienna lay like
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a rag doll on the floor. Picking her up, he slung her across the bed
laying her spreadeagled; he stepped back and viewed her position; her
vagina was too low down for him to do this with precision. Grabbing
a couple of pil ows he stuffed them under Sienna’s bottom, reassessed
her alignment once more and then reached for the yellow Teletubbie
and forced it under her as well; there, her posterior was at the right
height now and would save him from bending too much and causing
him unnecessary soft tissue damage to his lower back. Snapping on
his surgical gloves, he inserted a pessary into her vaginal canal and
then commended himself on his consideration that she would recover
more quickly and experience less vomiting, nausea and diarrhea from
his method of choice. What a lucky girl Sienna was, to have someone
as thoughtful as himself.
Next he inserted an intravenous line under the skin on the back
of her hand, and started to deliver drugs through it at a rapid rate to ensure the procedure would be as finished with as quickly as possible.
For this he sat down, still mindful of his back, and held the bag above Sienna to ensure the line didn’t clog, backflow or kink.
He considered what his wife would be cooking for dinner; he was
feeling a bit peckish; he would have to grab a quick sandwich from
the obligatory buffet that would be supplied at his conference from
the hospital kitchen and a coffee, that would tide him over.
Disconnecting the line, he rose from the bed and picked up
what he next needed, positioning himself at the base of the bed. Ah!
But he had forgotten something so dearly important. He placed his
instruments back down and went in search. Returning back to the
bedroom, he careful y laid down the washing up bowl beside Sienna’s
left thigh and tucked a folded towel under her lower buttocks and
vagina. Now he was ready to complete this distraction. Inserting
a curette inside her he began scraping away the pregnancy tissue,
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discarding it into that well-remembered washing up bowl; the
pregnancy tissue stained everything a bright red, the towel soaked
everything else that was flowing from Sienna’s body; he had even
saved her bed linen. Clarke continued with diligence until he was
satisfied his work was done.
He stood back looking at his handiwork and felt a familiar
urge stirring in his loins seeing Sienna lay there; on her back; her
legs spread wide. He snapped off his surgical blood covered gloves
and dropped them into the bowl. Without removing his eyes from
Sienna’s face, he walked slowly to the side of the bed and lifted her
top. Grasping the elastic of the underneath support of her bra he
tugged it downwards; Sienna’s breasts sprang out and he took a still
shot of the scene on his mobile phone, carefully placed her bra back
over her breasts and covered her over with her clothing once more.
He sat down on the side of the bed, his back to her and lit a cigarette.
Maybe he should cancel his appointments.
*
She could hear Freya crying in the distance again, and this time
she forced her eyes open without al owing herself to drift to her warm
space. Her daughter was crying and she needed to attend to her.
Clarke was sat on the edge of her bed flicking through TV
channels. He didn’t look at her or turn around as he spoke. “You’ve
aborted.”
Her abdomen was beginning to cramp and she could feel blood
coming away from her in warm gushes. She didn’t move, she didn’t
know if she should or could, but Freya was crying and she had to.
Clarke clicked off the television, discarding the remote to one
side, and stood adjusting his jacket as he approached her.
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“You certainly took your time to come round, Sienna . . . . been
out for hours, I had to reschedule my conference. I have to go now,
my wife will have dinner prepared.”
He leaned over her and kissed the top of her head. He nodded
towards the bedside table where he had left a glass of water, three
cigarettes and two Panadol on her bedside table. “I’ve left you a drink and some painkillers. I will call again tomorrow. Might be a good
idea to get some rest and take a few days off work.” He nodded at
her and turned to leave.
And she lay there, her baby’s blood staining the towel beneath
her, a fire igniting in her groin as the sound of Freya crying came to
her again.
Pulling herself up, she felt the pain in her groin intensify and
sweep upward through her body. Gritting her teeth she dragged
her body off the bed, she fell and hit the floor hard clutching at her
stomach; Jesus, the pain was something else. Freya yelled again.
Sienna gripped the edge of the mattress and felt a huge loss like a
faucet opening from between her legs as she hauled herself to her feet
and crossed the room over to the landing. It was all but a few feet but it felt like she was treading through silt. Her baby was crying and
she had to get there, falling to her knees she crawled the rest of the
way. Gripping the sides of the cot, she felt beads of sweat form on
her forehead. Freya stood and raised her arms up to be lifted. Sienna’s head felt muffled. She couldn’t focus.
Smiling her biggest smile she leaned over the pine rail and
clutched her baby. She stooped and knelt to lay Freya on the changing
mat when she felt something more go between her legs. Her legs
buckled and her head started to spin. Her stomach spasmed and she
felt sick. She looked down at the floor; thick red syrup puddled on
the floor and it seemed to be coming from her. Was it? Maybe, she
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couldn’t see properly everything was swimming before her. Freya
cried again. Lugging the thin t-shirt over her head, Sienna balled
it up slightly and placed it between her legs. She watched the red/
brown stain begin to seep across the material. Freya yelled at her for
attention.
“It’s OK . . . . Frey, it’s OK, sweetheart.”
Stealthily, she changed the nappy and swooped Freya into her
arms when she had done and rocked back onto her feet. She stood
and made it down the stairs. It flushed again from between her legs.
Sienna clamped her thighs taut as she maneuvered her way toward to
the kitchen cupboard and made Freya some juice. Abdominal pain
gripped her, she couldn’t stand it any longer, she was going to pass
out. Laying herself across the cool tiled floor of the kitchen she lay
listening to Freya babbling to herself. She curled and clutched again
as her abdomen cramped and blood seeped out in a pool beneath her.
Sienna clamped her legs just that little bit harder and then the fog
came back to claim her.
219
Chapter 28
It is so incredibly hard to live in this world when you have natural
ability to see straight through all of it. You spend an agonising
amount of time trying to fit in when your head constantly repeats
that you know you can’t. It makes you sad, it causes depression, but
it is not the sort of sadness that any man made drug can remove.
You sit and reach points of contemplating taking your own life
but you know you can’t because someone else is depending on you
staying around. To see through it all is impending and crippling, to
see through it all is a gift of such enormity that it is something that
cannot be attained, understood or learnt. It can only be understood
by like-minded people and they are few and far between.
Creative Goth
April sat on the wall outside the church, watching strangers
pass her by, wondering as to their connections and
relationship with Damon as she waited, patiently for
Damon’s mother. She had managed to get her act together for the
day and wore a half-respectable dress suit which she had pulled from
the back of her closet and pressed an iron over. After blowing a bag
of dope she had driven for two and a half hours to get here on time.
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Although it was a warm day for October and the sun shone
brightly on her back, she shivered violently and huddled inside the
oversized jacket which swamped her stick-thin frame. Lighting a
cigarette, she continued to observe around herself as she drank in the
countryside, where Damon had spent the first eighteen years of his
life. She studied everyone nearby, watching their interactions, and
wondered at how everything seemed to be some mindless human
time-passing event, until the inevitability of death was reached.
She thought back to her initial contact with Damon’s mother,
Julia. For the first time it struck her how odd it was that she had
never spoken to her until she made that phone call to let her know
her son had died. Julia hadn’t seemed too surprised at how Damon’s
life had ended, she said. “It has been the call I have been waiting
on and no, I don’t blame you either, April. Damon spoke of you all
the time. I would love to get to know you better. You are the only
connection with him that I have left. As you will know, Damon was
an only child.”
April had taken to her instinctively, there was something safe
and protective about her that reminded her of Damon; the way she
walked, the way she inclined her head slightly when she smiled and
her eyes, the same startling green colour. She guiltily thought about
her own parents, she had barely spoken to them since she had left
Gavin; just the odd obligatory phone call to say hello and pretend
that everything was fine. And Sienna? She felt her face redden with
shame, she couldn’t remember when she had last spoken to her. She
shuddered slightly at the thought, and rose as she saw Julia smile
and approach in her direction. Together they led the small funeral
procession through the peaceful English country churchyard toward
Damon’s final resting place. She watched as they lowered her lover
and her soul partner into the ground and covered him up with earth.
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Unable to hold back anymore, her tears came and she sobbed, once
again. Her body shook with grief, the confusion of her emotions
right then and the ache in her heart so sore that it was too much to
bear, she tried to play out again and again in her memory the sound
of his voice and the feel of his soft skin against hers, she wanted it
stamped there forever.
“Don’t cry, April, Damon lives on inside you.” Damon’s mother
put her arm around her and pulled her close.
April searched her face beseechingly, and Julia smiled and pointed
at her small rounded stomach. “You think I didn’t know? How far
gone are you?”
April had stared at her, shocked. She couldn’t remember when she
last had a period; two months ago, maybe three? She hadn’t worried
too much about it, she put it down to not eating and using heroin,
plus she was on the pill, wasn’t she? She hadn’t been too vigilant
about taking her pill lately, now that she thought about it. She was too wasted all the time to pay attention. She hurried from the graveyard,
promising Damon’s mother faithfully that she would keep in touch,
and drove like a woman possessed to the nearest chemist.
*
April sat motionless, perched on the edge of her bed; but it
wasn’t her bed, not really. It was Damon’s bed. Sunlight filtered
softly through the half-closed blinds. She gazed upwards towards it,
clearing her throat, trying to think, and then looked down once more
at the pregnancy test she held in her hand.
It had reacted as positive as soon as she had urinated on it; there
had been no two minute wait and the colour was strong and vivid.
She stared at it again. Her mouth was dry as she tried to lick her
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lips. She dropped it on the bed and rested her hand against her lower
bel y; Jesus Christ, she was pregnant. Sure, they had talked about the
possibility one day but . . . now? She exhaled a long drawn-out breath
and tilted her head up as she spoke aloud.
“Trust you, Damon . . . This is so ultimately typical of you it’s not
funny . . . Never satisfied until you’ve made your point and left a life-changing impression somewhere.” She stood and looked at herself
sideways in the full length mirror, her head curled to one shoulder,
her hands cupping her most definitely rounded, protruding lower
stomach, it felt hard as she ran one hand over it. She stripped herself down to her underwear and looked again; at an emaciated frame in
a pair of dirty knickers. She looked at her face. She didn’t recognize
the skinny and ugly refection that stared back at her; her breasts were non-existent.
Her eyes flickered over the small bag of heroin that lay on the
dressing table; she wondered if it would be easier to overdose than
bear this black void she had been left with, and her mind jolted her
quickly to the fact that she carrying Damon’s child. She shook her
head to clear it and returned her attention back to her reflection.
Her hip bones which protruded sharply were covered in sores. This
couldn’t go on; she would dry out after this one fix, she had to, her
baby’s welfare, Damon’s baby’s welfare was dependent on it. She had
to stop this inane shit and start living her life properly; she was about to become a mother. The timing of her pregnancy had never seemed
more poignant than when the frailty of life itself was staring her in
the face. Nothing was a given in this life.
She wished Si was here right now, but she had never been straight
for long enough to respond to her text messages or return her calls,
and right now she didn’t feel