This story continues from the previous chapter posted here:
https://www.freecatfights.com/forums/index.php?topic=93506.0.
This is actually a bridging piece. If you only care about the actual fights, then you might want to skip this one and wait until the next chapter. If you want to get inside Donna's and Sharon's heads a little more though, then read on.
Scrib
*****
Carol immediately released my arms, and I rubbed at my sore wrists, wiping the tears from my eyes. She rose from the mat and went over to Sharon, but I jumped up, ignoring the pain that flared in my belly, and leapt between them, grabbing Carol's arm to stop her. “Don't you dare touch her!” I screamed, nearly hysterical. Carol looked sadly at me for a moment, then turned away and went back to where Stephanie was wiping her hands on a towel, grinning at Sharon and me with malevolent amusement.
I took a water bottle from the table and knelt beside my sister, lifting her head so that I could ease the water bottle between her blood-stained lips. She took several grateful sips, then turned her head away. “Just get us out of here,” she rasped, her breathing ragged and gasping, her voice a hoarse whisper from her prolonged screaming.
I grabbed my clothes and climbed into them, not worrying about my bikini top – just my bottoms, jeans and sweatshirt. I managed to get Sharon's jeans and sweater onto her, not daring to try her underwear. Tight-fitting pants would be agony for her injured pussy and ass. Just sitting in the car would be painful enough for her. I threw the rest of our gear into our bags, and helped Sharon rise, with difficulty, to her feet. She couldn’t stand unaided, and collapsed against me with another painful moan, so I supported her with my arm around her shoulders.
Carol approached us once more, now dressed in her black sweatsuit, but my furious stare stopped her. “I told you, don't you dare touch her!” I warned again. Terrified as I was of her and her daughter, I was angrier still at what they’d done to Sharon. If Carol had laid a hand on my sister just then, I’d have beaten her to a pulp – or tried anyway, remembering that Mike and the evil Stephanie were both in the room.
“Don't be silly, Donna,” Carol scolded, once again reminding me of my mother, which only made me angrier. “Look at Sharon. She's a mess. At least let me help you clean her up a bit before you leave, and let Mike help you both out to the car. You can't possibly get her down the stairs on your own...certainly not with both those bags.”
I wanted to scream at her, to curse her out for what she’d let her daughter do to my sister, and for what she had done to me, but something stopped me. She was right. There was no way I could carry Sharon, as well as our two bags. “All right.” My head was throbbing and my belly was beginning to hurt. All I wanted was to get out of there.
Carol got some more water and a clean towel. Together we lifted Sharon onto the couch and cleaned the worst of the blood and filth off her face, then Mike hoisted her in his arms and carried her downstairs, while I followed behind with our bags. I ached all over. I didn’t want to think about how Sharon must be feeling. Some aspirin would probably do her good, or maybe a stiff drink, but I wasn’t going to ask these people for any more help than necessary.
When I’d installed Sharon safely in the passenger's seat, I found her car keys in her bag before I threw both bags in the boot of the car. Then I stood and regarded Mike and Carol as they stood in the doorway. Stephanie was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t know what to say to them. Again, I felt the urge to curse them and their demon daughter, to vent my anger, shame and frustration for what they’d done to Sharon and me, but what good would that do?
Carol broke the silence. She reached into the pocket of her sweatshirt and took out a white envelope. “Don't forget this,” she said. “It would be a shame if you went to all this trouble for nothing.” She handed the envelope to me.
It wasn’t sealed, so I opened it and peeked inside. It was stuffed with a wad of fifty-pound notes. There should have been a thousand pounds there, but I didn’t bother to count it. In truth, I wanted to tell her and her husband where they could shove their money, but sanity prevailed. Like Carol said, I wasn’t going to leave without it after all the pain and suffering Sharon and I had gone through.
I jammed the envelope into my pocket, looked at Carol and Mike again, and just nodded before I climbed into the car. There was no way I could bring myself to say thank you, not after what had happened. I started the engine, put the car into gear and sped out onto the road.
It was still light enough to see, but I resisted the urge to put my foot down, despite my lingering anger. There was no point in surviving Carol and Stephanie, just to kill both of us by flipping the car into a ditch. I switched my mind off and just concentrated on handling the bends that led down the steep hill.
The next intersection led us to the main road south toward Salisbury, and I breathed a sigh of relief to be putting some miles between us and the Millers. I’d been half-afraid that I might see a car in the rear-vision mirror, pursuing us down the hill. I glanced across at Sharon, and grinned weakly. “At least they're not following us.”
It was a while before she replied. “Why would they bother?” Her voice was still hoarse and ragged, as well as sounding incredibly weary. “They had their fun.”
“We should tell someone,” I suggested. “We could go to the police.” I hadn’t really thought about it before the words came out, but I wanted to punish them, to pay them back for what they’d done to us.
“Don't be bloody childish,” sighed Sharon. “What would we say? We went there of our own free will, to fight Carol and her daughter. That's not strictly legal, you know. Besides, the Millers are probably part of the local gentry, judging from that mansion they live in, and all they need to do is deny they ever saw us. The police aren't going to throw them in jail on the word of a couple of scrubbers from London...and that's what we'd look like.”
“But...” I started to argue, but broke off when I realized she was right. The best thing we could do was just go back to London and forget the whole thing. Not that forgetting would be easy.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“How do you think I feel?” she asked caustically. “Like I've been fucked six ways from Sunday.” She gave a bitter snort that turned into a grunt of pain. She held her chest. “I guess I have.”
I looked at her again with concern. Glancing at my left wrist, I realized I’d left my watch in my bag. It was in the boot of the car, and the dashboard clock was broken. It was almost dark, so I guessed it was after five already. It would take us at least three hours to get back to London, even if I drove like a maniac and the traffic was kind to us. Realistically, it would be more like four hours, and I wasn’t sure that Sharon was up to the drive.
Then I remembered I had a thousand quid in my pocket. That gave us some options. “We should find somewhere to stay tonight,” I decided aloud. “There's no way you can handle driving all the way home.”
“I'll be all right,” retorted Sharon. “You just worry about the driving.”
“Rubbish,” I argued. “We're stopping in Salisbury, finding a hotel, and getting you sorted out.”
When she didn’t argue further, I knew she must be hurt. That removed any shred of doubt from my mind. We were going to stop as soon as I could find somewhere.
As it turned out, it was some way beyond Salisbury that I managed to find a hotel that looked reasonable. I got us a twin room with no trouble. The hotel had an underground car park, which let me get Sharon inside and up to the room without anybody seeing her, and saved me having to make up excuses for her condition. She was still unable to walk without my help, and kept her arm clasped tightly across her chest all the time. I eased her down onto the bed and gently lifted her legs, arranging the pillows to prop her in a half-reclining position.
“Just lie there and don't try to move,” I ordered. “I'll get our bags from the car, and then call Patricia.” I knew Sharon had planned to call Patricia Ferrari after we left the Millers' home. She had almost forgotten her address book when we left the flat that morning, and had to run back upstairs for it.
Sharon didn’t say anything, just lying back with her eyes closed and her face set tightly. She really needed a doctor, that much was obvious, but I didn’t know how to get one without awkward questions. Like Sharon had said, our original purpose in going to the Miller house probably wasn’t strictly legal. A doctor would immediately see that Sharon had been viciously beaten, and would ask a lot of questions that I certainly didn’t have answers for.
When I got back to the room, Sharon was lying exactly as I’d left her, eyes closed. I had a brief moment of panic, until I noticed her chest rising and falling rhythmically. Good, I thought. Sleep was probably the best thing for her right now.
Unzipping Sharon's bag, I looked inside and found the thick black notebook in which she kept her addresses. Patricia Ferrari's name was under 'B' – for Boss – just as I expected. I sat down on the bed and punched the number into the push-button phone.
It rang three or four times before I heard a click as someone picked it up. “Hello?” said a voice with a northern, probably Lancashire accent.
“Hello, Patricia?”
“No, this is Rosie. Hang on a sec, I'll put Patricia on. Who shall I say is calling?”
“Tell her it's Donna Woodward...Sharon's sister. I'm calling from Salisbury.”
“Okay…hang on.”
I fidgeted on the phone for what seemed like ten minutes before another, more authoritative voice said, “Hello?”
“Hello, Patricia? This is Donna Woodward. I went on the job with Sharon today, instead of Tracy Clarke.”
“Oh, yes Donna. Sharon mentioned you'd agreed to help us out. Nice to meet you. Rosie said you were calling from Salisbury...car trouble?”
I took a deep breath before I replied. “No. There…was a problem with the job.” I was trying to keep my voice level, but I could feel the emotion bubbling up inside me. “Sharon got hurt.”
“Oh dear,” said Patricia, sounding calm but still genuinely concerned. “Well, sometimes accidents happen in this job. Nothing serious, I hope.”
“It wasn't an accident. They...” I tried but I couldn’t hold onto my composure, and the tears flooded from my eyes as I sobbed, “they beat the living daylights out of her.”
Patricia's voice was suddenly much more serious. “Donna, listen to me. Calm down now, and tell me exactly what happened. Who beat her?”
Her words helped to calm me down a little, and I managed to keep my voice even. “The two women we went to fight. The daughter was the worst.” I stopped and sniffed, wiping the tears out of my eyes. “Even after Sharon was down, she wouldn't stop beating her...kicking her and jumping on her. When I went to help Sharon, they started on me too. Then the mother worked on me while the daughter kept going on Sharon.” I paused and tried to gather myself together. Patricia was our best source of help, and I needed to keep my head. “Sharon's hurt badly. She can't stand up, and I’m sure she needs a doctor.”
“All right. We can handle that. Tell me where you are.” I gave her the address of the hotel, and our room number. “Right. Stay there. I know someone out that way who owes me a favour. He'll be with you in half an hour or so.” She paused. “Hold on a minute while I get on the other line and arrange things. I want to get some more details from you.”
I waited obediently, and presently Patricia came back on the line. “Right, everything's organized. My friend's name is Andrew. He's a doctor, and he says he'll be there in thirty minutes. He knows what's happened, and he won't ask any stupid questions,” she added, somehow knowing what was going through my mind. “Now, take a deep breath, calm down and tell me exactly what happened.”
I did as she told me, taking several deep breaths to steady myself, and then recounted the whole thing to her, as best I could remember, which was probably not all that well.
“Okay then,” she said when I finished. “Good God, you did have a rough time of it, didn't you? Now, you say Sharon's in a bad way, but she was conscious when you left the customer's house.”
“Yeah, she didn't pass out or anything. She's asleep now though.” I gazed across at Sharon on the bed opposite. She hadn’t moved since I had left her to go downstairs, but her breathing still looked okay.
“How about you?”
I thought about my own aches and pains. “I'm okay, I think. Not as bad as Sharon, anyway. I took a few punches and kicks, but I was tied up before I knew what was happening.” My voice dropped as I added, “I wasn't much help to Sharon.”
“Don't blame yourself,” replied Patricia. “You weren’t to know what was going to happen. No sense in worrying about it now. Have Andrew check you over too. Make sure there's nothing wrong with either of you.” The tone of her voice changed again, becoming business-like once more. “Now, have you got the money?”
”Too bloody right I’ve got it! I wasn't going to leave without it.”
“Good girl. Did you get the full amount?”
“One thousand pounds,” I confirmed. “I’ve still got it, except for a hundred pounds I had to use to pay for the hotel room.”
“Don't worry about the hotel,” Patricia assured me. “Just pay what you need to, out of the thousand. I'll cover it...you'll still get your cut.”
“Okay,' I replied. I almost couldn’t believe she was being so supportive. From what I’d heard of her from Sharon and Tracy, I expected some kind of hard-nosed bitch, but she seemed really concerned and I drew encouragement from her sensitivity.
“Keep your chin up. Sharon will be okay. We'll make sure of that. Call me if you need anything. Someone will always answer this number. Let me know when you reach home.”
“Thanks. I will.”
“Okay. Andrew should be there shortly. Talk to you soon.” The line went dead as Patricia hung up the phone. I got up from the bed and went into the bathroom. I really needed to pee. I'd been holding it ever since we left the Millers' house.
When I came out, Sharon was lying on her side, watching me. “I called Patricia,” I told her. “She's sending a doctor over.”
“I heard. I wasn't asleep, just resting.”
“He should be here pretty soon. Patricia said he was only half an hour away. After he's finished, I'll go out and find a chemist. We'll need some toothbrushes and stuff like that.”
There was a knock on the door about ten minutes later. I got up and opened it. The man who stood there was about forty, I guessed, tall and a little stooped, dressed in a nicely cut blue suit, with a curly mass of flaming red hair. “I'm Andrew Pike,” he said as soon as he saw me. “I assume you're Donna.” His voice was soft and held the slight trace of a Scottish accent.
“Yes, come in.” I stepped back to let him into the room, and closed the door behind him. “Did Patricia tell you what happened?”
He carried a big black Gladstone bag, the kind that doctors always seem to carry on television, and set it down on the desk that sat in the corner of the room. “She told me you two have had a spot of trouble,” he said quietly, looking from me to Sharon, who was watching him silently. “Apart from that, I don't know anything, though from the look of the both of you, I think she was understating the matter. Get on the wrong end of someone's fists, did you?”
I just nodded. “This is my sister, Sharon,” I said since it seemed Sharon wasn’t going to introduce herself. “She needs your attention more than I do.”
“Okay then.” He took a pair of gold-rimmed glasses from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and placed them on his nose. “In case you didn't hear me at the door, Sharon, my name's Andrew. Okay if I have a look at you?”
“Go ahead,” replied Sharon. “You can't make me feel any worse than I do right now.”
He frowned. “Hmm...doesn't seem to be any damage to your sense of humour...such as it is.” I tried not to smile at that, and he continued, “Why don't you tell me where it hurts.”
Sharon snorted, and winced in pain again. “That's easy...everywhere.”
I glared at her. Being uncooperative wasn’t going to help. She caught my eye and for once I think I had the right effect on her. She sighed. “I guess it hurts worst in my chest...breathing is okay, but moving too much hurts like hell. Then there's my belly...and my bum…and…well…my cxnt.” She sighed. “I took a bit of a beating down there.”
“Inside and out,” I added. It was Sharon's turn to glare at me, and I looked away, but I wasn’t going to let her pride interfere with her getting the right medical treatment.
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “I see,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Well, I guess I'd better examine you and see what damage there is.” He sat down beside her on the bed, and took her face gently in his hands, turning her head from one side to the other. He looked in Sharon's mouth, at her teeth, and then methodically felt around her jaw and neck. “Seems like nothing’s broken,” he said at last. “Donna, why don't you help Sharon off with her clothes, while I go and wash up. I presume that's the bathroom, in there?” He pointed toward the half-open bathroom door.
“Yeah, that's it.” I turned to Sharon as he disappeared into the bathroom, and I heard him turn on the taps at the sink. “Come on, Shaz.” I reached a hand behind her back.
She shrugged my hand away. “I can do it myself.” She pushed herself up with her arms, went to pull her sweatshirt up over her head, but stopped half-way with a moan of pain. “On second thoughts...”
I smiled sympathetically and helped her take it off, then her jeans. Her body was in far worse shape than her face. Her boobs were mottled yellow and purple, bruises that already extended all the way down her ribcage to her belly.
The doctor came out of the bathroom then. He gazed at Sharon as he crossed the room and opened his bag. I sat on the other bed and watched while he listened to Sharon's chest, getting her to take deep breaths – or as deep as she could, given her bruises. Then he made her roll over onto her belly and did the same thing on her back.
“Well, there's some good news, at least,” he said as he removed the stethoscope from his ears and folded it up. “There don't seem to be any broken ribs, though you've got some very bad bruising. It'll be a week or two before you can move comfortably, but there's no serious damage done.” He placed the stethoscope back in his bag. “Now, let's see about the rest of you.”
He probed her stomach with his fingers, prodding at a number of places from just below her ribs to down below her navel. Sharon groaned a few times. “Well, here's more good news. No internal injuries either, which is quite a blessing.” He reached into his bag again and pulled out a cardboard package from which he removed a pair of surgical rubber gloves. “Now, lift your knees up and we'll see what's happening down below.”
I stayed where I was while the doctor used a number of instruments to examine Sharon. My position thankfully prevented me from seeing much of what he was doing, but every stifled grunt of discomfort from Sharon pierced right through me. “You've got some abrasions here,” he noted. “Nothing too serious, though your boyfriend's going to be out of luck for a couple of weeks. What about your bum? Anybody do anything to you there?”
Sharon nodded, biting her lower lip, and held her knees up around her neck with her arms while he probed further. “Ah, yes, I see. Well, we can give you some cream to put there, and those cuts will heal up in no time. Just stick to soft foods for the next week or so.”
He pulled off the gloves, placing them in a plastic bag that he took out of his case. “You've been quite lucky, Sharon, though I’m sure you don’t feel like it at the moment. I'll prescribe you some pain killers, and some cream for those abrasions, but the best thing is a good hot bath, and a lot of rest. What kind of work do you do?”
“I'm a courier,” said Sharon as she lowered her legs. “I ride a bike.”
“Well, you won't be riding it for a while,” he replied. “I'll write you a medical certificate for the week. You should be all right after that, though you’ll still need to take things easy for a while longer.” He looked at me. “What about you, Donna? Did you take any punishment yourself?”
I hesitated, wanting to tell him but also not wanting to sound like I was grandstanding. Compared to what Sharon had suffered, my aches and pains were nothing. “Just a couple of bruises,” I answered after a moment. “Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix.”
He eyed me levelly. “You're sure?” he asked, obviously seeing through my pretense.
“Yeah, I'm okay. I took a kick or two, but I'm fine.”
“Okay then.” He scribbled on his pad again. “Nevertheless, I'll write you a prescription for some mild pain killers too Take them if you need them.” He handed me the sheets of yellow paper. “My phone number is on the top there. If you need anything, call me any time.”
“Thanks, doctor.” I sat on the bed and waited in silence while he re-packed his case, then showed him to the door. “Is she really going to be all right?” I said in a low voice as he stepped out into the hotel corridor.
“Oh yes. She'll be stiff and sore for a while, and you'll need to help her to do things like dress herself for a day or so. You'll need to help her to put the cream on her bottom and her privates too, which she won't be happy about, but you must insist. In a few days, she'll be able to do things for herself, and in a couple of weeks she'll be as right as rain. I think she's quite a tough girl, your sister. Whoever did that to her, though, hurt her pride as much as they hurt her body. She's bloody angry, and you'll need to be very patient with her.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know. I'll look after her.” That sounded strange to me, since Sharon had always been the one who looked after me. Nevertheless, she needed me now, and it was the least I could do for her. I’d failed her miserably when it counted, back at the Millers' house, and I’d do whatever it took to make up for that – if I could.
Sharon had rolled onto her side again, still unclothed. I pulled the covers up over her. “I'm going down to find a chemist and get this stuff,” I informed her, holding up the two yellow prescriptions. “I'll pick up anything else we need while I'm at it.”
“Okay,” said Sharon quietly, facing the wall.
The hotel desk clerk directed me to a chemist's shop a couple of streets away, and I decided to walk rather than bother with the car. It was turning chilly now the sun had gone down, and I hugged my arms around me, wishing I had a jacket. Neither I nor Sharon had brought any heavy clothing with us. We hadn’t intended to spend the night away.
On the way, I thought about Sharon. I’d never known my sister to take a beating like this one, but she’d seen her share of bruises when we were kids. She rarely lost a fight but even when she did, she’d come home trembling with anger, and be completely unapproachable until she found some way to get her own back. This time, though, was different. She was certainly angry, but she lacked the vengeful rage that I’d seen in her when we were younger. I was afraid that Stephanie had injured her spirit even more than her body.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was my fault. I was ashamed at my own stupidity, forgetting the rules of the game, and thinking that Carol was coming to help me rather than attack me. My own inexperience had cost me, and especially Sharon, an awful lot of pain and humiliation.
I walked into the chemist's shop, handed the prescription forms to the woman behind the counter, and went to find toothbrushes, toothpaste and a few other essentials while I waited for her to make up the prescriptions. I remembered to buy some deep heat ointment to put on Sharon's strained muscles, and I knew there were probably other things that I forgot, but it wasn’t too far to come back if necessary.
The chemist placed two small plastic bottles of pills on the counter as I approached her again, along with a box that I assumed contained the lotion for Sharon's abrasions, and raised an eyebrow. “These are pretty strong stuff, love,” she remarked. “Somebody's been in the wars.”
For a moment I just stared at her awkwardly, but then an inspiration came to me and I replied, “Yeah, my sister and I were out horse riding, and both of us fell. I'm okay really, but she got banged up pretty bad.”
“Oh, dear. I hope she'll be all right,” said the chemist with polite concern.
“Thanks. Yeah, she'll be fine in a day or two.” I didn’t want to say too much. As excuses go, it sounded pretty thin even to me, and going on would only make it worse.
The woman rang up the prescriptions along with my other purchases on the cash register. I paid her, waited while she placed the items in a paper bag, and walked out into the street.
It was spitting rain, and I tucked the chemist's bag under my arm and walked faster, feeling the strain in my groin muscles from the kick I’d taken. On the way back, I stopped at a bottle shop and bought a bottle of vodka. I thought a drink would be good for Sharon. I knew it would certainly be good for me.
I reached our room. Sharon was still on the bed, lying on her side, and turned her head to look at me when I entered. “What have you got there?”
“Some stuff from the chemist’s...pills and cream the doctor prescribed for you. Oh, and I thought this might be welcome.” I took the bottle of vodka from its paper bag.
Sharon gave a hint of a smile. “That's the best thing you've done all day,” she said. I looked sharply at her, wondering again if she blamed me for what she’d gone through this afternoon, but she didn’t say anything more. “Ow,” she groaned, pushing herself into a sitting position. “I feel like I've been hit by a bus.”
There were two glasses in the bathroom. Fetching them, I poured a couple of generous measures of vodka and handed one to Sharon. She drained it in one gulp. “God, that feels better. Can I have another one?” She handed the glass to me for a refill.
“Take it easy,” I warned as I topped up her drink. “You need to take these pills, and it doesn't say not to take them with alcohol, but you can't be too careful.”
“Rubbish. The worst it can do is knock me out like a light. That wouldn't be a bad thing right now.” She took the two capsules I handed her, washed them down with her second glass of vodka, then sank back against the pillows.
I took another gulp of my own drink. “Want something to eat?” I asked.
“Not right now. You can get me another drink, though.”
“We should put the cream on your bum before we drink any more. At this rate, we're going to be shitfaced in no time.”
“No problem,” said Sharon. “Hand it over.”
Her tone discouraged any argument, but I persisted anyway. “He said you wouldn't be able to get it in the right places. Let me do it.”
Sharon went to say something more, but stopped and snapped, “Oh, all right, go on then.” She whipped the covers off her body and lifted her legs cautiously. I opened the tube of cream and applied it as gently as I could. After I finished, I pulled the sheet and blanket back over her and went into the bathroom to wash my hands.
When I came back, Sharon was lying on her back with the half-full glass of vodka propped on her belly. I thought about ordering room service, but I really didn’t feel like it. There was a card lying on the bed with details of the room service breakfast options, so I ordered us both a generous breakfast and hung the card on the outside door handle, then took off my jeans and climbed tenderly into bed in just my bikini bottoms, lying back and closing my eyes.
*****
I slept like a dead person for most of the night, but then I started to dream – horrible dreams where I lay helpless, listening to Sharon's screams and Stephanie's cruel laughter. Several times the dream woke me, and the third time I struggled to free myself from it, until I realized that I was already awake, and Sharon really was screaming in the bed opposite mine, lost in her own nightmare.
I jumped out of bed, gasping as pain stabbed through the injured muscles of my belly and legs, and leaned over Sharon in the darkness, shaking her by the shoulders. “Shaz, wake up! Come on, it's only a dream.”
Still she screamed and moaned, tossing her head from side to side, and it took me quite a while to wake her. Finally her cries subsided, and in the dim light from the clock on the side table between the beds, I saw her eyes flick open. “Donna? Oh...” She groaned, still half-asleep. “What's up? What time is it?”
“It's a quarter to five. You were having a bad dream.”
“Yeah.” She yawned, and moved her legs with a grunt of pain. “Can you get me a drink of water?”
“Sure.” The only glasses we had were the ones we had already used for vodka, so I took one of them into the bathroom, squinting my eyes against the light, and washed it out before filling it with water from the sink and returning to the bedroom. “Do you want some more pills for the pain? The label says you can take them every four hours if you want to.”
She nodded, so I went over to the desk where I left the pills, and shook two out of the bottle with fumbling fingers.
Sharon lifted herself ponderously on one elbow, took the glass from me and drank thirstily. “Thanks,” she sighed, falling back onto the pillows again. “Oh, that fucking bitch Stephanie is gonna get what's coming to her.”
I decided not to say anything. I was glad she was starting to vent her anger, even if it was at five o'clock in the morning. I turned on my side, facing away from her, hoping she’d take the hint. Perhaps she did, because there was silence after that, though I could hear her sigh and moan from time to time, so I knew she was still awake.
I must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing I knew was when I heard a knock at the door. “Just a minute!” I called out, and stumbled out of bed, ignoring my aching muscles. I grabbed a hotel bath robe from a hook in the bathroom and went to open the door.
A young waitress stood outside the hotel room door, struggling under the weight of a heavily laden breakfast tray. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully. “I brought your breakfast.”
“Thanks,” I stepped back to let her into the room. “Sorry to keep you waiting so long.”
“Oh, not to worry,” she said as she placed the tray carefully on the desk. “Can you sign this, please?” She handed me the bill, along with a pen. I added my signature at the bottom and handed it back to her. She only glanced briefly at Sharon, who was huddled under the covers, just the top of her head showing.
The waitress left and Sharon pushed the blanket down a little. “Smells good,” she said sleepily.
“I hope you've got an appetite. I can’t eat all this by myself.”
“Trust me, you won't have to.” She struggled into a sitting position. “God, I'll freeze like this. Help me find my clothes.”
Her sweatshirt lay on the floor at the foot of the bed. I picked it up and held it for her while she slipped her arms into the sleeves, then helped her get it over her head. She moved slowly and awkwardly, like an old woman. “Still a bit sore, by the look of you.”
“No bloody kidding.” She pulled the covers back and lifted her head. In the light, she looked even more of a mess than she had last night.
“Stay there,” I said. “I'll bring the tray over.”
We sat on Sharon's bed and ate with the tray between us. There was no talking – we were too busy filling our bellies with orange juice, fruit, bacon and eggs, then toast and tea to finish it all off. At last I sat back and groaned. “That should hold us until we get home.” I put the tray back on the desk. “Do you want to go first in the bathroom?”
“No, you go ahead,” replied Sharon, lying back again. “I'll let my food go down first.”
I grabbed my toothbrush, toothpaste and hairbrush, and went into the bathroom. For the first time I took a good look at myself in the mirror. My face looked okay, though there was a tender spot behind my ear where Carol had kicked me. My hair was a mess though, tangled and matted. Luckily the hotel provided little bottles of shampoo as well as soap, so after brushing my teeth, I took a bottle into the shower with me. Afterward, I just stood under the shower for a long time and let the hot water cascade down my body, soaking away the aches in my muscles. This was something I should have done last night, I told myself.
Oddly enough, I didn’t feel any of the things I thought I should feel after what had happened. They’d beaten and sexually assaulted me. Reason told me I should be in shock, or at least upset. Surprisingly though, what I felt most was tired, even after a night's sleep. It was as though the whole experience had happened to someone else, and if I could only wake up, I’d discover it was all a dream.
I soon decided I’d had enough navel gazing. We still had to drive back to London. I wanted to let Sharon have as much rest as possible, but I knew how bad the traffic gets on a Sunday night, when everybody returns from weekends in the country. I laughed bitterly at that thought – our weekend in the country had been one hell of an experience, that was for sure. I toweled myself dry, and used the hotel's hairdryer on my hair.
Sharon was still in bed when I went back into the bedroom. “Bathroom's all yours.” I pulled my clothes on. I would have preferred some clean ones, but I had to make the best of it.
Sharon pulled back the covers, eased her legs out of bed and went to stand up. She managed it, but she stood with one hand clutched to her belly, swaying slightly. “I think I might need a hand,” she said.
Her admission startled me. I blinked, then rose and went to help her. “No worries.” I took her arm, quietly glancing past her shoulder to check that there was no blood on the sheets. There wasn’t, which relieved me, and we made our way slowly into the bathroom. “Best thing is probably the bath, rather than the shower,” I suggested.
Sharon didn’t say anything, but stood still while I helped her undress. I steadied her as she stepped over the rim of the bathtub and sank awkwardly, painfully to her knees, and then onto her bottom with gritted teeth.
“Your hair needs a wash,” I observed as I turned on the taps and adjusted the water until it was as hot as I could bear it on the back of my hand. Let her complain if she wanted to, I thought. The heat would do her injuries good. “Want me to do it?”
Surprisingly, she didn’t argue, so I rolled up my sleeves and knelt carefully on the bathroom floor beside the tub. I could feel the tightness in her neck as she leaned her head back for me to pour the shampoo onto her hair. She’d never liked anyone to help her do anything. This was hard for her, being treated like an invalid. I just concentrated on the task at hand, and didn’t try to talk to her. In situations like this, it was best just to let her stew.
Eventually we managed to get her washed, dried and back into her clothes. I sat her down at the desk in the bedroom and dried her hair for her. She still didn’t say a single word, but I could feel the tension radiating from her in waves. Finally I finished, and put the hairdryer back in the bathroom. “I guess it's time to hit the road,” I said as I picked up our bags from the floor. “I'll take these down to the car, and be right back.”
When I returned, she was standing next to the window, staring out at the grey November sky. “Ready to go?” I asked.
She ignored me until I repeated the question, then she turned. “Yeah, I s'pose.” She walked unaided, albeit slowly, out of the room and down the hallway to the lift. After getting her seated in the car, I went and checked us out of the hotel. Sharon stared blankly out of the window as we headed for the main road that would take us to the motorway.
It was over two hours to reach London, and almost another hour until we pulled into the small car park behind our East-End flat. Sharon hadn’t said five words during the entire journey, and I was beginning to bristle at the uncomfortable silence. I understood what she’d gone through, but I wished she’d talk about it, instead of bottling it up.
Perhaps it was my own feelings that needed expression as much as Sharon's. Ever since I woke up that morning, I’d been fighting my anger, and all day it had been growing inside me. Last night I’d been too tired, hurt and confused to really comprehend what had happened, but as the day wore on, my anger increased. What Carol and Stephanie had done to us was technically not rape, but it was damned close. What made it even worse was that there was nothing we could do about it.
As furious as I was with the Millers however, I was almost as angry with myself, ashamed that I had been too terrified to help my sister, and too incompetent to defend myself. I knew that part of Sharon's anger was directed at me, though she had shown only glimpses of it until now. Her stony silence ate away at me all the way home.
Strangely enough, I was also angry at Sharon. However hard I tried to ignore it, a small voice in my head kept reminding me that it was Sharon who’d persuaded me, almost bullied me into going with her to the Millers' house. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d never have gone there, never have suffered at Carol's hands, and not have had to watch Sharon herself being tortured by the evil Stephanie. I wouldn’t feel so angry, so ashamed of myself right now.
We reached our flat on the second floor, and Sharon eased herself onto the sofa. “Fancy a cuppa?” I asked as I came out of my bedroom in a fresh set of clothes after tossing my dirty things in the laundry basket.
Sharon didn’t reply, and I knew I’d finally had enough. “Right!” I said, sitting down in the armchair opposite her. “We're going to talk about this.” Then I paused. I wanted to vent my anger, but I didn’t know where to start.
“What's there to talk about?” she asked.
“For a start, you can cut out the cold shoulder treatment,” I replied, my voice rising despite my efforts to control my temper. “I know I screwed up. I'm sorry! What else can I say?”
She shrugged. “Forget it.”
“No, I damn well won't forget it!” I shouted. “Those two bitches screwed us while that bastard filmed the whole thing! Don’t tell me to forget it!?” Tears rolled down my face. “Talk to me!”
“What do you want me to say?” asked Sharon, her voice still low, though I could see the anger beginning to surface in her eyes. “Yeah, you screwed up, and I got the fuck beaten out of me because of it. There! You know what happened! You sat there and watched the whole thing!”
That made me see red. “What the hell do you think I was doing at the time? Cheering her on? I tried to come and help you, and the mother kicked the crap out of me, tied me up and bloody well fist-fucked me, then made me watch while the daughter worked you over some more!”
“You should have watched your back,” she countered automatically, but I saw that my words had rattled her. She obviously hadn’t known what had happened to me.
“How the hell did I know? She was all sweetness and light, then she went and did that!”
“Anybody with any sense would have known – ” Sharon fired back, her own voice rising as her anger surged forth.
I cut her off. “No, you're wrong!” My sister was scary when she was angry, and normally the look in her eyes would have made me back off. Right then though, I was too angry myself to care. “Anybody with any
experience in those things would have known! I don't have any experience, but I went with you anyway…because you asked me to!” I jabbed my finger accusingly at her. “That woman made a fuck toy out of me! Do you know how humiliating that was? Then I had to watch what Stephanie did to you, knowing that if I'd had a clue what I was doing, maybe I could have avoided it!”
“So it's my fault?” asked Sharon dangerously.
I shook my head in angry confusion. “Yes! No! Oh, I don't know! I just can't believe they did that to us, and there's nothing we can fucking do about it.'
“Yeah…nothing we can do.” The anger had gone out of Sharon's voice, just as it had left my own. I think we both suddenly realized that it wasn’t my fault or hers. If there was any blame to be laid, it belonged to the Millers. “Like I said, just forget it.”
I stood and slid over to the couch next to her. “I'm sorry I wasn't more help. At the start, I was terrified by Stephanie,” I admitted. “By the time I did come to help, I was too worried about you to take any notice of the mother.”
She sighed. “I didn't know what they did to you.”
“Doesn't matter,” I brushed it off. “You got the worst of it.” Somewhat to my surprise, I didn’t feel too bad about the physical side of what had happened to me. The thing I hated most was that, through my own blind stupidity, I’d put myself in a position to let it happen, and that I hadn’t been more use to Sharon. Rather than traumatizing me, it only made me even more angry, and determined that I’d never let something like that happen again. “Next time, I'll make sure I watch my back.”
“There won't be a next time,” replied Sharon quietly.
That startled me. “You mean you're giving up the fighting?”
“No, but you are.” She looked me in the eye. “You're right. It wasn't fair of me to make you come out there and fight. I won't ask you again.”
I was really surprised at that. It was probably the closest thing to an apology that I’d ever heard from my sister. My reply however, surprised me even more. “Oh, no you bloody well don't! You're not going to just write me off like that! I might not have the experience you’ve got, but I'm going to learn, and you're going to teach me! No rotten bitches like those two are going to do that to me again!”
“No way,” said Sharon emphatically. “Like I said, you're not part of the game. Do the smart thing and stay out of it.”
“No! I want you to teach me!” I had to do it, if only to prove to myself, and to Sharon, that I could do better than I’d done at the Millers' house. Never again, I kept repeating silently to myself. Never again!
Sharon opened her mouth to say something more, then stopped and looked at me for a moment. “You're serious, aren't you?”
“Too right I am! I've never felt so...” I spluttered as I searched for the words, “...fucking helpless in my life as I did at that house, and there's no way I'm ever going to let that happen again!” The cold anger in my voice continued to astonish me, because I realized that I meant what I said. If I ever came up against someone like Carol or Stephanie again, I wasn’t going to be on the receiving end. I wanted to learn to fight, to fight like my sister did, and I wasn’t going to let anything stop me.
She sighed with resignation. “All right. I suppose there's no talking you out of it.”
I said nothing, just sat there and smiled. I knew that this wasn’t the end of the argument. Sharon would try again to dissuade me, but I also knew that she wouldn’t succeed. I wanted to do this, more than I had ever wanted anything.
*****
We didn’t discuss it again on Sunday, but our conversation seemed to have cleared the air between us. Sharon was still moodier that usual, but the heavy tension had gone, and we could talk normally with one another, even if only about innocuous topics like who should do the cooking and the washing up. With Sharon's condition, both jobs fell to me, but I accepted them without complaint. I’d won my victory for the day.
The next morning however, Sharon brought up the subject of my learning to fight, just as I suspected she would. We were sitting down to breakfast when she said, “You know, I'm not going to be able to teach you much for a while.”
I nodded. “Yeah, it's gonna be a few weeks before you get yourself back in shape.” I stared at the toast on the plate in front of me as I added, “I thought I might ask Tracy to train with me in the meantime.”
She was silent for a moment. “I guess that’d work,” she said finally, her voice betraying her reluctance. I’d blunted her argument before she’d gotten started, and felt quite pleased with myself.
“I thought I'd call her tonight, when I get home from work,” I said. The doctor had written me a certificate excusing me from work for the week, just like he had for Sharon, but though I still felt sore, I decided that even a day behind the cash register at Sainsbury's was preferable to moping around the flat. “I'll see if she's free to work out tomorrow night.” I knew that Sharon and Tracy habitually went to the gym on Tuesday nights after work. “She'll probably be glad of a partner for a few days. I don't think you'll be joining her.”
Sharon smiled mirthlessly. “You're not wrong there,” she admitted. “It'll be a week or more before I'm ready for a workout again.”
“The doctor told you to take it easy for a couple of weeks,” I reminded her. “Don't push it, okay?” She made a face at me and I added, “I just don't want to spend the next month looking after you.” I saw her eyes narrow as the remark hit home. She’d complained heartily this morning when I helped her bathe and administered the antibiotic cream to the abrasions around her nether regions, and I knew she didn’t enjoy the experience any more than I did.
TO BE CONTINUED…
