“Hello darling,” he said. “I’ve brought you something to eat.”

Daphne smiled at him, or tried to.

“Thank you darling,” she said breathlessly. He thought of her lungs, tiny grey pockets inside her, pressed relentlessly on either side by a tsunami of fat. “You’re so good to me, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m such a useless fat lump.”

He sat down on the one of the arms and put his arm around her, as far as he could stretch.

“How many times?” he said. “You’re not fat. You’re just a strapping lass.” He smiled and thought of the knives in the kitchen, laid out in shining, expectant rows; the cleaver, the boning knife, the carver. He shivered with delicious anticipation. “Silly girl, you’re not fat. You look good enough to eat.”

~~~

The Mourning After

I can’t remember exactly what happened. All I know is that we’d done it and it was done and that we were there, waiting for the outcome. It was cold, I remember and there was this sort of mist surrounding everything. But at the time I didn’t care, ‘cos I had Mark to keep me warm.

It’s difficult to know where to start. I mean, I know what happened, and what I meant to happen and sometimes the two things fit and sometimes they don’t. But hey, nothing ever works out exactly how you want it, does it? I mean, that’s what Mark says. And he should know, I mean, he’s had about the worst life you can imagine and I for one believe him when he tell me why everything gets as bad as it does. I wouldn’t know, personally, ‘cos I have had quite a sheltered life but at least I can imagine what it must be like to be abused. You know. He looked at me when he told me, with these big haunted eyes and I just felt this kind of rage against his parents and the teachers and all the other people who had fucked -  yeah, fucked him over from day one. It’s why he wore black. I did too, after I met him. It drove Mum and Dad up the wall. I looked like a ghost, they said. I liked it; it was the first time I’d ever felt different. My friends thought so too, the few I had left after Mark plunged into my life. I hid my skin behind white pan-stick and my burgeoning curves behind drapes of black velvet and only Mark was allowed past.

And he really went past. He went deeper than anyone had before. I mean, losing your virginity shouldn’t be a huge big deal in this day and age but for me, it was. I mean, I really wanted the flowers and fireworks. That was before Mark made me realise that something has to be painful before it’s worthwhile. I remember the first time; the real, white-hot pain of it and how I had to grit my teeth to get through it, but just remembering his gasps and the way he looked at me when he was on top, well, I’d do it all again in a second.

It’s still cold and grey here. I’m holding Mark’s hand while I remember the first date we ever had. My parents didn’t actually know I was going out with a boy. I mean, they would’ve freaked, I’m only fourteen. I think I’m still only fourteen. It’s a bit difficult to tell here. There’s a few others that look like my age but everyone looks so wasted, I can’t tell. And I feel awkward about asking, everyone’s so sad. I’m glad I’ve got Mark, even though he frowns most of the time. At least I’m not on my own.

But our first date…we went to the cinema. We saw an ‘18’ film; I was so nervous, ‘cos obviously, I’m so underage. But Mark said I could do anything, if I had the courage, and I didn’t want to look like I didn’t, so I just held my head up and we passed, no problem. In the back seat, he pushed his hand up my skirt and moved his hand skillfully and I thought that was it, that the whole building was going to come crashing down around me as I came. It was then I knew I loved him.

Mum and Dad didn’t. They hated him. They hated his looks, his background and jeez, when they found out he’d been on a course of anti-depressants and had therapy, well, goodbye! But they couldn’t sway me. Courage was something I’d learnt going out with Mark and I wasn’t about to give it up now.

Real Romeo and Juliet stuff. I’d sneak out to see him, saying I was going to see Tammy. I hadn’t actually seen her for over a month, since she said Mark was a weirdo and a psycho.  I didn’t mind too much – I mean, you grow out of people, don’t you? I mean, Tammy and I had been friends since nursery. And I knew for a fact she was a virgin, so how could she even begin to understand how special Mark and I were?

I can’t remember when he asked me to do it. We’d just finished and I was mopping up with some tissues. He looked at me with those big dark eyes and asked me if I’ve ever considered suicide. Of course, I said no. But it started me thinking. Mum and Dad were being really shitty. I had no money, I was failing my classes at school. Plus, I had no friends. My life really wasn’t so great.

Mark asked me and then stuck his head between my legs. I felt him lapping away and realised this was another challenge he was issuing. I couldn’t quite push him away but I tried not to feel anything as I tossed his question around in my mind. Too late. I felt my orgasm welling up at the same time as I felt the answer rising in my brain. I didn’t want to kill myself. But I couldn’t bear the thought of Mark doing it without me.

We discussed how to do it. It was a new game, like the one where we’d got hold a copy of the Karma Sutra and had gone through all the new positions. How would we do it? Rope? Too lengthy and painful. Gun? Who did we know who’d got one? Pills? We didn’t know how many to take and who would tell us? After each discussion we’d make love, frantically, as if for the last time. Then he’d drop me a street away from my house and I’d walk back to Mum and Dad, rehearsing my story. I was at Tammy’s house – we went to the cinema.

It’s really cold here. I’m looking at Mark, wanting a little comfort, but he’s just turning away, frowning. It’s funny but from this angle I’ve noticed how weird his nose is – like it’s been broken and not properly set. It’s a bit ugly, actually. He sees me staring and tries to smile but his teeth are all crooked. I’ve never really noticed that before.

I’m not sure when I decided irrevocably to do it (jeez, big word! My English teacher would be proud. Although, I can’t quite remember what she looks like. Not anymore). But I know it was after a bad week, when Mum had shouted at me and Dad was away somewhere and Mark was the only stable thing in my shifting life. We’d decided on razor blades. Cheap and reasonably painless. I’d tried them out on my forearm the week before, fascinated by the slow welling of blood from each cut. I showed Mark, who’d lifted my arm and licked away the blood, dabbing his forefinger in it and putting it to my lips. There was something sexual in that and we both knew it. We both knew we were binding ourselves together in a web of pain and soon, we’d be bound together forever in death.

It’s getting so cold here. I’m trying to hold Mark’s hand, ‘cos I need to feel that someone’s here for me. I mean, that’s why I took the plunge, to be with him forever. I need to feel him here, solidly, not like some twisting grey wraith that’s floating out of reach. He felt so solid when we did it. We lay on my bed with candles and everything. I’d even got some red roses to put around us, so that people would understand when they found us that it was a beautiful thing that we’d done, not a sacrilege. Mark made the first cut and I watched as the blood fluttered out, staining the bedcovers. Soon mine had flowed out to join his, mingling with the dark red petals of the roses. It took a long time, much longer than I’d thought. We lay there and held each other, watching as things became faint and fuzzy. I could feel his heartbeat falter and slow next to mine. I watched the stained, patchy ceiling split open and there was white light beyond and I felt Mark next to me as we fell towards the light. It felt like the best decision I’d ever made.