Blink Read online

  I am no better than him.

  So like I said, today is Saturday and I despise Saturdays. He always visits on a Saturday because he knows my mother doesn’t come in until the evening. When everyone realised that I wasn’t getting any better, they kind of settled into a visiting pattern. Dad comes when he’s in town, but always when mother visits, never alone. I don’t think he’d know what to say to me if he came alone. Seb, well, he’s a bit hit and miss. If he’s feeling guilty, he visits frequently, but if he has a current love interest, the visits drift off to once a week at the most. Mother, now she’s a completely different story. I have to fit in around her social calendar.

  Mondays through Wednesdays, she visits for most of the day, leaving around late afternoon. Thursday and Friday it’s always just a morning visit. Saturdays are always in the evening, because she brings a movie and a portable player. It’s our ‘thing’, just like the reading, only just like the reading, it makes her feel better, not me. I don’t even watch most of the rubbish she brings in. The only time I nearly broke my façade and laughed out loud was the time she borrowed a film from my brother for us to watch. She’d got all set, film in, dimmed lights, fancy coffee in hand as she settled into the armchair next to my bed and pressed play on the remote. Well, let’s just say it wasn’t a Disney movie. Seems that my brother likes to film himself with his love interests. We both got to see way more of my brother than is wholly appropriate at his age. I think it took my mother a whole five minutes to figure out just exactly what it was we were watching. That movie night was cut short, and the book came out instead. Although, listening to my flustered mother reading Alice in Wonderland is quite entertaining in itself. It was almost worth seeing my brother’s appendage, pointing skyward proudly. Who am I kidding? That shit scarred me for life!

  The door to my room brushes open quietly. I don’t need to turn my head to know who it is. The slow, heavy footprints give him away. It’s almost a shuffling noise, which makes me laugh internally. He’s not an old man, unsteady on his feet. There is no explanation for the shuffle walk, other than it makes him sound like he should sound. Creepy.

  “Hello, Harper. It’s nice to see you again.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Harper

  His voice is quiet and chilling. Even though I close my eyes tightly, I can feel his cold eyes boring into my flesh as he feasts upon what he’s about to indulge. He takes the goose bumps that spring across my skin as a sign of my anticipation, enjoyment even. They are anything but. They indicate my fear as my blood runs cold through my veins.

  Please don’t do this again. Please just walk away and nobody need ever know. I’m pleading internally¸ even though I know I’m going to have to physically open my mouth and ask him to stop.

  “Harper, you’re in charge here. If you tell me to stop, it stops. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” He pauses to give me a chance to speak, and of course, nothing comes out of my damned, effing useless mouth. “I thought so.” I can hear him smiling. It never mattered when I could speak. When I did ask him not to do things, he turned my words around and used them against me, giving himself the green light to go ahead anyway. “Well, I thought you might be ready to take our relationship to the next level today. After all, it’s been a long time, and I don’t think anyone can say I haven’t been patient with you.” I feel the bed depress at my right side. He always stays that side, I think so he can see if someone’s coming through the glass window in the door. “I’m a very patient man, but I have needs just as you do. Sometimes a man’s needs are greater. Do you understand, Harper?” Again, he pauses, waiting for me to respond. I don’t give him the pleasure of hearing me speak anymore. He used to say it was my voice that turned him on. “Good girl, I knew you wouldn’t make me wait much longer.”

  I feel his hands on the stupid dress my mother bought, the one that’s far too revealing. It seemed to be a theme with all the clothing she bought for me. More like the stuff she wears than the jeans and T-shirts I favour. His fingers dig into my breast as he squeezes me roughly. He’s kneading it in a rough circular motion. He usually doesn’t speak while he’s doing his thing; he prefers to work in silence, but I can hear his breathing increase. His hand slips inside my dress and glides across my bare flesh as he pushes the straps from my dress down my shoulders, exposing both my breasts for him to see. My mother appears to have forgotten to purchase bras when she did my shopping.

  I feel him shift his weight on the bed as he positions his other arm across it, supporting his weight. It’s then I feel his breath on my chest as he leans in closer. His rough, wet tongue laps at one nipple and then the other before he sucks each one deeply into his mouth. It stings but it’s not painful, not now I’m used to it. I know what comes next. This is when I usually start to count in my head, try to disappear somewhere else, but for some reason, today it’s not working. I can’t disconnect from what he’s doing to me.

  The rough skin on his hand chafes along my leg as he continues to suckle at my breast. I mentally try to tighten the muscles in my thighs as his hand progresses further upwards towards my underwear. He takes the twitch in my muscles as a sign that I’m eager for him to continue. I hear him lick his lips. His fingers are inside my underwear and they’re searching out my flesh. He runs one finger the full length of me before sliding it quickly inside. He gasps audibly as he pushes in as far as he can before swiftly withdrawing it and pumping back inside me. As his finger works away diligently inside me, he grabs my hand, which remains lifeless and limp in his. Placing my hand over his clothing, covering his erection, he holds it there while he continues to pump his other hand in and out of me. I can feel the heat radiating from his crotch against my hand, and my stomach starts to roll. We’re nearing the end of my ordeal now. His usual routine is reaching its end.

  His breathing is rapid and shallow, and I can hear his excitement, audible as it rolls off him. How anyone finds this exciting is beyond me. It’s degrading. I feel violated and desecrated. He quickly whips his hand from beneath my dress, and I think he’s finished for today. That is until I feel my dress being pushed up from the hem. He’s bunching it around my waist and caressing my thighs as he does. “Oh, Harper. So beautiful,” he says as he rips my underwear away from my body, leaving me naked from the waist down. This is a first; the talking and fully exposing me is very new. My skin is flushed with humiliation as I imagine him standing over me, staring at my naked form. “I think we need a better view than that though, honey. I’ve waited a long time for this moment. I want to see everything. I don’t want anything in my way now.”

  The bile rises in my throat, and trying to swallow it is proving hard, thanks to the tube that runs into my stomach. He lifts my leg and moves it out towards him, resting it against his hip. I’m exposed for him to see—him and anyone who cares to walk into my room. “Don’t worry, honey. I locked the door this time and shut that window blind. I knew you’d want this to be just the two of us with no interruptions today. Just relax and let me see you.” He answers my unspoken angst.

  It’s then I hear his zip. He never undoes his zip. He never gets it out of his trousers. The usual routine is for him to rub my hand against his clothing until he kind of shudders, then it’s all over. He leaves.

  Oh no, please not this. Not now. Please don’t let him go the whole way and rape me. I’ll do anything else he wants, just not that. My skin is damp with sweat now, my throat dry, and I feel dizzy, like I’m going to pass out.

  He’s grunting as I listen to him mess with his clothing. I can’t open my eyes to look. That would make all this too real. I can just about cope with hearing him. I don’t need the visual too.

  “I’m going to wrap your hand around me, honey. If you can grip, now would be a good time.” He lets go of my hand to see if I hold on to his shaft, but my hand falls, lax, back to the bed. “Okay, it doesn’t matter. I can help you to hold on.” Grabbing my hand roughly again, he positions it in a fist around him, covering my hand
with his own, gripping me tightly to his erection. It feels hot. Hard and soft at the same time. I can smell him now, the musky aroma drifting up towards my nostrils as he begins to glide in my hand. It makes it even harder to push the bile back down.

  I think I’m going to throw up, and that poses a whole different set of issues. Vomiting could kill me.

  “Oh, that’s it, honey. I knew you’d be good at this.” He increases his stroke infinitesimally, and I can feel him bumping against the inside of my thigh, the one he has rested against him. “I’m close, honey. I’m going to help you out too. Don’t worry about a thing.” He jams not one but several fingers back inside my exposed opening. “There you go, I know you can feel that. I can feel how much you like it too.” He’s grunting as he speaks now. I don’t like it, not at all. It feels dirty. I feel dirty and cheap.

  The warm, wet, stickiness spurts against the upper inside of my thigh and spreads higher, not once but three times, as I feel him shudder and hear his breath stutter out of him. I think he’s finished. He releases his grip on my hand, and I hear tissues being ripped from the box on my side table. I can hear him wiping himself clean before I feel him swipe the tissues over my hand. He then turns his attention to my still exposed core, his fingers still buried deep inside me.

  “I know you didn’t come this time, honey. It won’t always be that way. I promise, I’ll make it just as good for you next time. Unless you want me to finish you now?” He’s seriously asking me if I want him to get me off before he leaves! “Well, it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, I suppose.” His hand begins to move inside me again, just as I thought my ordeal was over. He pumps twice then twists his hand, until his thumb rests against my sensitive spot. “You see, I do know how to take care of you properly. Just relax and let me do the work.” He swallows loudly and his thumb begins to circle in time with his fingers pumping.

  A few more pumps and he convinces himself I’m done, so to speak. “Good girl. I bet that felt wonderful for you. It’ll be easier for you to get there next time, once you get used to it.”

  My dress gets pulled back down to a respectable level, and he manhandles my breasts back inside my dress, but not before he’s sucked each nipple roughly again. When he’s satisfied I look untouched, he crosses to the sink to wash his hands.

  “I’ll see you soon, Harper.”

  The door unlocks and I hear it slide closed behind him.

  I count to twenty then open my eyes to make sure I’m alone. When I know the coast is clear, I grant the unshed tears permission to fall down my cheeks.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Flynn

  The weekends are the hardest. It’s the time when I would have been most active, either stealing or selling what I’d stolen in the pubs. Now I’m sitting in the house, watching the little black box in the corner, the one that monitors my whereabouts. The tag on my ankle emits an inaudible signal to the intrusive little contraption. It tells someone who’s seated in a little office somewhere in the city my exact movements. They know if I leave the house for more than fifteen minutes outside of my curfew hours. The curfew which, to be honest, is useless.

  Jacob is with Mrs Fisher again. He spends more time at her house than he does here with me now. I can’t blame him. She feeds him and pays him to do the odd job around the house. The money she gives him he hands straight to me. “For the bills and shit,” he says as he hands over his meagre earnings. He doesn’t know it, but I’m not spending any of the cash he gives me. It’s all getting put away for him. I’m going to give it all back to him when he’s reached a nice little sum. He can buy whatever he wants with it. I’ll even take him shopping. Just as long as he doesn’t want to go in any of the places I’m currently banned from.

  My text alert rings out, sending a vibration down my leg. It’s my brother.

  ‘Mrs F needs some tiling fixing. I told her you can tile now.’

  What the fuck! Really, Jacob? I reply, letting him know I don’t have the stuff I need to do it. His reply comes swiftly. ‘She has all the shit & stuff. Mr F had the tools. Get over here.’ Well, now I can’t refuse. He’s already agreed on my behalf. I tap out a quick response to let him know I’ll be over in five minutes.

  Moving to the kitchen door, I sit on the outside step and light up another cigarette before I head over to the neighbour’s. The old lady doesn’t like me smoking at her place. I try to always smoke outside our house too. It’s not good for my brother’s asthma, so I’m usually seated out here on the back step, filling my lungs with crap. It hits me then, just what I’m inhaling. The shit that’s coating my lungs is slowly killing me. I’ll end up with lung cancer, and then who would Jacob have? Nobody. Not one single person left in his life.

  Taking a good long look at the half-smoked white stick in my hand, I feel sick for the first time ever. I took my first drag at eleven years of age. It’s been a daily, hourly thing since. That’s a whole load of crap filling my lungs. I wonder how long it would take to reverse the damage I’ve already done. Throwing the offensive stick to the floor, I grind into it with my boot, making sure it’s fully extinguished. I can’t leave Jacob without anyone to care for him, and I know I’ve done a crap job so far, but at least he has someone to turn to. Even if it is just me.

  Throwing the mostly full packet into the bin as I pass, I vow to never smoke another cigarette. I grab my jacket and head to the tiling job my darling brother has volunteered me for.

  *****

  “Oh, Flynn! Thank you. You’ve saved me a fortune!” Mrs Fisher is admiring the newly restored tiling in the kitchen. It’s taking me a couple of hours, and I’m mindful of the time as I rub at the heavy-duty ankle accessory.

  “It was nothing, seriously. I’ll grab Jay and we’ll be out of your way.” She notices me checking the time and nods sadly. It never crossed my mind that she might be lonely since her old man died. Maybe that’s why she likes Jacob hanging around so much.

  “I’ll plate you both up some dinner. I made plenty again. Don’t know why I can’t seem to make smaller portions after all these years.” She ushers me towards the fridge, where she reveals shelf after shelf of little plastic boxes, all filled with pre-cooked meals. There’s pasta, casserole, pies and heaven knows what else is in there.

  “What would you like, dear? Jacob likes the lasagne, but you can take your pick.” Her soft eyes are smiling up at me as she pats my forearm. Her hand is dwarfed by my arm. The skin is wrinkled and looks thin, almost paper like, and it’s then I realise just how old and fragile she is. I’m glad Jacob is helping her out with jobs around the garden. I make a mental note to speak to him, find out just what else needs doing around this place for her. If I can’t fix it, I’m sure Frank can tell me how.

  “We’ll share a lasagne, thanks.” I don’t want to deplete her food stocks. She looks like she needs it more than we do.

  “You will not! A couple of growing boys like you, you can take one each. I won’t hear any more about it.” The wizened old hand reaches into the fridge and drags out a couple of plastic boxes. “You’ve earned that.”

  “I can’t stay to eat, sorry, it’s the tag. I have to be home soon. But why don’t you come and eat with us? Jay would like that. Then he can walk you home later.” I haven’t finished my sentence, and she’s switching off lights and grabbing her coat, yelling to my brother to join us. As I suspected, she’s lonely.

  “Mrs F, if you’re going out, you need to leave the lights on. The TV too. It makes burglars think that somebody’s in. They’ll leave you alone then.” I offer her a gem of my wisdom from the days when I was running with the wrong crowd.

  “Well, if you think I should, Flynn. Maybe you could have a look around the house and see what else I need to do. Can’t be too careful nowadays.” She pats me again then holds the door open for my brother and me to exit. “Here, my eyes aren’t what they used to be, will you lock it for me?” She hands me her keys as she links arms with Jacob, and together they head in the direction of home.
r />   I follow close behind them, listening to their conversation. It’s laughable. My brother is still trying to explain the World Wide Web to the old woman, and she’s telling him how she keeps losing the ‘arrow thingy’ on the screen so she just unplugs it from wall. That seems to fix it, evidently. Jacob’s chuckling at her as she gesticulates unplugging the computer. It’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh, like properly laugh, in such a long time. It’s amazing to hear, almost as amazing as seeing Harper’s smile. In that moment, I’m right back at Bluebell Hill, standing next to her bed and watching as her smile fills her face.

  Now I can’t wait for Monday.

  We share the two lasagnes between the three of us. Jacob even sets the table properly. We haven’t eaten at the table since Mum died, but it somehow seems right, now that we have a guest, and something tells me this might become a regular thing.

  True to my word, I make my brother walk the old lady home. “Make sure she’s inside and the door’s locked before you leave,” I warn Jacob sternly. It’s not exactly late, but I know just who roams these streets. My brother’s safe, because, well, he’s my brother and people know him. If you get my drift.

  “Such good boys, both of you.” Mrs Fisher rises up on her toes to kiss my cheek, slightly taken aback I still agree to the act of kindness. “Thanks for the date, young man!” She gives me a cheeky wink, and I can’t help but laugh loudly at the brazen older woman.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Harper

  It’s Monday morning. Which means it’s a Flynn day. If I could do a little happy dance, I really would. Maybe I could if I really wanted to? Who knows what I’m capable of these days. It’s been so long since I voluntarily moved, it’s hard to know what’s possible anymore.