Heart of Glass Page 17

  In the months since we’d spent an hour watching the sunrise, Mark had been relentless in his pursuit. Everywhere I went, he appeared. Every time I sat down he was there, his eyes boring holes through my clothes until I could feel them on my skin, his smile making me drool like a puppy. Lush, by some strange coincidence, had added more of The Doors songs to their repertoire and he sang ‘Don’t You Love Her Madly’ and ‘Love Me Two Times’, dedicating them to me, Blondie, his secret lover. Of course, I wasn’t his secret lover but nobody knew that. They didn’t know the game he was playing or that it was me he was playing it with.

  To make matters worse, he befriended Dean, not an easy task in itself as Dean always expected the worst of any man who came within ten metres of me. He bought him beers and they had long intellectual conversations, about what I didn’t know, while Mark tried to feel me up without Dean realising. Dean was into neurons and Mark killed millions of them every weekend but somewhere they’d found a common ground. I moved to a safe side of the circle and pretended his hand hadn’t been grasping my arse. I tried to remain true to my promise. I didn’t flirt and I hadn’t even thought about any other boys.

  Well, except for that one dream of the faceless man who ravished my body, but that could have been anybody.

  Over the summer, and into autumn, as the ride gained momentum, my sole focus was Dean. But with each passing day it grew harder, especially with Mark playing the lovelorn fool. He wasn’t helping my cause one bit and it wasn’t what I’d expected when he’d offered me his help. As I watched him climb up onto the stage, I wondered what went on inside his dreadlocked head. He had no morals to speak of, I had told him a thousand times I wasn’t interested but he persisted in stalking me through the city. I could see he was waiting, biding his time until I gave in, and give in I would; we both knew it.

  Assuming his rock star persona, Mark took the microphone from its stand. “This song’s for you, Blondie.”

  Oh God, here we go again, I thought, wondering what classic he would twist to suit his will that night.

  The guitars burst into the familiar riff of ‘The Clash’ song ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go?’ The lyrics pumped through the air, the crowded room went wild singing along, every girl looking expectantly around in the hope that they might see, or even be, the mysterious Blondie. I was appalled. Mark was singing straight to me as if we were alone in the room. His dark eyes were eating my insides, his body writhing sensuously, simulating sex. Dean was standing beside me, tapping his hand against his leg. He wasn’t one for dancing in bars but the tune was catchy.

  “Whoever that Blondie chick is, she’s giving Mark a hard time.”

  I coughed into my drink.

  “You’ve gotta do something about him. Tell him to go away,” Coops whispered.

  “I’ve tried but it only makes him worse. Look!” I pointed to the stage where Mark had fallen to his knees and begun to beg. “What else can I do?”

  I was beside myself with worry. I felt guilty and, for once, I was innocent. I’d done nothing to encourage Mark’s advances except sit on a balcony and watch the sunrise. Okay, so I’d had a few lewd and disgusting thoughts about him naked, but I hadn’t told a soul. Not even Prue. I had given my word to be good. It wouldn’t be fair.

  ***

  The phone rang incessantly, until I answered.

  “I need to see you. Can I come over?”

  “Mark? Are you stoned?”

  “No. Can I come over? I really need to.” He had made it something of a habit to turn up on my doorstep for a ‘coffee’ when he knew I’d be alone.

  “Why?” I hissed, looking over my shoulder for Dean who was in the bathroom.

  “I just …… Please?”

  I sighed. Mark had a habit, one that he was trying to conquer and replace with a new one. Me. He’d been trying not to use and I supposed I should help him; he had helped me so much when I was sad about Ben. “Alright, but give it an hour. Let me get rid of Dean.”

  “Thanks, Bella.”

  It was the first time he ever called me by my name.

  ***

  It was amazing how someone could look such a fright and yet somehow still be devastatingly handsome. His hair was ragged as if he had just woken up and the dark circles under his eyes were blacker than ever. “You look dreadful. What’s the matter?”

  He sat down on the sofa, his red eyes pitiful. “I’ve been up all night. I can’t be alone, Bella. The drugs are everywhere.”

  I bent into the fridge and pulled out a beer. I handed it to him and he flipped the lid. “I need a hit.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “I feel bad. I want to die.”

  I was mute.

  “Today’s a sort of anniversary. It’s a long story.”

  I reached over and put my hand on his sleeve. “I have all day.”

  Getting up, he went to the large window across the room. He opened it and climbed through onto the Juliet balcony then, sitting down, he stared at the view of the water. I could see the pain draped around in his shoulders. Climbing through after him, I threw two pillows to the ground and pulled my cigarettes out of my pocket. I lit one and offered it to him, then got one for myself.

  “Tell me,” I said. It sounded so much more mature than ‘fuck me,’ which was what I really wanted to say, though I was loathe to admit it.

  He took a deep breath and dragged on his cigarette. “Are you sure you don’t have anything stronger?”

  “No, now tell me.”

  “Four years ago, I went to live in Sydney and I started this band, you know. I’m pretty good on guitar….”

  Hmm, I mused, watching his long fingers stroke edge of the pillow, I bet you’re good at lots of things.

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Anyway, we travelled all over, playing gigs, drinking, smoking tones of dope and doing speed and stuff. We didn’t get much sleep. It was that whole rock star thing.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “It was.” Mark scratched his arm carelessly and sniffed. “I got to know lots of people in the industry and one night we went to see “The Truth” playing. I knew the lead singer, Brendan Dyson. He asked me to play some session gigs with them.”

  “You know the lead singer of ‘The Truth’? That’s amazing! They’re so good. I have their first album.”

  He shook his head at me. “Fuck, your innocence spins me out, Blondie. All the girls I know are fucking jaded by life.” He stubbed out his cigarette, tossing the butt over the balcony into the garden below. “Anyway, that was when I met Teresa. I thought she was a groupie; she was always hanging around and I fell for her pretty hard. Before I knew what was going on, we were fucking each other stupid. She turned me onto ‘H’. She used to smoke it after we had sex….”

  I was silent. I knew what was coming.

  “…. So, one day, I turned up at the studio and there she was, in the sound booth, hanging off Brendan. While we were fucking, she’d as forgotten to tell me she was married to him.”

  “You had an affair with Teresa Goddard! Oh my God, I’ve seen her photo in ‘Rolling Stone’, she’s gorgeous.”

  “I know, Blondie, you don’t have to remind me…. Anyway, our affair continued for a while and I wanted her to leave him. She said she would, she said she loved me but she was always stoned and I never knew if she meant it. Drugs make you lie.”

  “What happened?”

  Mark’s hand crept over, taking mine. “Brendan caught us in bed, he bashed the shit out of me. Teresa was screaming that she wanted to be with me but he took her away. He made my life hell. I couldn’t get a gig anywhere. He got inside her head and convinced her that she could never leave, she needed his money to support her habit.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I tried to get her back but she wouldn’t come. Then I found out that she’d been pregnant and had had an abortion. She killed my baby, Bella.”

  “Oh Mark.” I reached out and took him into my arms.
His musty smell seeped into my bones. I could feel his body shaking in despair as I held him.

  “I felt so bad that I went out straight away and got a fix. I stayed in bed for a month, I couldn’t move and I didn’t talk to anybody. I tried to kill myself a few times. I’ve been a junkie ever since.”

  “Do you use a lot?”

  “I’ve been clean since I came home but it’s not easy, especially today.”

  “Why?”

  Mark’s shoulders raised and fell in a huge sigh, the weight as big as a mountain. “Today’s the anniversary of the day she left me.”

  The words were out of my mouth before I realised what I had said, “Do you want to stay here tonight? Will that help?”

  “Can I?”

  We talked well into the night, sharing cigarettes and wine until we were both a bit tipsy. After a long while, his features relaxed and his smile returned. The nervous itching subsided and he was no longer biting his nails. He said the craving had passed. I felt drained. It was hard work being a counselor. I stood up and climbed in the window.

  “I’m going to bed, I’m tired. Are you coming?”

  Mark climbed in, shutting the window behind him. The room was dark; we’d sat outside for hours, so I grabbed his hand, leading the way. There was only one bed. He had a curious look on his face as he examined it. Then he squeezed my hand and pulled me towards him. I wobbled slightly and moved away.

  “Can I sleep in your bed?” he asked. “I won’t try anything, I promise.”

  “I was going to make you a bed on the couch…”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Just friends… right?”

  “Just friends.”

  I led him to the tiny sleeping area and turned on the lamp. Then I disappeared into the bathroom calling out “make yourself at home” as I shut the door. I ran the tap and the sound of splashing water echoed through the flat as I washed my face. When I opened the door, Mark had taken off his clothes and hopped into bed, resting his head in the sling of his hands, waiting for me to return.

  His eyes never left mine as I pulled the jumper over my head and tossed my jeans aside. I was naked except for my pants, covered in hearts. I slipped a singlet top over my bare chest and pulling back the covers, got into bed. I could see him watching intently, taking in my every move, every detail of my body. It was not the way a friend looked at you. I knew it was a bad idea, that I should be making him a bed on the couch and I yet did nothing.

  “Remember what you promised,” I said as I kissed his cheek, rolled over and turned out the light.

  Mark lay on his back, with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling and listening to the rhythmic sound of my breath as within a matter of minutes, my breathing slowed and I sunk into a half-sleep. I was tired. It wasn’t a ploy to get him into bed. Through my slumber, I felt him rolling onto his side, as he laid his hand in the curve between my ribs and my hip. It was a gentle caress, a whisper of movement. I didn’t move. I kept my breath deep and regular, not wanting him to know he had roused me from near sleep.

  Slowly, he began to run his finger along the curves of my body, feeling the rise and fall of my chest, the boniness of my hip, the fabric of my pants. It was excruciating to lay there and ignore it as my body cried out for him to fill me and make me complete. I imagined how my hip would feel jutting into him as I lay beneath him. The sharp pleasure of flesh grating against flesh. It was all I could do not to jump on top of him in that instant but I had made a promise and I intended to do everything in my power to keep it. Plainly, he had other ideas.

  Taking his hand further, he moved it onto the muscles of my bottom, skimming its shape. I almost whimpered, it felt so good, but I pressed my lips together, determined. I could feel his erection against my leg and all I wanted was for it to be inside me. My guilt at the feeling only made me want it more.

  Tentatively, he moved his body closer so that we lay spooning, making it all the more difficult for me to go on pretending. He must have known I was awake as his hand crept up, cupping my breast. The skin of his fingers were as soft as a baby’s and I stirred, moving against him with my back, unable to keep the pretext alive.

  “What’re you doing?” I whispered through the blackness.

  “I wanted to touch you. You’re so luscious; I never saw it until now. Until you took off your clothes, you were just another girl.”

  Luscious.

  “I don’t know if I should be happy about that or upset.” I moved closer to the edge of the bed, my back still towards him, not ready to concede defeat.

  “You should be impressed.” He caressed the side of my breast with his finger.

  “You promised.”

  “I know, but I want to touch you. I won’t do anything else.”

  He continued to stroke and fondle in silence, and I allowed him the small pleasure, he had promised after all. But little by little I could feel every inch of me coming alive, tingling, pulsing under his touch. I dared not move. If I moved, he would take it as a signal and I didn’t know how long I could resist such powerful advances. The wicked stench from his body was intoxicating. The effect of his stubbled cheek and matted hair against my shoulder was already more than enough to drive me wild.

  “Let me fuck you,” his gravelly voice penetrated my thoughts. I shivered.

  “No. Just friends. Go to sleep.” My denials were weak.

  “Come on. You don’t even have to move, let me do it. It’s not like you’re cheating or anything if you don’t respond.” He spread my cheeks with his hand and pressed his erection between them, testing my will. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  “It’s not fair to Dean, he wouldn’t like it.”

  “Good,” he said, simply, “‘cause I’m not gonna fuck him.”

  He pushed my legs further apart. I was already wet from his touch, aching with excitement. He slid himself between my legs, not entering me but teasing at the edge. His hand grasped my breast and his fingers wound through my hair, trapping me. I moaned softly.

  “Yes, Blondie. That’s it.”

  “No.”

  “Your head is saying ‘no’, but your body’s already said ‘yes’. Now, roll over and let me take you to heaven.”

  Without a word, I moved my leg, only a tiny fraction, allowing him to rub against me more fully. The fight was over. My will had dissolved like water into sand.

  ***

  Mark lay on his side, a sardonic grin stretched across his face as he watched me, beside him. His finger reached over to touch my lips, the lips that were plump and bruised from his kisses. The lips that had spoken ‘no’ when they meant ‘yes’. I was a bad girl. No wonder Ben didn’t want me.

  “That was so good…” he said, his finger playing with my mouth, touching the tip of my tongue.

  I looked at him through half closed eyes, the delicious memory fresh in my mind, the brutishness of him present in the faint blue tinge of bruises forming upon my hips.

  “I can smell you,” he said, “the deliciousness of you is all over me.” Stroking my face, he lifted his finger, and wiped it across his mouth, sucking it in.

  “I’ve never had a girl who got off on the ferociousness of it before. Most girls just lay there. I want to sink into you, to find the things that make you writhe in ecstasy, to open that flower of innocence and teach you things you never thought possible. That will be my mission.”

  I closed my eyes as the words rushed over me like a waterfall. They were lewd and disgusting yet poetically beautiful at the same time and from that moment, I knew I’d let him. To hear him speak that way was worth almost anything.

  After a long while, I heard him roll and sit up on the side of the bed. It was late, almost morning and I had dozed but he hadn’t slept at all.

  “I’m going to get up for a while, I can’t sleep,” he said.

  Quietly, so as not to disturb me again, he put on his jeans and padded across the floor to sit beside the heater. Lighting a joint, I saw him draw the smoke i
n and close his eyes. Then, he got up and went to my desk, rifling for a piece of paper and a pen. As I tumbled into sleep, his words began to fill the empty pages.

  ***

  It was a matter of days before he possessed me, my free will becoming less as his hold grew tighter. I could feel it occurring and yet I didn’t want to, or couldn’t stem the onslaught. All I knew was the intoxication of his scent and the way I felt when he was inside me, making the pain of Ben disappear.

  Stretching, catlike, I sat up on the side of the bed. “I have to get up, I have a lecture in an hour and I need a shower.”

  “No, don’t get up. Stay in bed with me.”

  I looked at him, naked, on the tumble of sheets. The invitation was tempting. “I have to go to a lecture.”

  Kneeling up, he reached for me. “Stay,” he demanded, gently twisting my arm, trapping me to him. “You don’t need a shower. You smell good. You smell like sex.”

  “Exactly. Now let me go.”

  He pressed his body against me; his chest squashing me so that I was confined between his arm and his body. His lips nuzzled my neck. “But what’ll I do while you’re gone? I’ll be bored without you, Blondie.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find something to amuse yourself.”

  Jumping from the bed, I raced to the bathroom, locking the door. Standing under the jet of water, I inspected my torso and arms. The bruises from the last weeks were all over my body. I frowned. This thing with Mark was becoming difficult. I’d been avoiding my friends and Dean, for fear they’d notice my infidelity, for it surely must be written all over my face. Soon they’d begin to question my absence, to notice my abstraction – all I could think about was the next time and how soon it would be.

  As I held my lips up to the water, rinsing my face, I considered the situation. Mark was not controlling, rather dominating and persuasive. He wasn’t physically abusive either, although some might consider his brand of sex rough – biting and sucking, thrusting wildly.