That bastard Richard. That bastard fought me to the floor and bloody raped me. He did, I wouldn't lie about something like that. For the first time since I can remember, I was actually, physically frightened. I was bloody shaking and sweating, and my brain was going, Ooh, Kimbo. What can you do now? Nothing, that's what. You can scream and scratch and bite but at the end of the day you're just a weak-bodied woman.
And that might be the worst way to attack someone. Physically. I mean you can build a fence around your mind, can't you? You can build up defences and be strong. Like that Andrew chap. I've chatted with him a few times before that mad cow locked him out of the house, and he's got classic emotion blocking. Or it could be compassionate fatigue, wouldn't be surprised, but I don't really... don't really think so, because he seems like a caring bloke.
Then I thought, right, I can't stay here in case that nutter comes back to make trouble. I should have gone straight to the police, I know, but I'm being blackmailed, they'll be looking for a social worker of my description, probably. Anyway I've had bad experiences with the police before. Down our street there was a woman who was being battered by her husband all the time and they never even poked their fucking heads round the door. Can't be bothered with domestic affairs, you see. And how in the hell could I even prove it was rape? All the time I've been seeing Richard it's been consensual and all that bullshit, even if it did go on behind his wifey's back. Oh, God, that's another thing. Shit. Shit shit shit. Bloody bastard!
So, couldn't stay here. Then I thought, what about Andrew's? He barely knows me, but I heard Mrs Frances being dragged out of her house just a few minutes ago. Flat's empty, so why not? He's a decent bloke and he'll let me in, especially since I've been attacked. I mean look at me. I look a bloody mess.
I got in the car and started going round the corner. Everything bloody hurts. I just had a bit of a weird memory from sometime beginning of the 90s. Mum was still alive then. Her leukaemia finished her off eventually, she had ALL, it was tragic, blah blah blah. Anyway, I was about to go out and she was watching one of the music channels. The one on was 'Stay' by Shakespeare's Sister. It's the one everyone's heard of. And Fahey's doing this vampish angel of death, eyes bulging and staggering down this flight of steps, going 'You'd better hope and pray that you'll make it safe back to your own world...' looking stoned out of her brains. Mum says, 'Oh, you look a bit like that.' And I go, 'Yeah right, can I have the car? I need to get down to Goat's Head'. Then she said 'You've inherited your mother's ugly mug and no mistake. Try and bring home a decent bloke this time and maybe you'll be alright.' She was half asleep when she said that so she probably didn't mean it. Weird memory to have. It's weird, I've been violated by that pile of horse shit Richard Brown... brown, the colour of shit which is what he fucking is, and I'm thinking about something my mum said about Shakespeare's Sister.
So I'm outside Andrew's now. He'll let me in, I think. I just need to get inside and sit in the dark. Then i can think of a way to counter blackmail Richard all over again and muddle the fuck through from there.
Fuck. Shitty fuck. I'm a bloody mess. I hate you, you stupid bastard!!