Dim, cloudy, swirling. Pain, intense pain, burning, searing pain. A voice, harsh, angry, cursing words. Lifting, moving. “No, stop, please… Hurts.” “Sorry, angel. Christ, I’m sorry. Lie still, let me help you.” Soft, comfortable, gentle hands, soothing, cool. “Aah!” More sharp pain intruding, spearing, trust-breaking. I sob, struggle. I need to escape. “Easy, love, you’re going to be okay, I’ve got you…” Darkness again, sweet, silent darkness. I float, drifting, escaping… * * * * I wake. The room is in semi-darkness, the heavy curtains closed to shut out most of the sunlight. I am face down, lying on top of the duvet on Nathan’s huge bed. I lie still, listening. Silence. But I sense I’m not alone. The first forgetful moment of wakening slips past and I start to remember, to recall what happened. The sofa, tied down, helpless, exposed. And the cane, the beating. Jesus, the sheer mind-numbing paralysing agony of it. Then it stopped. I must have passed out.
