‘Stop it,’ I hiss.
‘I will. If you kiss me. If you promise to come upstairs and then let me fuck you.’ He licks his lips, as if he’s hungry. The action is deliberate, it carries a message; if it’d been Lukas I’d be flattered, excited, but from him it’s more like a threat. ‘Like I know you want me to. Little slag …’
I turn in on myself. There’s a rush, a swell of anger. Lukas is supposed to be here, not this man. I feel myself in balance, a perfect serenity that cannot last, and for a long moment I’m unsure what I’m going to do, which way I’m going to fall.
I steel myself. ‘Look.’ I’ve raised my voice, just slightly. I want to attract attention, though without yet causing alarm. I speak firmly, hoping my voice will have an authority I don’t feel. ‘I’m asking you, politely, just this once. Take your hands off me, right now, or else I’ll break your fucking arm.’
Even as I say it I’m not sure how he’ll react. Hurt perhaps, but surely he’ll get the message? I expect him to turn away, mutter something under his breath, but it’ll make no difference. I’ll stand up, walk out. I’ll hold my head up and walk away and I won’t look back.
But he doesn’t move. He’s perfectly still, then without warning he grabs my wrist. I recoil, try to get away, but his grip is powerful. He digs in tight, twisting as he does. ‘You want to go home? Is that it? Home to your faggot husband? Hasn’t had you in weeks? Is that what you want, Julia?’
I freeze. I know I should cry out, but I don’t. I can’t. I’m paralysed.
He used my real name.
‘What—?’ I begin, but then he speaks again.
‘What’s his name? Your husband? Hugh?’
Fear floods me. I haven’t mentioned being married, much less told him my husband’s name. How does he know? This can’t be right. The room begins to spin; for a moment I feel I might collapse, but then there’s a voice. ‘Is everything okay here?’ I turn and it’s him. Lukas. Relief rushes through me as instantly as if a tourniquet had been released. The sound of the bar rushes back, like blood cells closing in on a wound. I’m safe.
This other man, David, lets go of me. He holds up his hands, palms out, a gesture of submission aimed not at me but at Lukas. It’s as if he’s asking this other man for his forgiveness, saying he’s sorry for touching his property, and it enrages me. What? he seems to say. I was just having a bit of fun. No harm done. At the same time Lukas steps in, putting himself between me and David. I can see his broad back, his hair, curly and unkempt. Finally I understand; the rush of excitement and fear I feel is so vertiginous that for a moment I think I might gasp aloud. I’d asked for this. A stranger, I’d said, during one of our chats. In a bar. Someone who won’t take no for an answer.
He’d planned it. After everything I’d said, he’d planned this.
We go upstairs. The door slams behind me. Vaguely I’m aware that I’m the one who slammed it. Lukas turns to face me. I have the sense I shouldn’t feel safe with him, yet somehow I still do and I realize that the feeling is familiar. It’s the exact same feeling I used to have about heroin; how can something that feels this good ever hurt me?
‘What the fuck are you doing? What the fuck—?’
‘Don’t be—’ he begins, but I interrupt again.
‘Where the hell were you? What the—?’
‘I was late—’ he begins, and I interrupt him, furious.
‘Late! Like you not being on time is the important thing we’re discussing here. Who was that guy? And how the hell do you know my husband’s name?’
‘What?’
‘That guy, he called him Hugh. I’ve never told you my husband’s called Hugh. Harvey. I’ve always called him Harvey …’
‘Yes, why did you do that?’
‘I’ve got every right to. But that’s not the point! How did you—?’
‘Relax. You slipped up. Just once. You called him Hugh. Weeks ago. You were upset, I guess. You called him Hugh, and I remembered.’
I try to think back, to remember, but it’s impossible. I want to believe him, though. I have to. Not to believe him about this might mean I have to not believe him about other things, too. And then everything would come crashing down.
‘Julia …’ He takes another step forward.
‘Don’t come near me!’ To my surprise he stays where he is. After a moment he turns, goes to the mini-bar.
‘More champagne?’
I snort with derision.
‘I don’t drink.’
‘Not with me. But you will with a stranger.’
I’m furious. ‘You ordered that bottle!’
‘And you drank it.’
I look away. I can’t be bothered to argue, there’s no point. I’ve been a fool. I don’t know him at all. I’ve rejected every warning, failed to see what was going on at every turn. He’s taken my deepest desires, the things I ought never to have told anyone, and turned them against me.
He opens a miniature – vodka, I think – and pours it into a glass. ‘You told me your fantasy was being rescued. Or one of them was, at least.’
‘You think that’s what I wanted?’
‘Didn’t you enjoy it?’
‘So you told him – that man – to be aggressive? To … to make me think … to behave like that? You shared everything I’d told you?’
‘Not everything. Just enough. I kept some of it to myself.’
‘I said no more games, Lukas! No more. Remember?’
I sit in the chair. He sits on the bed. I realize he’s between me and the door; a fundamental mistake, Hugh would say, though I don’t know why he’s ever had to worry; his patients don’t tend to be the aggressive type. I stand up again.
‘I thought it’d be fun.’ He sighs, runs his fingers through his hair. ‘Look, you told me. Your fantasy. Being in danger. Being rescued. You did say that?’
‘I said lots of things. That doesn’t mean I want them to happen. Not really. That’s why they’re called fantasies, Lukas.’
Dread hits. I remember the other things I’ve told him I fantasized about. Being taken by force, not quite against my will, but almost. Being tied to the bed, handcuffs, rope. Is he also planning that?
I try to backtrack. ‘Half of the things I said I wanted I only said to please you.’
‘Really? Like how Paddy had forced himself on you?’
He’s sneering. He looks as if he doesn’t care about me at all. I mean nothing to him.
‘Poor Paddy. Accused of all those things he didn’t do. And look where it got him.’
I back away. Every part of me wants to reject what he’s telling me is true. ‘It was you!’
‘It’s what you wanted—’
‘It was you!’ My heart hammers. I tense, as if for escape. ‘It was you, all along!’
‘And the mysterious figure outside your window …’
‘What?’
‘It’s what you want, isn’t it? To be scared?’
I try to work it out. The first time I’d thought I’d seen someone watching me was before I even met Lukas. But the other night? It’d seemed more real, then. Could that have been him?
No. No, he doesn’t know where I live. He’s using my paranoia against me.
‘You’re crazy.’
He looks at me and I return his gaze. Something slips within me, like a lever that’s been thrown. Somehow I see myself through him, reflected in his eyes. I see the clothes I’m wearing, the shoes, even the way I smell. I realize, as if for the first time, the place I’m in and how deep I’ve got.
I’ve been here before. In thrall to something that’s destroying me. Unable to escape. I think of Marcus, and of Frosty.
I force myself to say it.
‘I’m leaving now. This is over.’
The room is still. The words have escaped. I can’t unsay them now, even if I wanted to. He closes his eyes then opens them again. His face breaks, he smiles. He doesn’t believe me.