Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [3]
Caroline still carried a memento of that precocity, shaped like a tiny archway, a doorway back to childhood. As the blade rested on her arm, gently testing the strength of her skin, she wondered how much pressure she would have to exert. She knew at that moment with shocking clarity that the path that lay invitingly before her was an internal one. It would have its outward manifestations, but the journey was about her mind, her thoughts and feelings.
She remembered getting her ears pierced at fourteen, the sensation of pressure, as if between great fingers and thumbs, and then the numbness.
As the blade came down for the first time, Caroline had prayed that numbness would follow.
The numbness rarely came. Caroline was a battleground, where conflicting emotions waged their terrible war, each side sacrificing much just to gain a precious square yard of bomb-ravaged soil. And, as she continued to strive for 4
the promised numbness, the price she paid was enormous. Soon, she had to cut herself more and more just to keep the status quo. Her guilt was always before her eyes, a constant, mocking pall.
In summer, when the others were wearing vests to better showoff their arms and fits, she persisted with long-sleeved blouses, buttoned up to the neck and at the cuffs, as if the disgust she felt would creep through any gaps in her clothing. Her only sport was fencing, and she would change swiftly while backs were turned, desperate to pull on the big, back-to-front white jacket.
She would tug the already-long sleeves as far as they would go, and then yank aggressively at the strap that went between her legs and up at the back.
Only when she pulled on the mask, when she was sure that no one could see her eyes and the pain behind them, did she feel safe.
Once she was too slow getting changed and a teacher spotted the white crisscrosses on Caroline’s arms. Words were exchanged, but Caroline was not aware of anything being done as a result. Had her father known, or was it a surprise to him? She was never sure. She’d been going to the doctor, and hospital psychologists, on and off for years, but she couldn’t remember the appointments becoming more frequent afterwards.
However, on the inside, where war was raging, the brief exposure of her secret was devastating. Battle escalated, as if biplanes and gas masks had been usurped by stealth fighters and cruise missiles. She wondered sometimes that people couldn’t hear the explosions in her head, the screams of dying soldiers.
The moment her shame was exposed she resolved not to let it happen again.
She wanted to pull on the mask every morning, would have lived behind its protective mesh if she could. Only behind the mask was she anonymous –
bland and unmemorable.
Best of all, with a sword in her hand, she could fight back.
The battle in her mind would ease, and it was possible – just possible – to concentrate on one thing at a time. She wasn’t vicious, but she was good.
Very good.
Caroline remembered one particular explosive fight with Donna. Donna was small and unpredictable, a bitter mix of Barbie-doll looks and a tongue thick with gossip. Once Caroline had caught Donna in full flow, the words spilling out of her like pure propaganda. ‘Of course, Carol’s been under the shrink since she was a kid. I mean, have you seen the state of her arms?
You could play noughts and crosses on them.’ Caroline had walked in at that point, catching the still teacherless room in mid guffaw. After a moment people glanced away and chuckling gave way to embarrassed coughing, but for a split second everyone stared at Caroline. And their eyes burned with disgust, because everyone knew.
Caroline could not understand why Donna chose fencing over the other 5
sports on offer. Most of the lads who chose it were geeks, and thus not Donna’s type at all. Netball or hockey would seem to offer more time to gossip, and greater prestige within the school. Whatever