Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [100]
I’d seen enough and turned towards the stairs, but Peter had other ideas. I hadn’t seen him move, but suddenly he was holding my arm, digging his nails into me like his life depended on it.
‘Get off, you’re hurting me!’
‘Shut it, bitch,’ he shouted and even while I was still trying to free my arm, he began tearing at my dressing gown.
‘What are you doing? Get off me!’
But he wouldn’t. I fought and I fought, but he was too strong. My gown and then my night clothes were ripped off my back and I was forced down onto my knees. It had taken seconds and it just proved how he saw me: I was nothing. No one. Something to use and discard.
I tried to stand up, but his grip on my neck just tightened. I thought about collapsing and rolling away, but he was one step ahead of me. One fierce tug of my hair and I wasn’t going anywhere – not unless I wanted my scalp ripped raw.
I was terrified and so confused. It was Mum being raped at Telscombe Cliffs again. That’s all I could think. I’d always wondered why she didn’t fight and now I knew. She couldn’t. Men are too powerful, even one standing at 5΄7. There was nothing I could do.
Then it began. There was no attempt at preparing me, no thought for any pleasure I might have or anything I might need to be ready. Peter just forced himself into me, roughly and noisily. The more I cried and begged him to stop, the more he seemed to enjoy it. The more I said he was hurting, the tighter he gripped my skin and the more viciously he pounded my body. At that moment, I wasn’t his wife. I could have been anybody. For a second, I thought it wouldn’t have even mattered if I’d been dead, but that was wrong. Peter needed me alive because he seemed to thrive on my screams.
When he finished, it took me a few seconds to realize he had. I was so sore and was bleeding so much that I hadn’t even noticed the pain stopping. Trying not to be sick, I scooped up my clothes and ran for the door. Only then did I notice Lisa on the sofa, watching with a blank expression. Had she seen everything? Why hadn’t she helped me? I didn’t know and at that moment I didn’t care. I thundered up the stairs and didn’t stop running until I’d reached the sanctuary of Daniel’s room. I was safe. A broken woman, but safe for now. Just when I’d thought Peter couldn’t degrade me anymore, I’d reached a new low.
It was a few days before I could walk without pain again. The physical agony was actually the least of my worries. Every twinge I had reminded me of the ordeal I’d been subjected to. It was everywhere; my entire body was a reminder of that night. It was a day or two after the attack that I realized something.
He hasn’t apologized.
That was important. No matter how unpleasant or hurtful or spiteful he’d been in the past, Peter had always been quick with his regrets. Forty-eight hours after raping me in my own lounge, it was as though he’d forgotten the whole episode. That wasn’t a good sign. For some reason, he no longer felt the need to say sorry. Did he honestly think he’d done nothing wrong? Or was he so confident in his power over me that he could no longer be bothered?
Over the next weeks and months, there were several new faces in the house. Sometimes Lisa, sometimes other girls of my age or maybe younger. My memories of them are admittedly vague, like I’m trying to see through a fog. That’s often how it seemed at the time too. Sometimes it felt like I was living in a dream. It was a vile thing for Peter to do in my own home, with his son around, let alone me. It was as if he was saying, I can do better than you. They all looked like they could do with a decent meal and a few hours in the sun. And they all acted as though they weren’t there by choice. Not in front of Peter, of course. When he was there, they couldn’t do enough for him or to him. I think, to be honest, he was their meal ticket.
When so many unpleasant things are happening your mind tries to block them out. Consequently,