Finding Herself

The Night in Question

Amanda Robertson was tired. Tired, fed up, exhausted. It was a feeling she had become accustomed to. It was a source of hilarity for those closest to her. There she goes again, yawning her head off. What time do you get to your bed Amanda?” You need an early night Amanda, I could take my shopping home in those bags under your eyes.

She stood alone in matching black underwear in front of the double-door mirrors to her wardrobe. Behind them was a well organised split of her clothes; jeans, tops and dresses and a man’s side, filled with generic smart short sleeved shirts, jeans and chinos. To her left, the double hung white UPVC windows to her bedroom looked out into a classic suburban street populated by SUV-filled driveways and the joyful sound of young children playing, fighting and making up just as quickly. To her right, her bedroom door sat open, leading out onto a hall filled with hanged canvas photos, plastic flowers and candles. 

In each hand she held two different dresses on coat hangers, a satin green mini in one and a floral white and pink maxi in the other. As she bit at her lip and flitted her eyes back and forth between them, careful not to make eye contact with herself in the mirror, she opened the wardrobe back up and hooked them away. She let out a long puff of breath and fell slowly backwards onto the large kingsize bed behind her. Truthfully, she didn’t want to wear either. Instead, she dreamed of putting on her cosiest pyjamas and nipping downstairs to flick on the kettle. She’d make herself a cup of tea, grab a couple biscuits and pop on a rerun of Friends. Bliss. 

As the daydream floated away, she stood up from the bed and absently leaned against the bedroom window sill, looking out at the children running and cycling up and down the street. She envied them. She envied their innocent ignorance and wished she could go down and tell them all to play out there for as long as they could, forget being in a hurry to grow up, it’s nothing to write home about. 

“Hey Man, what the fuck?”

Amanda’s boyfriend, Peter, burst into the bedroom, his red work tie hung loose around a blue dress shirt tucked into navy pinstripe trousers. He stood at the end of the bed and looked at her.

“Man, are you serious? I’m down there trying to sort out our plans for dinner and you’re standing at the window in your Sunday best showing it all off to the neighbours?” 

She snapped back to reality, wincing at her stupidity. “I know, I’m sorry Pete, I’m just getting ready.” She ducked under the window and made back for the wardrobe, slid it open and grabbed the floral maxi dress off the coathanger. At least that would hide the stretch marks on her thighs that Pete kept mentioning. 

“Oh well then, that’s totally fine. Dirty Darren across the road has probably got that image of you stored firmly in the bank for tonight, but as long as you’re sorry. Dunno what to do with you sometimes, Man” He threw his hands in the air in frustration and stormed into their en suite. The sound of the shower being turned on filled the room before he slammed the door shut. “We’re leaving in 15, PLEASE just be ready for me coming out” he shouted.

25 minutes later, with her hair straightened and some rushed make up applied, she sat on the couch downstairs waiting on Pete. Running down the stairs he smiled at her as he appeared at the living room door, her shoulders relaxed at the smile and she considered that tonight could actually be fun. He reached into his pocket and jingled the car keys at her. 

“Who’s driving babe?” he smiled at her. 

She definitely could not be bothered drinking, the thought of a hangover brought tears to the back of her eyes but she also didn’t really want to spend the night being the punchline for a drunken Pete, pointing out all her faults to his family and then expecting the kama sutra from her when they got home. 

“Do you fancy it?” she asked. “I’m sure I’ve driven the last couple of times.”

His facial expression told her what she already knew. 

“Didn’t realise you were keeping a rota.” he sneered. “Babe, I’ve had a really shitty week at work, I wouldn’t mind just forgetting everything and having a good night, you know? Buuut, if you’re really desperate for a drink then that’s absolutely fine, I’ll drive.” 

She forced a smile and grabbed the keys from him. He kissed her cheek in triumph and opened the front door, texting on his phone, cackling about something he’d just opened as he jumped into the passenger seat of their white Seat Attica. It was a shared car but technically it belonged to Pete. Most of the expensive purchases they made were in Pete’s name, it was something he said about his credit and how much stronger it was, it was just easier that way he said. She couldn’t argue with him, he always knew what he was doing with the finances.   

The Final Straw

She had put the restaurant’s postcode into the Sat Nav but Pete had quickly cancelled it. He knew the way and would tell her where she was going. It was his sister, Heather’s, birthday so they had arranged to meet her, her boyfriend and his Mum and Dad at a new Thai restaurant in town. After a fairly one sided argument following a ‘wrong’ turn by Amanda as Pete thumbed and giggled away at his phone, they arrived 10 minutes late. He loudly apologised and made a quip about her driving as his Mum, Dad, Heather and her boyfriend Grant stood to greet them. Hugs and kisses were exchanged and they settled into their seats. From that point on, as expected, she was a 2 hour punch line. Pete’s Mum and Dad were a captive audience as they laughed their way through his usual repertoire of “oh you should hear what Amanda said”.

They had been together for 3 years now, the last year of which had seen them living on the bare bones as they squirreled money away to afford a bigger place.  With the exception of Pete’s designer suits for work and the additional parts he needed for his photography, they were putting everything away. She didn’t mind, she knew that it would all be worth it in the end. Their own house, garage and garden. Maybe if they were able to save enough there’d be some money left over for the wedding she dreamed of. She didn’t have hobbies, so the saving was easy and it suited them both.

Except, there wasn’t going to be a wedding. Or a garage. Or a fucking house.

Because when they’d gotten home and Pete had finally passed out after first pawing away at her like an overexcitable puppy then telling her just what he thought about her disinterest in being his own personal sex doll, his phone began to buzz incessantly on his bedside table. At first Amanda ignored it, expecting it would be just another influx of silly videos from his friends. But over Pete’s elephant roar of a drunken snore, the buzzing continued and in the dark of their bedroom Amanda sat up and reached over to make sure it wasn’t an emergency or a loved one in need.

Saskia wasn’t a loved one that she was aware of but she certainly seemed to be in need of something and based on the poses she had gotten herself into, it wasn’t medical attention. In fact, she was asking for the same treatment that Pete had given her the week before when he’d been away on a work training course. A further gut-wrenching look through their lengthy WhatsApp conversations left Amanda’s head swirling. She couldn’t bring herself to stop reading, even as it made her feel more and more ill to the pit of her stomach.

Through Pete’s snores, her constant tears and the ever-growing threat of an oncoming panic attack she had packed up everything she owned in the house, thrown it all in ‘their’ car and made the hours drive to her parents house. It was 4am by the time she got there and she was welcomed at the door by a confused and worried Dad, squinting through his reading glasses into the dark night. Within an hour the confusion and worry had turned to rage. Through gritted teeth her Dad had agreed to go back to bed and they’d talk about it again in the morning.

13 Weeks Later

The Greece trip had been Stacy’s idea. It’s time to get over that wanker, she’d said. It didn’t appeal to Amanda at all, but Stacy wasn’t a successful sales rep by accident. She’d finally chipped away at her and got her to agree to head off on a girly week to Greece. Just the 4 of them, her oldest and closest school friends. Stacy, Veronica, Harriet and Amanda had been close since Primary and even as time moved on and so did they, all across the globe, they had always been besties. The ones that, even if they hadn’t seen each other for months, would always just click back into place like it had only been hours.

After the first few days, she had declared Stacy a genius hybrid of Florence Nightingale and Oprah Winfrey. “You just always know how to fix people, Stace” slurred a slightly wine drunk Amanda on their third night. Sat in the jacuzzi situated to the back of their two storey, secluded Villa in beautiful Attica, the 4 of them reminisced night after night about all the boyfriends they’d had, the crazy nights out, the music, the nightclubs, their favourite post club haunts and their ridiculous attempts at hiding their first attempts at drunkenness from their parents.

It had been just what the Doctor ordered.

The 4th night was not.

The group had decided, without Amanda’s input, that they were getting out for the night and that, whether she wanted to or not, she was coming with them. “Time to get back on it babe” suggested Harriet as she laughed over her morning cereal. The hand and mouth gesture she’d provided along with that statement didn’t leave much to the imagination what ‘it’ was. The thought gave Amanda an uncontrollable jolt of anxiety which shot down her throat and spikily landed uncomfortably in her belly. The viceral reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed and her friends had assured her if she was uncomfortable, they would come home together. ‘No Troll left behind!’ Veronica assured her as she saluted and marched her way out of the kitchen. Amanda knew they meant well, but she was fucking terrified.

Getting Back On It

The Regency Casino Mont Parnes casino and hotel complex had been one of the first ever casinos to open in Greece. It was the definition of ‘grand’. Gold laced the walls everywhere you looked. Glamorous bar tenders and waiting staff looked like they’d walked straight off a catwalk, smiling and chatting with ease to those in attendance that night.

Stacy had booked them onto a VIP experience, silver-talking some charismatic, chisel-jawed meet and greeter into hosting her and her friends’ ‘birthday celebrations’. They’d been treated to free cocktails, as well as their own individual waiting staff and snack bar. Amanda had actually managed to unshackle herself from her anxiety and was having one of the best nights she’d had in a really long time. Pete, Saskia and their many ridiculous sexting quotes constantly ingrained on her brain were slowly, but surely, fading into the back of her mind. After their final round of blackjack, in which Harriet had won so many times in a row that the Hollywood smiles of the croupiers were slowly becoming questioning glances, Amanda had nipped off to the toilet with Stacy.

As they returned from the toilets laughing and joking, Amanda’s legs shook with fear and her stomach jolted up into her throat then back down again. Regretfully, it wasn’t cocktail related.

Harriet, Veronica, a table full of cocktails and 4 young-looking men were squeezed together cosily in their ‘VIP’ booth. One of the men, named Patino, was the handsome host Stacy had spoke to when they had first got there.

Despite their assurances, after an hour of chatting, flirting and a lot more cocktails, Amanda was starting to feel like the troll who was going to be left behind after all. All 3 of her friends had progressed to sitting on the knees of the handsome Greek guys who had joined them. They were all perfectly polite, in fact they were positively fun to be around. She just didn’t want to be around them. She just wanted her friends back. She clung to the safety of their bond and their united past like a security blanket. It had been the only thing which seemed to be helping her mend and she was terrified of losing it.

Patino, to his credit, was a complete gentlemen. He asked about her job, her hobbies, all about their holiday. In return, he told her all about his 6 year old son, Alesandro and they had a good laugh about all the Disney films he had recently been forced to watch over and over again. Eventually, she relaxed as they hit it off over that universal uniter, music. Grunge music, specifically. It seemed that behind the flashy smile, strong jawline, beautifully sculpted dark hair and bright blue eyes, Patino was really just a bit of an angsty, messed up kid. He had opened up about Alesandro’s mother, who had passed away when the boy was only 2. He talked about being holed up for months in a dark apartment with only Kurt Cobain, Layne Staley, Chris Cornell and Andrew Wood for company. He looked in her eyes with tears pooled in his and described how “these American guys seemed to be the only guys who knew how I felt”. It broke her. It was exactly how she had spent the last 2 months. Sat in her childhood bedroom at her own parents, mourning her own demise. The death of the relationship which she had expected to have been in for the rest of her life.

After a few more drinks, they all agreed to head to a club, a horror-themed place owned by Patino’s brother. “The Sanatorium of Parnitha”. It didn’t sound like it screamed up-market but by that point, she didn’t really care where they went. She just didn’t want the night to end. With her hand slipping lightly into Patino’s as they hit the dark pavements outside, she couldn’t help but giggle and stick her tongue out at Stacy who she caught out the side of her eye, just as she was doing similar with her own man. “I love you Oprah Nightingale” she screamed into the night sky.

A New Day

Amanda woke up tired. It wasn’t a feeling of exhaustion that she woke to though . She wasn’t yawning through immediate anxiety on opening her eyes. She wasn’t thinking of Pete. Of Saskia. Her pathetic amateur gymnastics. Instead it was a cold, metallic feeling which woke her.

At first she couldn’t fathom where she might be. Then, just as it does, the night starting seeping back into her brain, in blurry fits and bursts. The Casino. VIP’s. Cocktails. Fuck, a lot of cocktails. Patino. Exhilaration cursed through her. Patino. His olive skin, dark hair and blue, tear-filled eyes swallowing her up. She smiled to herself and went to stretch but realised she couldn’t. She pushed her right hand up and away from her but it was caught on something. She frowned and jiggled her arm again but something was clipped around her wrist. Oh Jesus, she thought, what have I been doing with this guy?! Beginning to adjust her senses, she squinted her eyes in the pitch black of the room and could begin to make out a silvery chain around her wrist which was attached to the wall behind her. She pulled on it but it barely even budged. She rolled onto her side and tugged at it again but it wouldn’t move. Nervously, she sat up on the bed as much as the shackle would allow.

On calling out, there wasn’t anyone else in the room. No Stacy. No Harriet or Veronica. No Patino. A little relief swept through her but the nerves crept right back in. She searched her free left hand around for a bedside table, for a lamp switch or her phone but there was nothing. Just a small drop from the bed to a cold, stone floor.

As she sat trying to retrace her last steps of the night, thinking about where on earth she was and why it appeared she was fucking chained to a bed, she began to hear shallowing breathing. “Stace?” she called out into the dark. The breathing stopped.

After a pause, it started again. Shallow, quiet breaths, which repeatedly became faster and faster still. Then, just as fast, they stopped. Chills ran up and down her spine as she frantically tried to pinpoint where in the room they were coming from. She stared hard into the dark corner of the room as the rising and falling of the breaths filled the whole room, louder and louder they panted like a wheezing orchestra of one. Then suddenly, as she peered harder and harder into the dark, two eyes were on her. Pinning her back onto the bed. Two haunting, empty eyes. They pierced through her own and stabbed terror directly into her brain. She couldn’t look away. Her eyes were dinner plates, staring back at these terrifying portals to another world of dread, torture and pain. Chills tore across her back, chest, legs and face. The terror paralysed her.

Eventually, she screamed.

A set of white, sharp teeth emerged in the dark, just as terrifying as the eyes. The breathing got louder and louder, eclipsing her high pitched screams. She tried to cover her ears but the chain wouldn’t allow her. As the rhythmic breathing transitioned to a loud wheezy laugh and the emotionless eyes became amused, she felt her head spin and her feet begin to ride up an elevator as her body was riding down another. She slipped off the edge of the bed and trickled into darkness.