Under the Skin



Some guy picked her up in a club. He took her by the arm and together they walked outside. It was raining. That shitty rain the wind carries into your face and gets behind your eyeballs. It was October. Cold October in the middle of England one Friday night the same as any other. She was drinking to forget the argument she’d had. So she knocked back the vodkas until she could barely stand and along came a spider who stood beside her and whispered sweet nothings into her cute right ear. The vodka hadn’t numbed her pain, so somewhere in her hazy brain, she decided to get laid instead. He hailed them a cab as they sheltered in the doorway of a supermarket further down the road. When they got in, he put his hand on her leg and then a little higher. When she approved, he moved it higher still. Maybe the driver was watching in the rearview mirror, or maybe he wasn’t. So they travel back to his, wherever that was. The rain coming down harder because the wind had let up, he pays the driver and then opens the door on her side. Giving her a helping hand, she follows him inside beneath the cover of his jacket. The stairwell smelled of old books. The kind of scent you get from not opening the windows. Leading her up the flight of stairs all the way to the top, she doesn’t remember it that well, and so the next thing she’s aware of is being on his bed. The sheets were unwashed. They were grey with random crumbs and bits of fluff spread all over. There was a clock on the wall. A TV, too. On the bedside table, a disconnected radio and a pile of coins with a lighter in the middle. Looking up at the ceiling with her head swimming like a sea of dead dreams, she didn’t feel scared, only numb. The ceiling was stained with cigarette smoke, and she could hear rain hitting the window behind the drawn curtains. Looking down, she sees him at the foot of the bed. He’s taking off his belt and sliding down his trousers and pants. Taking a swig from a bottle of beer, he looks more scrawny than he did back in the club. His cock hard and pointing up, it’s a bit on the small side. She wonders when was the last time he washed it, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t know anything about him, and she’s not even sure if he’s told her his name. It’s unimportant. She wants the stranger to take her. To degrade her enough so everything else slips away. Crawling up the mattress, heย lifts up her dress. His face next to hers, she sees the veins on his forehead and tastes the alcohol coming from a mouth of crooked teeth. His hair gel smelling of stagnant water, he kisses her neck and spreads her pussy before shoving his junk inside, and so the atrocity begins.

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