The cold, harsh wind makes my entire body shiver. I cross
my arms across my chest, bringing my jacket in closer, and keep walking against
the wind. As the tears roll down my face, I feel it burn my skin. I don’t know
where I’m going, all I see is mist. The slosh of my feet on the moist, mossy
ground is all I can hear, I keep walking, blindly following my senses. I hear a
soft whimpering sound. Is it me? No, it can’t be me. I begin to run towards the
sound. Squash, squash, squash, squash my foot snags on a fallen branch and I go
crashing to the ground. I feel the damp earth beneath my left cheek, between my
fingers, in my hair. The smell of petrichor engulfs my senses. Everything falls
silent as the darkness beckons me over. I wearily get up, my legs shaking with
every step. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a light. I move towards it, not
knowing what it may be. As I draw near, it gets brighter. I emerge out of the
woods into an empty street. I stand under a streetlamp and that’s when I notice
something, I’m covered in blood.
I don’t recognise the place I’m in. It looks like a small
town; the buildings look hundreds of years old. I pull my trench jacket closer
to me so my bloodstained skirt doesn’t show. My legs are dirtied with mud and
dried blood. I try my best to remember the events that led up to this moment,
but it’s as if my mind has gone blank. Crossing the street, I make my way to
the only shop that seems open. It’s an antiques store, through the window I can
see a middle-aged man doing stock take. The sign says closed, I knock anyway.
He looks up a little annoyed, but then he sees something, maybe desperation, in
my eyes and his expression softens. He gets up from his chair and opens the
door for me.
“I’m sorry,” I croak, “I don’t know what happened.” Fresh
tears start to well and I wipe them away with the back of my hand.
“It’s okay. Don’t apologise, come right in,” he says,
leading me into the shop. “I’ll lend you my phone and you can use my shower
upstairs.”
“I don’t know who to call. I don’t remember any numbers.”
“Okay,” he says sitting me down on a chair. “Do you remember
your name?”
“I don’t… Sarah. My name’s Sarah,” I say remembering
someone calling me that.
“My name’s Daniel,” he says, “Let’s get you cleaned up,
Sarah. Henry!” A man of about twenty appeared from the stairs on the far end of
the store a few seconds later.
“Dad,” he says brushing back his dark brown hair.
“Sarah, this is my son, Henry. He’ll take you up to our
apartment to freshen up,” Daniel says, “Henry, this is Sarah. Please make sure
she has a proper change of clothes.” He nods and gestures for me to follow him
up the stairs to the apartment. For some reason a flash of fear passes through
me. I feel as if I shouldn’t trust these people or anyone for that matter.
However, it quickly dissipates at the thought of a nice warm shower. I nod a
“Thank you” to Daniel and follow the brown haired man up the stairs.
The apartment is dimly lit and it takes me awhile to
adjust to the light. It is a small, open plan apartment with the kitchen
overlooking the lounge. There’s only one small couch and a passageway that
seems to lead to a main bedroom. A guest bedroom and, I assume the bathroom.
“The bathroom’s down the hallway to the left,” he says
pointing out the door to me. “You can wait in there while I get you a proper
change of clothes.” I look up at him and smile a little. These people seem so
trustworthy, why was I so cautious about them? I couldn’t remember what had
happened to me a few hours prior to waking up in the forest, but I knew it had
to be connected to why I was feeling so afraid. I slowly walk into the bathroom
and look at myself in the mirror. Who was this girl? She wasn’t me, I remember
having short brown hair, a small nose and grey eyes, but there was something
about the way she looked back at me that was utterly devastating. Pulling off
the trench coat I notice the bruises on my arms, they look fresh. Where did I
get them? I rinse my hands in the sink and wash my face. The blood on my temple
has dried up and mixed with the mud, but it doesn’t look too serious. I look
again at the bruises on my neck. Why can’t I remember anything? A knock on the
bathroom door jolts me back to reality. I open it slightly and out pops Henry’s
hand with a pair of pants, a baggy shirt, a new pair of slippers and a clean
towel.
“This is all I could find, the slippers have never been
used,” he says through the door.
“Thanks, it’s fine,” reply taking the clothes from him.
He says a muffled “You’re welcome,” and walks away.
I watch as the water washes away the grainy mud and dried
blood from my legs. Beneath all the dirt and gunk there are more fresh bruises.
These ones are high up and on the inner part of my thigh. I gently rub the soap
all over me and feel relieved that I was finally clean again. In a way, this
shower was washing away the fear and shame I was feeling before as if it was
allowing me to start a new and begin again. I try to remember something,
anything from the night, but I can’t. It’s as if I keep hitting a wall, a big
black wall of nothingness. I don’t know how long I stood in the shower lost in
my own thoughts, but by the time I am finished completely cleaning myself, the
water is lukewarm and my fingers are all wrinkly. Wrapping the towel around my
body I look at myself in the mirror again. I look more like myself, but I can
still see the terrified girl behind it all. Who had done this to me? Who could
have possibly hurt me so much that I would be fearful of trustworthy strangers?
I assumed it was a “who” and not “what”, because you only feel this way when
someone you trust hurts you. I wring dry my hair and change into the clothes
Henry gave me. I roll up my dirty clothes in my trench coat and hold it close
to me. It is time to go out. After all, you can’t hide the bathroom forever.
Henry had prepared a sandwich and some tea for me; it was
neatly placed on one side of the table with a chair already pulled out for me.
Henry was sitting on the other side. He turned around when he heard my
footsteps.
“Let me take that for you,” he says grabbing the bundle
of clothes from me and getting up.
“No, you don’t have to,” I say.
“It’s okay,” he reply’s holding it in his hands. “We have
a washing machine over here and it won’t take long to dry.” He walks over to
the kitchen counter next to the fridge and opens the washing machine door. I
slowly sit down at the table and tentatively examine the sandwich. It looks
like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Harmless, completely and utterly
harmless. I take a bite, it is tasty. I take another bite and soon I am
finished with it.
“Sorry, we only had peanut butter in the cupboard,” he
says sitting down opposite me.
“It’s okay, I was hungry. I would’ve eaten a horse if you
offered me it,” I reply.
“Sarah, do you have any idea how you ended up here?” he
asks.
“I don’t even know what here is.”
“You’re in beautiful Greendale, population a hundred
thousand and two,” he says gravely. I try to laugh, but it sounds more like a
whinge. He smiles at me; I could almost see the pity radiating from him.
“Who are you Sarah?” he asks
“I would tell you, but I don’t know myself,” I say. He
suddenly notices the bruises on my arms.
“Who did this?” he asks touching my arm lightly. I recoil
back and cross my arms over myself in distress.
“I’m sorry.” I start to cry, my whole body shaking. All
the emotions I tried to hide away start to resurface. The tears are rolling
down my face and blinding my vision. Henry tries to hug me, comfort me, but I
just push him away. Eventually I just stop crying and wipe away the tears.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. It’s just the
way you touched me… it brought back a memory. It’s easy for the emotions to
come back, it’s the reasoning behind it that I can’t remember,” I say rubbing
my eyes.
“I think maybe you should have a rest. You might remember
more in the morning.”
He offers me his room, I settle for the couch. I feel as
if I was intruding in their home, I didn’t want to take over his room as well.
Falling asleep is hard, every creek or rustle unsettles me. My temple starts to
burn and I lightly touch the plaster over the cut. I had taken two tablets for
it, but it still didn’t work. I was beginning to think that the pain was more
mental than physical. I can hear Daniel’s footsteps coming up the stairs in a
deep whispered conversation with Henry. I know it’s about me so I turn my head
and pretend to sleep. I can hear Henry telling him about what happened in the
kitchen earlier.
“We don’t know who she is, dad…I know, but I think she’s
been hurt…bruises…on her arms…” I had drift into sleep a bit after that. It’s
not a deep sleep; I keep waking up at the sound of the wind. That soon dies
down, though and I am able to get a bit of rest. I let my mind go blank and
fall asleep.
“I think we’re
lost, Jake,” I said as we pulled into another dirt road. The Cure’s In
Between Days blurred from the old stereo
system. We were coming back from party in the middle of nowhere and Jake had
decided to take a “shortcut”.
“Don’t worry, babe.
I know where I’m going,” he said tapping the steering wheel with one finger.
Sometimes I wondered why I was still with him. He never called me by my name
and sometimes he acted as if I wasn’t there, but then when we were alone he’s
kind and compassionate. My best friend, Janet, said that I always had a way of
scoping out the boys who would break my heart and deliberately going for them.
I didn’t believe that, I think I saw the good in Jake and thought that I could
show the whole world it. She didn’t approve. So here I was, three months later
and still holding on to that last bit of hope. It’s a nice feeling, hope. It is
a knowing that there is always something good that can come out of a situation.
“You know, I never
trust you when you say that,” I said looking out the window. The sun had
already set and I could only see as far as the headlights went. I lost myself
in my thoughts as Jake sang along to the radio. I suddenly felt the car come to
a halt and looked over at him. He smiled at me and I smiled back.
“Come on, I want to
show you something,” he said opening the door and jumping out the car. I jumped
out and went to go stand next to him. We were standing on a cliff face
overlooking a city. The yellow lights twinkled in the darkness like thousands
of fireflies. He pointed over at a bright star at the edge of the horizon.
“It’s beautiful,” I
said. A gust of cold wind hit me and I moved closer towards him. He wrapped his
arm around me and I placed my head on his shoulder, content with life.
Three Months Earlier
“Hmmm,” I said as
all the boys walked past Janet and me. We were sitting at a table in the café around
the street from the high school. All the kids go there once they finish classes
and we were no exceptions. “How about him.” I pointed to a tall dark haired boy
who was joking around with his friends. He wore a black leather jacket and I
was pretty sure I had seen a tattoo on his left shoulder blade. There was
something about him that made me so drawn to him.
“Jake Mahoney?”
Janet said almost spitting out her milkshake. “Sarah, are you crazy? He’s… he’s
a… I heard that he just uses girls and he doesn’t care about them.”
“I don’t think so,”
I said still looking at him, “I think that beneath all that tough guy prose is
a big softy, a hopeless romantic.” Janet nodded her head slowly.
“Trust me, Sarah,
that boy is going to break and leave you.” I knew I should have listened to
her, but I didn’t. You could say it was to spit her, to prove her wrong or that
I actually believed what I meant about him. Whatever the case may be I still
don’t know the full reason why I went up to him the next day I gave him my number.
I felt safe in his
arms. They were strong arms that could defend you from a bear. His atmosphere
was warming and I always felt like I didn’t have to put on a show for him. When
I was with him, I could be myself and he could be himself. No acting or pretending
involved. I don’t how long we stood there watching the sky for, but it did lead
to him pushing me against his silver Toyota. He didn’t push me hard. He sort of
just manoeuvred me so my back would be against the window. He was a foot taller
than me and so it was quite easy to do something like that. He gently moved a
strand of hair from my face and looked deeply into my eyes. I felt as if he was
reading my soul like he was looking right through me. He whispered something
incoherent and picked up my chin. He slowly moved his lips towards mine and
kissed me gently. Then again, this time it was harder and longer. Then his lips
moved to my neck and his hands gently reached up my skirt, caressing my bare
skin. I placed my hands on his chest and shove him away.
“Jake, what are you
doing? I told you I wanted to wait,” I said looking up at him. He defensively
spread out his arms, looking at me innocently.
“I was just having
some fun, babe,” he said, I could feel his hands on my hips again, “I
understand. I’m sorry, you know I wouldn’t hurt you” He kissed me gently again,
but his hands continued to move up my shirt. I could feel his cold touch on my
warm skin; it sent shivers up my spine.
“Jake,” I said as
he kissed my neck again, “Jake, stop…I…” He didn’t stop. He didn’t listen to
me. Instead, he opened the car door and vehemently shoved me into the backseat.
I tried to open the door on the other side, but he was already on top of me.
His hands grabbed a hold of my arms and he pinned me down.
When you’re in traumatising
situation your brain sometimes thinks of other things like how the light is
reflected off the glass or where you had placed your cell phone. When I was
pushed into the car the first thing that came into my line of vision was my
trench coat. It wasn’t actually mine, my mum leant it to me for the night. She
said that it would go well with my outfit and it would keep me warm and safe.
She always cared for me like that; always made sure I had had enough to eat or
was comfortable or happy. She could always sense when I was sad and at those
times she used always take me on long walks to the park across the road. When I
had seen the trench coat I had wondered about what she was doing, if she could
sense that I was in trouble and what she would do to help me out of it. I
allowed all the memories to flow back.
I started to think
about how my mum used to take me on picnics and how we would bring the biggest
and brightest flowers home. Those moments were the happiest memories of my
life. They were so vivid, so real. While he was hurting me I thought of the
bright yellow from the daffodils. While he started to shout abuse at me I
thought of the deep red from the rose. While his hands started to move up my
skirt and pull at my panty I thought of the purple rebirth of the iris.
I tried to fight
back, but it was cramped in the tiny Toyota and I couldn’t move. He kept
pushing me down and telling me that I was going to be okay, that if I didn’t
struggle so much that it wouldn’t hurt. Tears started to well up in my eyes, I
knew what was happening to me, but I couldn’t react. I managed to find a last
bit of strength to push him away. He pulled out a knife, placed it against my
neck and looked me straight in the eye. The compassion and love had faded from
his eyes, now they were just dark holes of evil itself.
“I told you not to
struggle, you don’t want to get hurt right?” he said his voice merely a harsh
whisper. I shook my head. Where had this man come from? He wasn’t my boyfriend.
I had never seen this side of him before.
He continued to
kiss my neck, the more he did the harder it become. I could almost feel his
fingers denting my skin. I could feel his teeth ripping at my flesh. I just lay
there, taking it all in; completely paralysed, unable to do anything. His
movements became harder and faster. I watched as he rose above me and started
to unzip his pants. This is it, I thought. This could be your only chance of
stopping this; you can stop him from hurting you further. My mind raced. What
could I do? What could I use? That’s when I felt the iciness of the knife next
to my leg. I slowly reached out to it and grabbed it by the handle. I saw it
happening before my eyes. Everything sort of moved in slow motion like it was
in a dream. I placed the knife, blade up, next to me at an angle. He slowly
started to pull down his pants and move back down to kiss me again. He didn't realise it until he felt a sharp pain in his stomach.
“Sarah,” he croaked
just before he could collapse on top of me. “Don’t…”
“It’s already been
done,” I whispered hoarsely. “It’s already been done.” He was now a lifeless
heap on top of me. I could feel his warm blood drenching my clothes like molten
lava burning my skin. Slowly sliding out the car, I grabbed my trench coat and
pulled it around me.
What have I done? I
asked myself. I just killed someone. I blindly tried to find a place to call
for help, a public telephone or a car. I can’t hear any traffic and I have no
idea where the main road is. I continued to cry and stagger around recklessly
looking for help that wasn't coming. Over and over I play it in my head. I
start to feel ashamed of myself. If I hadn’t been so forward in the first
place, that’s what he kept telling me. I was the one who gave him my number, I
was the one sought him out. The bad boy. What have I done? He’s in the car,
bleeding to death. It was my fault. All of it, it was my fault. I killed him.
I was kicking and screaming in my sleep. Henry was
sitting on the edge of the couch trying to calm me down. I keep kicking him and
shouting, even after been fully awake. The tears are gushing down my face now.
“Sarah,” he says holding my shoulders. Pushing him away I
start sobbing again.
“Sarah, calm down.”
“Ja-ke,” I say through gasps of breath.
“No, it’s Henry.”
“Jake…Jake hurt…hurt me…he….he…” I tried to say it, “I
killed him.” I collapse into Henry’s arms sobbing. “I killed him.” The words
ring out in my ears. I killed him.
I wasn't the first girl he tried to rape. He had tried it
on other innocent girls. Some were younger than me; some didn't have the
courage to fight back. They just let it happen, they just laid there completely
paralysed. Every day I think about how brave I was to stand up to him and how
much more brave they were to overcome the terrible trauma they experienced.
Most of them hadn't told their parents, they had to live with it. Thinking it
was their fault, that they were doing something wrong. Even though I don’t like
what I did, I’m happy that it allowed all the girls he hurt the peace they deserved.
They finally got their tulip in the spring.
Honestly, I don't know what I was expecting from the finale. I didn't want to ruin it by speculating things or generally talking about what happened. But I did anyway. Previously, I had posted two articles about who Clara Oswald may be which you can find here and here, but I was pleasantly surprised that all those theories weren't right because the real truth was perfect. In true Moffat style we got the timey-wimey end of the stick and worked back to the beginning. Having Clara seem like an impossible person, but have her turn out to be ordinary and be impossible by meeting the Doctor made her more like the older companions and made all those people who complained about it happy. I loved the fact that Clara did what she did because she wanted to save him, because she knew what saving him will do to the entire universe. In a sense Clara didn't only save the Doctor, she helped him save countless lives and planets and galaxies andI stand by my word in saying that she is my favourtie companion.
