Taming the Beast (30 page)

‘My day, Sarah, was absolutely fucking awful. It was the worst fucking day of my life.’ He closed his eyes and unbuckled his belt. ‘Do you know why it was so goddamn fucking terrible?’ He looked at her, sliding his belt from its loops. ‘Because I was required to concentrate on budgets and disciplinary procedure while some silly, selfish, thoughtless little brat kept ringing me with half-hourly updates on the state of her cunt.’

Sarah held his gaze, but was conscious of the belt swishing and snapping at his side. ‘I missed you.’

‘Yes, I know. You told me at least twenty times already.’

Sarah braced herself. ‘And you’ve not told me once, you bastard, oh!’ The leather cut across her stomach; she fell to her knees. ‘You should be grateful I love you so much. You should think yourself lucky, I… ugh.’ This time he brought the belt down on her shoulders. She went to stand up, but he pushed her to her back and belted her hard between the legs.

Hot, blinding pain shot up through her groin into her stomach. She started to cry and he knelt beside her, the belt resting across her thighs. ‘Did that hurt?’

‘Of course it hurt.’

‘Every time you called me today, it was like you were whipping my cock, and me in a room full of people, unable to do anything to relieve the agony.’ He lifted the belt and struck her across the front of her thighs. ‘It was really very thoughtless of you.’

‘But you did miss me? That’s why you were in agony.’

‘Yes, Sarah.’ He belted her across the hips. ‘Being apart from you caused me enormous pain and your constant phone calls increased my suffering. Does that make you happy?’

She shook her head. Daniel pushed her thighs apart, lifted the belt and brought it down hard. ‘I think it does, Sarah. I think you enjoy tormenting me.’ Again, she shook her head, and again he whipped her. ‘Say something.’

She dug her nails into her palms, distracting herself from the searing pain between her legs. She was thrilled at his rage, at this proof of his continued obsession, but she needed so badly to be making love to him that she did not want to prolong his fury. ‘
Being your slave
,’ she whispered, ‘
what should I do but tend upon the hours and times of your desire?
’

‘Oh, Sarah.’ Daniel bent his head and kissed her burning cunt. ‘Continue, please.’

‘
I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor services to do till you require, nor dare I chide the world-without-end-hour, whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, nor think the bitterness of absence sour
. That’s all I can remember. No! Don’t stop, please, no, okay, okay, ah
O, let me suffer, being at your beck, th’imprisoned absence of your liberty; and patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check without accusing you of injury
.’

Daniel sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘You’re mixing your sonnets, Sarah. Not good enough.’

‘I’ll learn them properly. I’ll spend all tomorrow studying. And I won’t bother you at work, I promise. But please, please, please, Daniel, will you take me to bed now?’

He looked at her for a long moment. ‘All right then. But I will test you tomorrow. You can count on it.’

Sarah studied her Shakespeare and did not call Daniel at work, but still he arrived home in an awful temper. It took her almost an hour to get him to touch her, and then once he started he wouldn’t stop. Before going to sleep he bound her wrists together over her head and tied her left leg to his right one, so he could be secure in the
knowledge she would be by his side all night long. Although she did not sleep at all due to the extreme discomfort of the pose, she had a wonderful night, listening to his breathing, remembering a time when the lack of him had kept her awake.

Some days he had to work late and when he finally got home, he all but tore her apart in his frenzy; other days he was early home and bursting to tell her how much he missed her. On several occasions, he was late for work because he could not let her go, twice he cried as he was leaving; often he wrote her a list of tasks to complete that day and warned her that there would be consequences for unfinished chores.

She liked his lists; along with
Change bed linen
and
Clean bathroom
he would write
Have a midday nap
or
Eat a bar of chocolate
. Sometimes he wrote
Do whatever makes you smile
. Once she purposely ignored his daily instructions, hoping he would punish her with his body, but it turned out the penalty for disobedience was to be barred from touching him for twenty-four hours. She always did as he asked after that.

When Daniel was at work, Sarah experienced a loneliness of such intensity she almost wished he had never returned. Before he’d come back into her life she spent most of her time alone at her flat and never felt so bad about it. It was disconcerting that being in love felt lonelier than aloneness. It was disconcerting that every time she felt lonely she thought about Jamie. Most disconcerting of all was the fact that she had left messages for Jamie with every member of his family, every friend of his she could remember the name of, and with the receptionist at his work, and he had not called her back. She thought about sending him a letter, but he clearly wanted to be left alone.

After three months, she accepted that Jamie was not going to fill the hollow that appeared in her chest every time Daniel left for work, and that was as it should be. Jamie was of the past, and the past had been no good anyway. She had Daniel now and he was everything, and if she had everything then there was nothing to miss.

In the evenings, they took turns choosing books from Daniel’s extensive collection to read to each other. Sometimes it was like being back in his classroom, except now they both drank red wine and smoked while they talked, and when, inevitably, the book in question was discarded so love could be made, they could make as much noise as they liked.

Sarah enjoyed provoking him by flaunting the knowledge she had gained and opinions she’d formed since he left her.
Wuthering Heights
was contentious: Daniel believed that it was the greatest love story ever written; Sarah was outraged.

‘That stupid Catherine wouldn’t know true love if it slapped her across the face, which I wish it would because that girl has a slapping coming to her. She says that she and Heathcliff share a soul or some such crap, but then she runs off and marries that Linton dweeb. If you want to talk great gothic love stories,
Jane Eyre
is where it’s at. Here’s a girl whose identity, whose very right to exist has been attacked her whole life, yet she not only retains her sense of self but she does so while winning the love of a difficult, dominant man. Far more romantic than stupid Catherine letting Heathcliff influence her to the point where she says she
is
him.’

‘But the love between Catherine and Heathcliff is unconditional,’ Daniel argued. ‘Jane can only give herself to Rochester once he’s been punished for his past. He’s blinded and burnt, humbled – pious even. But Catherine knows Heathcliff is a beast and loves him for it. She doesn’t want him de-clawed.’

Sarah had to concede that his argument was a compelling one, but the discussion had been so much fun she intentionally picked texts which she knew they would disagree on. She argued bitterly against
Heart of Darkness
, which Daniel considered a masterpiece, and horrified him by declaring Sylvia Plath a more accomplished poet than Ted Hughes. For that, he tied her to a chair and refused to let her up until she had memorised every poem in
Birthday Letters
. A whole day and night he kept her there. She wet herself and begged for cigarettes and wept, but she did not ask to be set free. When he at last released her, she told him she hated Hughes more than ever, and Daniel laughed and called her a silly girl, but she could tell by his eyes that he was proud of her.

Apart from the occasional trip to the shops or to dinner with Daniel, Sarah did not go out. Most days she spoke to no one but Daniel. She felt disconnected from the world and developed an obsession with the news. Everyday she would jog to the Pakistani grocer on the corner and buy the
Telegraph
and the
Herald
, as well as
The Australian
. Each week she read
The Bulletin
and
Time
from cover to cover.

Daniel brought home
Cosmopolitan
as a joke. He said that she was so up on current events that he was beginning to feel stupid; he suggested she spend more time reading up on
How to tell if he’s Mr Right or Mr Right Now
. After hitting each other over the head with the rolled up magazine, Sarah and Daniel read it together, cackling at the tips to spice up a dull sex life.

‘Oh, apparently we’re doing it all wrong,’ Daniel said. ‘We should be taking more time with foreplay and investing in candles and sensual fabrics.’

‘Well, they do say that candlelight is flattering. Helps to conceal unsightly wrinkles.’

‘Hmm, we should definitely get some candles then. Your crow’s feet are terrible, Sarah.’

Sarah flicked the page over with a disgusted snort. ‘I’ve never understood this sensual crap. I mean, if you want to fuck why not just do it?’

‘Some would say that is boring. Anyway, you’re hardly a flat on your back, stare at the ceiling covered in a sheet kind of girl. Thank God.’

‘That isn’t what I mean. Sex should be urgent and aggressive. It should be
raw
. If you know you want someone, why would you bother wasting time lighting candles?’

‘Because anticipation can be sweet. The history of our relationship should be proof enough. Don’t you value this more because we waited so long for it?’

‘Not at all. Don’t you mourn the time wasted when we should’ve been together?’

‘God, Sarah, yes. Every minute.’

Sarah came out of the shower one night and found Daniel lying on the bed with the magazine open in front of him. From the doorway, she could see the bold print title of the article:
Get your best ever beach bod!
and the accompanying full page photograph: a close-up of a girl’s crotch, barely covered in a transparent white g-string, demonstrating the result of her ‘all off’ wax. Daniel didn’t know Sarah was there, that she could see his narrowed eyes and slack jaw. She silently backed out of the room, wondering if this was how his wife had felt when she’d caught him with Sarah’s pictures: revolted by his desire for smooth, young flesh and disgusted at herself for not providing him with what he needed.

The next day, Sarah went to the Sydney salon mentioned in the article and felt nothing but determination as she stripped and had a man called Niki spread hot wax over her entire body.

Back at the apartment, Sarah stood naked in front of the full-length mirror. She didn’t recognise herself. It wasn’t just the lack of hair; it was the months of staying inside, the months of barely eating and barely sleeping. No breasts to speak of, no hips or thighs. Without curves or hair she looked like a newborn baby or an alien. She was nothing but blue toned skin and too large eyes. She tried to see herself as Daniel would, tried to determine what it was about this vacuity that appealed to him. She thought she looked deformed and creepy. She couldn’t understand what it was that made him want this.

That night, she got her answer. Daniel went crazy. He said she presented herself as a challenge to his decency and self-control; that the preparation of her body in this way was the mark of a whore, and so how did she expect him to treat her; that in posing as an adolescent she was begging him to father her, control her, punish her; that she was offering herself as a blank canvas and shouldn’t be surprised that he wanted to make an impression on it; that her unnatural smoothness would provoke unnatural violence; that she was cruel to incite him to acts he would regret; that she was contemptible for manipulating his desires in this way; that she was genius in knowing what he needed without being told; that her perception and generosity put him to shame; that she was miraculous, divine, impossibly perfect; that his love for her was beyond description.

The next morning she could barely walk, but she managed to drag herself to the mirror, where she stood smiling at herself until her face ached as much as the rest of her. Yesterday she’d been an arctic landscape: icy blankness, nothingness. Daniel had brought
her to life. With teeth and nails, with belts and buckles, with matches and glass, he had given her texture and colour. His darkness, the worst of who he was, was written all over her. She was pleased to be so marked.

Then one Friday afternoon, Daniel did not come home from work. Not wanting to aggravate him if it turned out he had only forgotten to let her know about a late meeting, Sarah waited until seven o’clock before calling first his office and then his mobile phone. Both calls went through to his voicemail, as did the hundred or more calls she made during the next four and a half hours.

At eleven-thirty, he walked through the front door, past the living room where she sat sobbing on the floor, and into the bathroom. Sarah ran after him, but the door was locked.

‘Where have you been?’ she called.

There was no response. She stood and listened to the shower. When the water stopped she tried again. ‘Are you okay?’

He opened the door and stepped out. ‘Fine.’ He walked around her and into the bedroom.

Feeling more panicked than when he was gone, she followed. ‘What’s wrong?’

He sat on the bed, drying his feet. ‘Nothing at all, Sarah.’ He did not look at her.

‘I’ve been so worried. I couldn’t reach you and I didn’t know–’

‘I went out for a few quiet drinks. Quiet being the operative word. I simply could not tolerate the idea of coming home and having to listen to your incessant chatter all evening.’ He stood up and hung his towel over the bed head. ‘So do shut up or I’ll be forced to go back to the pub.’

Sarah watched him pull back the covers and climb into bed. This morning he got carried away while saying goodbye and fucked her in the hallway with the front door wide open. When she came
she bit him too hard, and he had to change his shirt because of the blood on the collar. Finally leaving, he said
I wonder if I’ll ever be able to look at you and not want to eat you up
.