Happy ever ... after

Chapter 1

Emily awoke suddenly and found herself sat bolt upright in the middle of the bed. Beads of sweat were slowly crawling down her spine, making her shiver as they reached the small of her back. Where was she? Her mind was racing; she was only semi-conscious, but her nerves were on edge. Her fast pulse was pressing on her temple like a clamp tightening around her head. She tried to focus on her senses like she had been taught in the meditation class. At first, nothing. She worked harder, concentrating on her hearing, clinging to any sound she could grasp to escape the dark eeriness of her mind. Was it all just a dream?

Outside, birds were chirping. Spring made them happy and carefree. She listened intently to their song, absorbing the different tones, replacing her thoughts with the strident tweets of hungry chicks to empty her mind. It was beginning to work when another, higher-pitched sound, demanded her attention. A phone was ringing. It stopped, soon replaced by the muffled voice of a woman. Emily couldn't quite discern what she was saying. To her ears, the words were nothing but garbled noise.

Blinking a few times, she grappled with this new element of reality before glancing around the bedroom. It looked oddly familiar. She caught a glimpse of a pile of clothes that had been thrown unceremoniously on the chair: a pair of blue jeans and a stripy jumper. Strange. Not at all what she had been expecting to see. She could recall wearing a black and red checked skirt and a black shirt but ..., when was it?

Still in a haze, she tried to conjure up more flashbacks. Although blurred, she could almost distinguish the drinks, the dances, the women. She could hear their jaunty laughter. Yet it all seemed so distant. She knew she had met with her friends from university to celebrate their graduation, their first jobs, their newly gained independence. But that wasn't last night at all; that was several months, even years ago. That was ...

Why did she feel so nauseous remembering such a happy time? More pictures from her dream began to emerge, the shots of tequila, the journey home, the taxi, the driver.

The whole nightmare flashed before her in its unrelenting horror. She saw herself lying in the back of the car, her skirt lifted, her legs apart. She smelt the rancid breath coming through the tobacco-stained grin of the man. She felt his cold hand slithering along her exposed thigh.

And what came next.

The pain was all too real, as if he was there now. Her body recoiled, recalling every single stroke, one after the other. She fell backwards and hit her head hard against the wall. The shock jolted her back to the present. This time, she welcomed it.

Through the door, the conversation grew louder before dwindling, as if the person talking was moving around. Unable to follow, Emily looked once more around her. Little by little, she recognised the furniture before the familiar smells of fried bacon and toasted bread reached her nose and finally brought her back fully to reality.

Of course. She was at her parents in north London. She was home. It was her mum talking on the phone downstairs. Yes, she remembered it all now. She had returned to live with them after the assault in the taxi. The following day, unable to decide anything, uncertain what to do, she had called home. Her dad had been angry, her mum devastated. They both understood she could not stay on her own and so had encouraged her to move back home with them for a while. Her old bedroom was there, untouched, and she could stay for as long as she needed. It had been almost eight years; she had never moved out.

Over the past few months though, Emily had been feeling increasingly unsettled. At first, the nightmare appeared, probably triggered by a stupid movie she should never have watched. Then the arguments with her mother. She didn't like hurting her, but sometimes, mainly when she was being spoken to as if she was still a teenager, she would feel trapped in the house. Night curfews, set times for meals and endless questions about her love life would result in a growing anger. More than once she had exploded, hurling insults and abuse uncontrollably, then instantly regretting her words and apologising. Her best friend Sarah called it "her monster" like it was a wild beast that lived inside her head, feeding on her doubt and pain. Whenever she got too close to the edge, it would simply push her over and take control.