Stranger by Karen Perry

Author:Karen Perry [Perry, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780241438046
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2020-04-06T00:00:00+00:00

21

The pain was constant and intense, a sharp burning through the layers of her skin. It reminded Beth of visiting the dentist – the hum of the machinery, the same inner clenching as if holding her breath the whole time. She was crouched over the side of the sofa, hugging the armrest against her chest while Bruno perched beside her, pensive and attentive in his work. She tried to focus on the weave of the rug on the floor, the smell coming off the couch – something vinegary and stale, like old chips – while the top of her spine braced against the vibrations.

‘Are you okay?’ Corinne asked, bringing something of the freshness of outdoors with her as she knelt on the floor in front of Beth.

‘Sure.’

‘Not too sore?’

‘It’s fine.’

The words came out small and remote. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Corinne, still stunned by the sudden savagery of the pinching. She felt Corinne’s eyes flickering over her bent head, instinctively catching the tiny flame of hurt.

‘I had to do it,’ she explained, and Beth felt the strain of her optimism. ‘I only want to help you. Would you have gone through with it if I had not?’

Beth shrugged, then felt the sharp tap of Bruno’s finger on her shoulder, instructing her to keep still.

‘You need me to push you, Beth, or else you will never change. You will always be the sad, frightened little girl.’

She waited, but Beth didn’t answer. After a moment, Corinne gave a little huff of impatience.

‘Fine. Believe what you want,’ she said, and moved away.

The pain which had been intense at the start had dulled to a low throb, and when it was done, Beth was surprised by Bruno’s tenderness as he dabbed at her neck with a disinfected cotton pad. Beyond the site of pain, she could feel the heat of his breath on her skin as he came close to inspect his work. Satisfied, he sat back, and she heard the rip of surgical gloves peeled from his skin and discarded.

‘Come,’ he told her, and led her through into the bedroom where there was a mirror on the wall.

He tugged open the shutter to allow in more light, and then held another, smaller mirror up behind her. In the dimness of the room she surveyed the tattoo reflected back at her through the foxed glass. Along the line of her scar, he had made another line – a slender stem, punctuated with tiny thorns. At the top, near the base of her neck was the head of a rose, petals delicately unfurling. The ink appeared wet, as if a brush of the hand would smudge it.

‘You like it? You are happy?’ he asked her, brisk and curt in his request for approval.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she replied.

This was not altogether a lie. To her untrained eye, there did appear to be a certain artistry. But it seemed alien – the lines so very black and stark against her reddened skin. Something austere and cruel about the spiky little thorns.

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