The Boy in the White Room

O.K, so I'm not who I seem to be. But then, neither are you, so
don't pretend otherwise. I'm the one written off as shy and
introspective just because I have the ability to hold my tongue and
you're the minister's son - the new kid - the incomer. Shame on us both
then.

So many things we've added to each other's lives, but I think that the
scales have always been weighted towards you. Influence. Fear.
Recklessness. Speed. Sex. Disapproval. Anger. Disillusion. Excitement.
Good. Bad. Black. White. There's your view and then there's mine.
There's your persuasion and my inevitable collapse in the face of it.
There's your recklessness and my fear of being caught. Do you remember
last week's sermon? Your dad spoke of how we undervalue the sanctity of
marriage and virginity these days and you spent the whole forty minutes
whispering sex into my ear.

I seduced my art teacher because you thought it would be a good way to
expand my horizons. You talked about me realizing my power as a woman
and using it to my advantage. But in the end, I did it because you
wanted another sin to add to my list. I wonder sometimes if you have
some secret cupboard or a space under a floorboard where you keep your
neatly written lists of everyone you've ever corrupted. But you're too
methodical for that - your lists are probably stored on the family
computer, password-protected no doubt, but still in your dad's
sight.

The teacher, Mr Grant, wasn't even ten years older than us, but I was
still a little surprised that it was as easy as you had said it would
be. I waited behind the shelves of dusty bottles and watering cans and
old boots that were our still-life materials and ten minutes after my
first hesitant proposition, Mr Grant and I were making love on his
desk, surrounded by the musty scent of the geraniums the class had just
finished painting. I say making love but really it comes down to
fucking doesn't it? Making someone so crazy for you that they'll do
anything just to have those few seconds of release. Followed by
realisation and guilt, of course. You caught us, still tangled together
in those few seconds. That had been the whole idea for you - it meant
that you could add another teacher to your list of the fallen. But he
left the school soon after, which really grated, didn't it? All that
planning and preparation for a victory which, in the end, only
consisted of being able to make him jump every time you encountered one
another in the corridors. Poor man, he jumped every time he saw me too.
I could almost feel sorry for him.

All the things I've done for you. I've whored, stolen, humiliated and
betrayed because you asked me to. We had sex in the toilet of the
community centre while the minister was next door lecturing the others
in the bible group on how they could be more responsible; more like us.
I shouldn't just call him the minister though, should I? He's still a
man under the scratchy black dress. He's still Mr MacLean; he's still
your dad. Did he know it was us who pasted porn into the pages of his
bible? I think that he saw your hand in it, even though he never said a
word.

But still, the first time you touched me I felt as though my skin would
melt. I felt incandescent, finally alive. We sneaked past your mum as
she pottered in the kitchen and crept up the stairs to your room. Blank
white walls and a bed - it was like a monk's cell. When I remember that
first time, it's always through someone else's eyes. I can see us,
every move we make, but I'm always removed a little - floating above
the two bodies clawing at one another on the bed. You hurt me a little,
I remember that very clearly. Your teeth and your nails on my skin. I
remember fighting to reach you with my own, sharper nails but you just
laughed and pushed my arms up above my head. I'm beginning to think
that I can't fight you with my mind either. Maybe I'm just not strong
enough to walk away. Maybe I just don't want to escape you that
much.

So I'm here with you, for now at least. Until my sanity returns or
until I find a way to make you as pliant as you've made me. You smile
in the white room and tell me that I don't have to be here, I can leave
any time I choose. You say the words with one hand over my heart and
the other crushing my hand against your groin. How many seconds before
I stop reaching for the doorknob with my free hand?

I close my eyes as you undress me and try to insist that this is just
one more for the road, for old time's sake as you keep smiling and I
add another sin to my ever-growing list.