Caterina Valentine: My Life by alolime

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Chapter Seventeen: Light, Soft, Innocent

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This writing is for present day text or speech, this writing is for Cat's tapes and notes, this writing is for scenes from the past. The present here is from Beck's point of view.

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The tape ends with a click, the sound waves of Cat's voice lowly diffusing themselves into the walls, until all that can be heard is the whirr of the tape in the cassette itself.

The group is silent. For moments, no one says anything, or even looks at anyone. The reality of Cat's words penetrates my brain; the list of torture their late friend had gone through has lengthened, again. Cat's boyfriend, Daniel, - the boy she spoke so fondly of, whose face was plastered on her TheSlap profile, who came to Hollywood Arts more times than one could count to pick her up after school, or watch a performance - this boyfriend, is the boy on the tape. A monster.

An abuser.

I can't be sure how to describe the sound that escapes Robbie's lips and fills the silence surrounding them. It's halfway between a squeal and a cry. He looks left and right, and the rest of his friends stare at him, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

"I didn't know what to do," Robbie says. "I didn't know what to do. I wanted to help her! I wanted to help her-"

It's Jade who speaks next, and her words are ice cold. "You watched her leave with him. You watched her step into a life with that monster. How could you be so stupid?"

"You don't understand!" Robbie cries.

"How could you do that?"

"It wasn't my-"

But Robbie's words are cut short by a new sound in the room, still from Jade, but not words, sobs. Tori is quick to get to her side and begins to rub her back, pushing the hair away from her dampening cheeks. I'm taken aback by the almost mechanical closeness of the pair, how Jade sinks into Tori's body and lets herself be soothed. Never would this have happened before Cat died - never would I ever think my ex girlfriend would allow herself to be comforted. Least likely by Tori.

Are they dating now? Is that it? Is that why they're spending so much time together, exchanging whispers and glances all the time, Jade seeming only to care for Tori's time, and, Tori, only Jade's?

I'm snatched from his thoughts by Robbie's weak voice. "Please, lets keep listening. Please. She has more to say. I know it."

I look at the curly haired boy. His face full of sadness. His glasses are off, his eyes red from rubbing them. I'd not even noticed he was crying. Glancing to André, who throughout this entire ordeal has kept his eyes glued to the floor of the RV, I get a feeble okay from him.

I glance at the box, on the floor by the edge of the pull out bed. There's only two tapes left.

I have to keep listening. We all do. As terrible as it is to hear each word that tumbles from Cat's lips. Her stories will not go on forever, I thinks, but I'll be damned if he doesn't give the poor girl the voice she deserves.

If only she'd used it at the time.

...

"I'm not going to speak any more about Daniel. Not him and I exclusively, at least. I don't need to. I don't think. It's been over three years and thinking about him still makes me feel so many things, all the things that make me want nothing more than to rip my thoughts from my head and heart from my chest and stop feeling anything at all.

It's only recently, I guess, that I learnt what happened with me. How I didn't leave Daniel not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't know how. That's what…abusive…relationships do to you. I hate the word, it's disgusting, I'm sorry. Even though, yes, I know now that that's what it was. I know he abusing me, manipulating. But I was so young and I craved so much affection, I confused everything with love. I was naïve enough to believe I could handle it, I just had to stop pushing him.

Don't believe I didn't reach out, though, please. Don't believe I didn't try. Just, when I realised how futile it all was, when I realised how locked in I really was, I knew I might as well give up whilst I still felt I had the freedom to choose to.

I don't want to die just because he did what he did to me. I want to die because of what I made him do to you.

To you, Robbie.

You were light, soft, innocent, and I dragged you into this. And he hurt you. And I'll never forgive myself for that.

I'll never forgive myself, Robbie. I don't think I ever will."

…

I begin to relish the time that Daniel and I spend going to my movies. It doesn't scare me anymore, it doesn't make me feel bad. In fact, it's the only place I ever feel safe with him.

He can't see me, so I can cry if I want to, or close my eyes for the entire movie and imagine I'm anywhere else, and he won't notice. We don't talk, so he can't tell me off for saying the wrong things or yell at me for anything. I don't have to text him what I'm doing every thirty minutes. He gets engrossed in whatever's showing on screen, and I am free from him But I still get to be with him. I just sit, and do nothing, but I can be with him.

I crave being with him.

However, when we're in his bedroom, like we are now, I feel utterly consumed by him and I feel like I can't get away. I don't crave that at all. I assume it's likely due to the fact that he's so tall and so strong and if he's on top of me, I'm not moving. Not until he's finished. I never crave that.

My t-shirt is still on, but my skirt and underwear have been thrown to the side of the bed and I can't help but shiver at the feeling of Daniel's hands trailing across my thighs as he spoons me on his bed. There are bright red marks on my skin from how he holds me when we have sex, and I can feel the bruises on my neck from his lips and teeth.

I don't enjoy it. I've never enjoyed it, not really. It's uncomfortable and it makes me sore and I hate feeling trapped underneath him.

But it's just how it is, it's just Daniel. And he's my Daniel, which is all that matters - even if my insides do burn with fear as well as burn with love for him.

So when his hands trace upwards to my arms and run up and down my skin, I tell him "shh" when he stops on the angry purple bruises littered on my left bicep, delivered by his hand. None other than.

"It doesn't matter," I say into the air. I feel his breath on my hair, and I close my eyes. "You know how easily I bruise. It doesn't matter anymore."

And it's true. I can't remember what I did, but there was a reason for it. It's just because I am so clingy, so spoilt. I don't know how to be a good girlfriend.

"You know I wouldn't hurt you if you listened to me, baby," Daniel says calmly. "You know I don't mean it. You've just got to stop getting me-"

"Worked up," I finish. This conversation is from a broken record. "I know."

I turn to face him and I place a kiss on his lips. Light, soft. Innocent.

I get up and from the edge of the bed, I reach forward to retrieve my clothes. I pull my underwear up my thighs. I stand up to put on my skirt.

I wince as I walk to the dressing table to pick up my phone and my purse. Between my legs throb, and I know Daniel pretends not to notice. He sits up too and pulls his boxers back up his waist before walking towards me and circling his arms around me. He plants soft kisses on my neck.

"Are you sure you can't just do your homework here?" he says into my skin.

"I told you, it's a partner project," I say confidently. It's not a lie. I'm with Robbie, and his house is much cleaner than mine, and much easier to work in. And my mother isn't at home, and I don't have keys, so we can't work there.

Of course, I don't tell my boyfriend that being with Robbie is also the only place I get a break from him, since he thinks Robbie likes boys so lets me hang out with him. I can deal with not correcting Daniel on calling Robbie a "faggot" if it means I can stay his friend - after that night at the movies, he's the closest thing to a saviour in this situation that I have.

…

"Robbie may be strange, but he's not stupid. You guys know that. It took him three days but after the incident, when he found me in the restroom on his shift, he sent me a text. It was a screenshot from a webpage. The heading was "8. Let them know you're there for them. Then there was a paragraph on how to assure your friend that you're there to support them. Looking up at the top of the page, I read the URL: a Cosmopolitan article on '10 things to do when your friend is in an abusive relationship'."

From then on, we texted back and forth. Whenever I needed you, Robbie, you'd be there. When I told you the horrible things Daniel had said to me on the phone, the lovely things he spontaneously did, which made me think I was going crazy, when I told you how much I wanted to leave him, how much I wanted to be with him. Every part of what I needed was given to me by you, Robbie.

And Daniel suspected nothing. We didn't speak on social media, we used PearMessage, which nobody ever used. If Daniel ever saw a notification on it I'd tell him it was from my mom.

So, I was clueless when, that evening, Daniel said he'd drop me to your house for us to work on our school project. Even more confused when I saw his eyes glint in a way that they only ever did when he wanted me - well, wanted sex.

I didn't expect him to destroy things. I didn't expect him go shatter things to pieces."

…

I'm taken aback when Daniel follows me, as I follow Robbie, into his house, the front door clicking closed behind us. Daniel's been in a couple of times, but not for months - not since I first started dating him. I've learnt now not to question my boyfriend because it always, always ends in tears, but the confidence in his stride as he walks past us both, into the empty living room, and sits in the middle of the sofa, fills me with unease.

I sit down beside him on his right. He pats to his other side deliberately and Robbie inches over, visibly as uncomfortable, and sits on his left. He throws his arms around us both, sighing loudly.

"Project buddies: my favourite girl and my favourite gay," he says happily.

"Oh. I'm not gay, actually-" Robbie starts, but Daniel interjects.

"I don't care."

My heart speeds up.

Something's wrong. Daniel is never rude to my friends, or even anything but overly polite to them. In public, he treats me like his queen and, them, my all-important subjects. He comes across as perfect to them all.

So as he moves his arm from me to dig into his pocket and pull out his phone, I'm absolutely baffled. Without a glance to either of us, he unlocks the device and finds his way to 'Photos'. He navigates his way to an album I haven't seen before, called 'CV'.

He inches closer to Robbie. "I was wondering, dude, if you'd like to see some pictures of Cat. She's gorgeous, you know, and I've got some lovely ones."

"Uh..." Before Robbie can respond further, Daniel is flicking through. I see pictures of me. Over a dozen.

Candids of me. Me on stage at school. Selfies. Silly ones of Daniel and I with dog ears on our heads or rainbows spilling from our mouths. Pictures of me smiling, or sticking my tongue out, or mid-laugh. Just me, me, me.

I chuckle nervously and tug at Daniel's sleeve, but he yanks his arm from me, and I retreat. "What are you doing?" I ask.

He's still scrolling. He doesn't answer. But suddenly, he gets to a picture that hasn't got my face in it at all.

It's a picture of my wrist. It's bruised. It's a picture I took three days after the incident at the movies. I sent it to Robbie, and then I deleted it. Yet here it is, right in front of me.

On Daniel's phone.

"Have you seen this before, Robbie?" Daniel asks calmly.

Robbie freezes but I see his leg twitch, nervous. He's lost for words. "I-" he starts, but it's in vain.

Daniel continues to scroll. There's a picture of my side, dark finger-shaped marks all along my ribs. "How about this?" he says. Robbie stammers again, and my palms start to prick with sweat. He goes on. A dark bruise on my temple. Bright red marks on my cheek. Bruises on my jaw. Scratches along my hipbones. Hand shaped bruises around my neck.

"Daniel," I manage, "where did you get these?"

He scoffs. "That's not important. Why do you have them, is the question? And why did you send them to him?"

Robbie chokes out a stutter of sounds and sentence starters, trying with futility to protect me. "I've never seen those before," he attempts, "I-I swear."

Daniel isn't buying. He scrolls again. This time, it's a screenshot of a chat. Half of the messages bubbles are white, half of them are blue. PearMessage.

It's a part of the chat between me and Robbie.

Daniel shoots up out of his seat, his phone in front of his face. It's only now that I can see how flushed his skin is, his eyes angry and the grip around his phone locked tight. He lets out a low laugh.

"'It's bad tonight, Robbie'," he says in a voice that clearly is supposed to sound like mine.

"'What's going on?'" he imitates as Robbie.

"'So much shouting'." Me again. "'He won't stop yelling at me. He keeps pushing, on my shoulders. I asked him to please stop and he told me to shut up.

CAT: I asked him again and he pinned me to the wall.

CAT: Hit me hard across the face. So hard. Choked me so I couldn't move.

ROBBIE: Cat.

ROBBIE: Where are you?

CAT: At his.

ROBBIE: Where is he?

CAT: Sleeping.

CAT: I'm in the bathroom.

CAT: He apologised, then we had sex.

CAT: Or whatever.

CAT: I can't stop crying.

ROBBIE: Cat.

ROBBIE: Please let me call the cops.

CAT: Don't you dare.

ROBBIE: Cat, I can't watch you be hurt like this.

CAT: I'm fine. I'm just telling you I'm upset.

ROBBIE: He's hurting you so bad.

ROBBIE: This isn't okay, Cat, it never has been.

CAT: I'll be fine.

CAT: Maybe.

CAT: I can't think straight.

ROBBIE: Please can you call me?

CAT: He'll hear me. Thin walls.

ROBBIE: What can I do right now?

CAT: Lol.

CAT: Kill me.

'Kill me'." Daniel repeats the last line, mimicking me through clenched teeth. By this point, both Robbie and I are cowering. This goes on for what seems like hours. Scrolling and reading our texts aloud, like they're an English play, spitting the words from this private world, this private haven I'd created between myself and Robbie into the air like poison. Every bad word I've ever dared say about him, out. My terror and hatred and fear, out. Every scar he's left, every throb of pain, every wound, out. Every wish that I could somehow be free from him.

Out.

Tears run from my eyes in embarrassment and fear. Robbie is lost for words.

I stand up, my vision blurred, and look down at the floor. I dare not make eye contact with him. "Daniel, I'm sorry," I protest. "Oh my God, I'm sorry." I make for his arms but he pulls away, a clear wave of disgust saturating the sound of the click of his tongue.

I panic. Everything he's ever done wrong to me vanishes from my mind and my only thought is: 'you're going to lose him'. I reach out for him again.

"Get away!" he shouts. With a flick of his limb, his hand is on my sternum and he pushes my chest; I stumble backwards, and don't fall, but trip over my feet.

It's then that Robbie stands from the sofa and faces Daniel head on. "Don't you touch her again," he says. "You fucking coward."

Then it's almost dreamlike, slow-motion, as I watch Daniel throw his phone to the floor. His hand becomes a fist, and suddenly, there's bright red blood.

I can't tell which crack is louder - that of Robbie's glasses shattering into his face, or the sound of his nose breaking.

…

"I thought I was done with fighting like this. The fight with my mother and Lilith, I thought that's the last one I'd ever see, I thought it was over. Watching Robbie get beaten up by Daniel was the most horrific thing I'd ever seen.

I couldn't see myself when Daniel would hurt me, of course. I didn't know what his punches looked like, I couldn't really take in the anger in his eyes. But watching Robbie get destroyed by this boy that left me both in fear, and with fear of being left, it ruined me. I was shattered, riddled with guilt. I don't remember crying that much over Daniel hurting me, ever.

I remember it all. When he was finished with Robbie, Daniel dragged me by the arm straight out of his house and pushed me into the car. He told me I was a "fucking idiot for not remembering our PearCloud was connected", that I was "disgusting for painting him out to be an abuser". He hit my face, twice, and I started to cry, and he told me I'd "better shut the fuck up, right now". He called me a bitch.

I couldn't go home that night and he knew it - my mother was out of town - so he drove us back to his own empty house in silence, and dragged me out of the car.

My makeup had run, and he told me I looked disgusting, that I'd better go wash my face. Before he left me in the bathroom, he looked down at my arms, at my scars; he told me if I even thought about cutting myself over this, I'd better go deep enough to kill myself, because that's all he wanted for me to do right now. How dare I show him up like this. How dare I lie. He wanted to hurt me so badly, but I was lucky that his energy had been used up on 'that faggot'. That I'd better text Robbie and tell him if he told anyone anything, he'd destroy him. For real.

And I did text you, Robbie.

And you said 'Ok,' and I said 'Thank you.'

And we never spoke about Daniel again.

…

I don't sleep, not a wink. I don't self harm. Well, I don't cut myself, but I'm in desperate need of a release. I spend hours in the bathroom, in the shower, crying. Daniel comes in twice to pee. He asks me if I'm alright, his voice low and monotone, and I say yes, and he says he's ordering pizza.

When I'm finally out, the XL box is on the bed in front of him and I go to pull out an old t-shirt of Daniel's from his drawers, slipping it over my body easily. I go to reach for a pair of underwear, but he instructs that I come and eat. I don't even consider arguing.

He watches as I nibble my pizza, sat across from me on the bed in silence. I can't chew properly. My left cheek is swollen from the hits in the car and it hurts to bite. I settle after half a slice. Daniel sees this, but says nothing. After he's finished his own slices, he leans over his bed to the light switch ands turns off the main light, our only source now from between the curtain, slightly drawn, letting in a slip of moonlight.

Daniel is wearing only his boxer shorts as he gets under the covers, and motions for me to join him. I slide into bed beside him. I wouldn't have thought he could even deal with having me in his room, let alone beside him, so a wave of relief washes over me as I realise he still wants me.

As relieving as I ever feel with Daniel, at least.

He strokes my swollen cheek and I can't help but hiss, before panicking that this will aggravate him once again. Fortunately, he says nothing. He just plants a kiss on the side of my head.

"Kitty," he says. His voice is soft. So soft. Unrecognisable from the monstrous sounds that came from his mouth - and his fists - just hours ago. "I didn't mean it. Not to you. Not to him. I just can't believe you think all of those things about me."

Again, panic strikes me like a whip. "I don't," I say quickly. "You know I don't, Danny." I grab onto his arm, and squeeze it. He doesn't pull away. "I don't know what I was thinking. I don't know why I told Robbie those things, or showed him those pictures of me."

"You know it's not my fault, right? Sometimes you just get me-"

"Worked up," I finish. "I know."

Daniel sighs. His eyes close, for moments, and I wonder what he's thinking about. I use the time to give thanks that it's a Thursday today. I'm in pain, everywhere, so I can skip school tomorrow without too much attention, and then it's the weekend. I'll take the passcode off my phone. I'll tell Daniel he can look through it whenever he wants. I'll get him to trust me again. I'll tell him we should go to the movies this weekend and he can watch a movie he loves and I can close my eyes and imagine I'm anywhere but with him. I can walk around in his t-shirts and let him make love to me whenever he wants. I can do it. I can manage it all.

I'm pulled from my thoughts by the feeling of full, cool lips capturing my own. Daniel kisses me, and I sink into him, and I feel my nerves start to calm down for the first time this whole evening. I part my lips slightly, expecting to feel his tongue, but he makes a sound like 'nu-uh' with his mouth and pulls away from the peck.

I look at him. The moonlight makes his face look serious, set. I am elated when I hear him say, "I forgive you."

And he leaves it as that. Kisses my lips again, then pulls me into a spoon as he lies down, his arm draped over me.

He doesn't pin me to the bed and have sex with me, or even bring my hand anywhere near his crotch tonight. He just rests his hand on the bruises on my skin. Bruises he made, that will always, always fade. He strokes them, lightly, softly. Innocently.

…

alolime