Diaries Part 5.

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Rock n' Roll Doggie Band-aid
Nov 19, 2003
Counting the hairs on Bono's chest.
:wave: Hi peeps. A week gone already. Wow...well in that case the next bit...

© Works by YDW.

Last bit from last bit>>>

<<<At his command I closed my eyes momentarily and pulled in a deep breath. I knew what was coming. I always do. Without looking at him I heard him breathing slow and controlled. Despite my lofty intentions not to cry, my eyes heated up with tears. And that usual voice inside my head began its lament; Go away. Go away. Leave me alone. Please don’t hit me. He was now glaring down at me so I slid my legs over the side of the bed. As I pressed my feet into the dirty, threadbare carpet that was rucked up on the floor I held my breath. And then I waited.>>>

Next bit>>>

He has a game, you know. It hasn’t got a name as such. I’ve given it a name though. Its’ called The Waiting Game because that’s what he does. In situations such as these he likes to make me wait. He likes to loom over me and, he likes to stare. Cold staring is one of his favourite sports. Whilst he does his waiting the sound of his hot, measured breathing will fill the room and he’ll keep it up until I am squirming in his presence. It heightens his control over me see, and fills him with superiority. He likes this. And sometimes, if he’s got nothing better to do, he’ll make me wait so long that eventually I have to look up at him and when I do, well, I’ll have just offered my face up to him haven’t I?

And making me wait whilst he stares down on me isn’t just so that he can build up my tension. It’s not just to maximise my distress. It’s because he knows that I can’t stand him looking at me, because every time I can feel his eyes on me, every time he stands over me and says nothing, well, I know, don’t I; I know that he’s looking for flaws; that he’s looking for something more for which he can insult me.


So after what he considered to be a suitable length of waiting time he spoke. As usual his words were whispered; let out on a soft breath as though he couldn’t bear to hear himself saying them. I heard him pull in a breath. “Yer’ve bin wi’ ‘em bloody travellers agen, an’t yer?”

My heart missed a beat but I wouldn’t look at him. Instead I stared down at the floor and examined the stained carpet. Nausea filled my stomach but I knew I had to say something so I replied to his allegation with a tiny, pathetic voice. “No”. I quietly told the carpet. “I haven’t”.

My words were lost on him. He hauled in a breath again. “Look at me, girl!”

I pulled in a silent breath, held it, stretched my lips into a thin line to stop them from trembling and raised my gaze to his cruel face. He narrowed one eye as he took me in. I knew the look well. It didn’t surprise me. I’ve grown to expect it as I’ve seen it a thousand times before. “Now”, he said having my full attention. “I’ll say t’ yer agen; yer’ve bin wi’ ‘em travellers…aven’t yer…aven’t yer?!” His voice began to rise. His method of operation is always the same. As he throws accusations at me he’ll slowly bend down so that he ends up in my face. I’ll be able to smell his breath; be able to feel his presence on my skin and the tension in me would become so loud I’m able to hear it with my own ears. “Don’ yer lie t’ me, girl! Yer’ve bin wi’ ‘em; bold as brass!”

I wanted to deny his words but as usual I was too scared to speak. I knew that whatever I said would have a negative effect on him. He wouldn’t believe anything I told him because basically he’s already made up his mind about me before he confronts me. And he continued. “Yer think yer real smart, doncha; doncha; doncha!? Yer’d best be real careful about wot yer gonna say next, girl; real careful!”

I wanted to speak. I wanted to deny Rowan. I wanted to deny everything but nothing would come out. “I…”

At last he straightened up and drew in a long, slow breath whilst continuing to stare at me. It was coming. I braced myself. At least it would be over soon but before he struck me he exhaled with the same measured slowness. From his great height he addressed me, low and in total control. Why did he hate me so? “There’s nowt else for it”. He said heightening my fear of him. “Yer bring shame on us! Yer bring shame int’ this ‘ouse’old! An’ so yer get wot’s comin’”.

“I didn’t. I haven’t done anyth…” My sentence died in my mouth as he curled one big hand around my upper arm. He always does this. It’s so that he can hold onto me whilst he hits me. And although his fingers dug in, although they were hurting my arm and the way he was twisting it, I knew the pain would be nothing compared to the pain he was about to inflict. And as his free arm rose, the fingers splayed as wide as possible, I waited as though someone else; someone else viewing the scene.

And down it came; as I knew it would. As he connected with my cheek he spat out each word, taking time to hit me between each blow. “Yer… think… I’m… stupid…, do… yer…; do… yer?! Think… I… don’t… know… wot… ‘arlots… like… you… ged… up.. t…?” The room span. My head snapped back and forth like a punch bag as he continued to rain blows onto my face. “Yer… a… filthy… ‘ore…; wot… ‘r… yer…; a… filthy…, cheap… ‘ore!”

By the time he spat out his last words my legs had buckled underneath me. I couldn’t get up and nor could I get away as he still had hold of my arm. It didn’t matter to him. He simply dragged me back up again. Blood, spit foamed in my mouth and escaped my torn lips, flying out around me so that my face was covered in my own fluids. My head felt like it would explode. I was vaguely aware of his fingers digging into my arm but the pain seemed so far away. Eventually, he grabbed both of my arms and squeezed them together so that my shoulders hunched. He got in my lolling face. I had trouble focusing on him. “Say it! Say wotcha ‘r! Say it! Say it!” He was shaking me now. Nausea was bubbling up inside me. I was afraid I’d throw up all over him but still he shook me. “Say it! I’m a cheap, dirty ‘ore! Say it! Say it!”

And I did. Through bruised and torn lips I heard my own voice spluttering in my ears. It too felt far away. “I’m a cheap…” I couldn’t finish my sentence. The room was spinning. I felt dizzy and sick. I knew my hands were flailing in front of me, trying to push him away but his voice, growing further and further away demanded I continue.

“Say it!”

And I did: “I’m a cheap…dirty…whore…” A few seconds silence; a few seconds silence whilst he decided whether or not to continue and then my body hit the floor.


When I woke I was in my bed. I still had all my clothes on but someone had put me to bed and covered me up with the duvet. Every single bone in my body hurt. My head throbbed when I tried to raise it and I saw that there was blood on the bedding. It was my blood. He’d done it again. As I lay there not daring to move my door opened a crack and I saw mother standing there staring through the opening. She shook her head and then closed the door quietly again. The tears came then as I knew she blamed me for this latest outburst.


Sunday 8th.

I woke to a quiet knock on my door and mother stuck her head round it. “Your father wants a word with you”. I shook my head and then wished I hadn't cos it still hurt. She shook hers. “He’s calmed down now. Come on. Get up quickly. The sooner you get it over with the sooner you can relax”. She closed the door and left me trying not to cry.

Downstairs he was sitting at the breakfast table. When I entered the room he didn’t acknowledge me. He simply rustled his paper in an effort to straighten it and continued to read. I stood by the table not knowing what to do but he soon put that right. The word came from behind the paper.

“Sit”. So I did. He continued to read for a full five minutes whilst I sat there and waited. He was playing his Waiting Game again. At length the paper came down from his face and he made a big thing out of folding it up and laying on the table. He spoke very quietly. He didn’t look at me but smoothed out his paper as he spoke. “Yer think I’m a fool, doncha? Yer think I don’t know ‘ow long it tekes yer t’ get me paper? Yer think I wooden know?”

I pulled in a deep breath and tried to answer him. “I bumped into some friends from school”. My voice, so hideously whiny filled me with yet more self loathing.

He snorted. “Frenz?” He said finally looking at me. “Frenz?” I looked down at his big hands as he rested one over the other on the table. Such big hands; how many times had I known what those big hands were capable of? His voice reached me from somewhere above them. He snorted first and then spoke. “Yer aven’t got any frenz ‘ave yer?”

“Yes”. I said in a tiny voice.

He let out a breath. “See, wot I don’t ged is; oo’d wanna be frenz wi’ the likes o’ you?” I felt his eyes on me and cast mine down into my lap. I knew he was looking at me, examining me and the effect his words might have on me. And he knew; he knew that they pained me almost as much as his fists. And I wondered if he was right. It didn’t occur to me that he knew he was just as good at emotional abuse as he was at physical abuse so of course, I felt was sure that he spoke the truth.

Even so, I still had to answer him. “I did meet them”. I whined. “They got off the bus. I stopped to talk to them”.

“So”, He said considering my words. “Yer frenz is more important than runnin’ yer father’s errands are they?”

“No, no, I’ll get you another one today” I offered. I looked up, fresh hope of escape rising within me. “I’ll go now”.

He ignored me and moved to stir his tea. I watched the spoon in those big fingers as he spoke; one, two, three spoons; then the stirring. The sound of the spoon as it touched the side of the china cup. “Yer think I’m real stupid, don’t yer?”


“Well, yer’ll not be goin’ fer yer father’s newspaper, will yer? Yer’ll be lookin’ fer them men”. His voice was so soft I began to fear that he’d explode again.

I got in quick. “I won’t. I promise! I won’t!” I sounded weak, feeble, but I didn’t care any more; anything to placate him.

As he laid the teaspoon back in its saucer he pursed his lips and spoke as though he were in a dream. “It were supposed to be a quick run down the shop; a quick five minit trip but yer ‘ad t’ go an tek advantage. Yer ‘ad t’ tek the chance t’ see them mens”.

I wanted to protest my innocence but no words would come. Instead, tears formed in my eyes. I didn’t want to cry in front of him because my tears seemed to anger him every time he saw them. They proved that I was feeble; weak; a girl.

He pulled in a long breath and shook his head. “Yer no better then y’ ought t’ be!” He said. “…An ‘arlot in the mekkin’. Yer jus’ can’t see it can yer?”


He cut me off. “Yer think them blokes’re int’rested in the likes o’ yer? Think they’d be int’rested in yer wi’ a face like yors?” Even though he was speaking softly his words cut me to the quick. “Thems only int’rested in wot’s in yer knickers. Them types’re only int’rested in gettin’ girls like yer int’ trouble an’ I’ll not let yer bring that shame int’ this ‘ouse. Now, yer’ll stay in yer room ‘til I say yer can come out. Yer’ll not be goin’ down the shop t’day. Yer’ll not be goin’ anywhere t’day. An’ yer needn’t think yer ma’ll be ferryin’ yer meals t’ yer neither. Yer’ll go ‘ungry. I’m gonna be stoppin’ these treks o’ yorn down the newsagents. Yer not goin’ t’ school this week either. Yer ma’ll phone ‘em; tell ‘em yer ill. Now, ged t’ yer room an’ stay there”.

I heaved a sigh of relief. It had been a relatively calm discussion. Well, I say discussion but it wasn’t was it? It was him telling me what to do again and how long for.


Monday 16th.

This afternoon I found myself on the upstairs deck of the school bus. I was on my way home; it being a Monday and all. I’d seated myself four rows from the back. It doesn’t do to sit right at the back because they sit there, don’t they; the boys from the local grammar. They’re all in their last year at school see, and for as long as I can remember they’ve laid claim to the back seat. It’s their domain; their territory. And it’s from there that their voices, loud and obnoxious always fill up the entire top deck. Local girls are discussed; who’s on the ‘wrong week’ or who’d been had by whom. And this is always, but always followed by a thunderous applause or equally enthusiastic retching.

Of course, their conversations are always geared around sex, bodily functions and sport. They all share the same lavatorial humour, reciting sick poems and jokes all aimed at us females. So me, well I sat quietly, hoping to be ignored. It isn’t good to be the centre of their attention so I tend to assume a mantle of invisibility. It’s better this way. And besides, if I remain invisible to their radar, I know I’ll get peace and this afternoon I wanted that peace. I wanted to pass the journey home deep inside my own head. I wanted to sink into fantasy. Now, would it be a sexual fantasy. Oh yes. What would be the point of a fantasy that wasn’t?

So I was inside my head; seeing myself getting ready to enjoy some horizontal dancing with that fine specimen of manhood who is parked up in yonder field. In my head he had his hands on me and I’d glued my lips to his but then some jerk at the back went and ruined it. I heard my name. Instantly my ears pricked up and my fantasy popped. They’d turned their attention onto me.


“Well,” Said Rabbit (so nick-named on account of his constantly twitching his nose). “…you won’t get anywhere with Dumpling The Virgin over there; tight as a duck’s arse, that one”.

At these words the others happily agreed, shrieking in unison like apes in the jungle. More insults followed. Someone said that they wouldn’t want to do a Star Trek and go somewhere no man had gone before. This caused yet more laughter and enthusiastic head nodding. Someone else asked who’d provide the sick bags. And as I sat there pretending to ignore them and the muted giggles coming from everyone else on the top deck, I closed my eyes and tried to blot it all out but of course I could still hear them. A deep embarrassment washed over me. They were discussing my sex life or rather, the lack of sex in my life like they had a perfect right to do so. I wanted them to leave me alone. I knew that everyone else would be listening; that all those gathered on the bus would know I was still a virgin and be nodding in agreement and enjoying the show.

But you know, as I sat there quietly dying inside, I got to wondering what made them so special; those pricks on the back seat. Who were they that I’d want sex with any of them, especially as I’d now met Rowan? Rowan; whose eyes are so blue they make me think of summer. Rowan; who’s soft voice causes my insides to gush with want every time I think of him. And I wanted to tell them this, you know. Oh yes, I wanted to turn round and tell them that I wouldn’t fuck them if they were the last blokes on earth because, after all, I knew what a real man was now; what a real man looked like. I knew what a real man smelled like and I knew what a real man tasted like. Oh, and I knew what to expect of a real man now and the plankton on the back seat came nowhere close.


Someone else piped up then. “Well, I wouldn’t even poke it with yours!” This had led to yet more enthusiastic guffawing and agreement. Their words made me sad. As they continued, as they enjoyed themselves, I felt my eyes begin to sting with heated frustration. I wanted to stand up and tell them they were all stupid little boys but I knew I’d only add to their amusement. And, oh, I knew I shouldn’t take any notice of them but well, how could I not when they were only a few feet away and the whole bus seemed to be either joining in or laughing.

So I sat there I wishing desperately that Rowan were beside me; wishing that he would stand between them and me, just like he had with The Coven but I was on my own this time. I sighed heavily against the window pane and watched the fields winging by. I took in the horizon and, for the briefest moment I wondered what it would be like to be dead.

“Wonder if anyone’s had it yet?” Of course, I knew that when they said ‘it’ they were referring to me. “Nah,” laughed another voice. “Who’d wanna pork that?”

I bristled inside. Rowan would, well, he might. Actually, no; no he wouldn’t. And I wanted them to stop. I’d had enough but I knew if I mustn’t rise to it. If I let them see that they were getting to me, well, they’d just carry on, wouldn’t they. In fact, they’d make even more of a meal out of it so I remained mute, silently willing them to shut up and leave me alone and start on someone else. And then they did. Someone suddenly made an announcement. “I wouldn’t mind snogging that Jenny”. And that was it. Their attention had moved onto another girl. They were finished with me. I closed my eyes and sighed; blotted out the trees and fields and willed a nice, red itchy pox upon the balls of lot of them.


I’m in bed, lying on my side next to Rowan, running the tips of my fingers through the hair on his chest. He’s sprawled out on his back beside me, his hair splayed out dark against the whiteness of the pillow. One arm is draped lazily over my shoulder. His eyes are on the ceiling and he’s using his free hand to run his thick fingers through his lovely mantle of hair. And he’s smiling. He’s been a wonderful lover, gentle, attentive, slow and me, well, I’m totally wrecked. I hear my own throat give up a sigh of satisfaction. He clears his throat; makes ready to speak. “You’ve missed your stop. Ha ha, Dumpling the Virgin has missed her stop!”

My eyes popped open and I found myself looking into the spotty face of Rabbit. He’d leaned his greasy head through from behind me and was grinning. After curiously examining him for a few seconds I turned to cast a quick look out of the window. My house had just whizzed by. Double Shite.


I jumped up, grabbed my stuff and headed for the stairs ignoring all the turds on the back seat. On the bottom deck way too many sweaty after-school bodies had gathered making it hard for me to make my way to the door. Everyone ignored me as I pushed through them. The bus pulled in and the doors opened. I was glad to be free, that was until some turkey stuck their foot out and I tripped over it, going arse over tit across the threshold and flying out of the bus to fall onto the grass verge and giving all those on board a nice view of my totally unsexy white knickers.

As the bus pulled away I picked myself up, ignoring the laughter and finger gestures and began to gather up my books that were now scattered all over the grass verge. I knew some of those creeps on the bus would be watching me from inside. They’d be laughing and making their vile comments. And I hate them all so much. They can all go shite. I hate all my school books too. There’s too many of them and they weigh a ton; a ton I now had to carry all the way home. I scowled and cursed them; questioned the need for them because I knew I’d never learn anything anyway.

One by one I picked them up and stuffed them into the hated school bag and then braced myself for the long walk home. It’d take me ages to get back and The Shit Head would have an excuse to have a go at me. I let out a loud frustrated sigh and swore again and that’s when I heard someone in the distance call out. “Wait up”. A man said. “Wait up”. And I recognised the voice immediately.

:D Ok, all I have time for today....hope you enjoyed it. :wink:
I love this new chapter. Hope to read more soon. Thanks so much for this great new chapter. I have been in need of some really good fan fiction.
:wave: I'm working on part 6 right now. Have been for a while but it's quite an emotional chapter so it's been hard getting it right. I've probably re-written it four times in the past few weeks. Shouldn't be long now though as I think I've finally got it right..:huh:

Can't wait to read it.
:wave: Just to let you know I'm still working on the next bit. It's proving to be really hard to get it right. :angry: and I can't post it if I'm not happy with it but it should be along shortly....:wink:

Not to worry please I understand I know what you mean.:wave:
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