Lessons X

I sat on the ground, staring at my book but not reading it, when it happened for the first time. His hand hit me straight in the face and I fell on the ground. He stood over me, a cold look in his eyes.
'You are weak.' There was disgust in his eyes. 'How can I love someone who is so spineless? You have no character.' I wanted to cry, my face hurt and it felt as if something had cracked inside me. But I didn't. I had to stay strong, show at least that much courage.
'I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry…' I kept saying that, even though it didn't make a difference. He pulled me up and roughly turned my head to the walls with all the scribbles. He whispered in my ear.
'Do you see that? Do you see that, Catherine? Every single word is a lie; with every single word you betray me, yourself and your friends. You are a lie, Catherine, a beautiful façade hiding nothing but emptiness. An empty shell, that's what you are. You are nothing, my dear, nothing at all. You never grew to become wiser and stronger, you always stayed the same little pitiable kid on the inside. You are disgusting.' He dropped me, and my voice broke.
'Please… don't leave me… don't leave me… I can't live without you…' I was desperate. His cold eyes burned on my body.
'I won't leave you… if you work.' His smile was cold, cold as ice. 'Now work, I can't stand this sight any longer.' He left the room, and I worked. I worked all night.

The next morning I woke up, staring at my book, I don't think I had really slept. I felt such tension, such hate for myself. The words in the books I read didn't penetrate my soul anymore like they had used to do. They had been the fuel to my passion, and now they were like a blanket trying to smother it. I needed something, something that would ease the pain and wake me up. I had to be awake; I had to stay awake and work, work harder, for what I already didn't know anymore. Simply to see that smile on his face again, to feel his soft touch instead of his fist, I wanted to do anything.
I stumbled to the bathroom, surprised to find I had such trouble standing straight. When I touched the walls for support it felt as if I burnt my hands. Those once so beautiful words, written in the heat of passion, were like his eyes, cold and indignant. Finally I reached the bathroom, sat down on the floor with my razor. I took my shoe and smashed the safety casing of the blades. With the free blades I cut my left arm, left because I had to write, I had to make notes with my right hand. The pain shot through me, like electricity. For the first time in months I felt a fraction of what I had felt in the beginning again. It made my nerves scream as I continued to cut, over my entire arm. The blade made nice straight cuts. Parallel pairs of ruby red lines. After 40 cuts I finally forgot, finally my head became clear again, filled with nothing but the pain. Ignorance, if only temporarily. I laid my head against the bathtub, closed my eyes. Before I could sleep though, I heard a giggle. A maleficent, evil giggle, and it was enough to bring it all back again.

As I continued to cut and procrastinate, his punishments became more elaborate. As he understood I enjoyed pain, he soon didn't hit me anymore. He kept me awake. Hours, days, weeks, I don't know. My head was so heavy with exhaustion and guilt and self-hate, I couldn't put more knowledge in it. But he didn't care. I am not tired, I kept whispering. I am not tired…
I didn't know where I was. I didn't know where I was going. Two days no sleep, and I had gotten out of the apartment block. I wandered through streets that all seemed familiar and unknown at the same time. After a while I got the feeling someone was following me. I looked behind me, saw a glimpse of him. I walked on. I was a free woman; I could walk around wherever I wanted to, whenever I wanted. But I felt his eyes burn in my back and it made me fasten my pace. I wanted to get away from him, but he was persistent. Every time I turned I thought to see him duck away, a shadow behind a building, the distinct colour of his suit in a group of people. After a while I was only running, my heart beating loudly in my chest. Leave me alone, I wanted to scream. Let me go! But every time I wanted to he was nowhere to be found. I ran through the streets, his giggling resounding in my ears, his shadow always a few steps behind me. Eventually I ran into an office block, took the stairs to the highest floor, and hided under an unoccupied table. I carefully listened for footsteps, waited for him to come and get me. He didn't come. He already had what he wanted. I had been punished.

He had to work too, I don't know how he did it, I didn't sleep anyway. He was always there, in my head, around me, ready to hit me when I dazed off. I don't know after how long it was, five days, six perhaps, that I found myself in the bathroom again. But this time the cutting wasn't sufficient. It didn't wake me up anymore, I cut, cut and cut, but it didn't avail. I had to rest. I had to sleep. I put away the razor and started filling the bathtub. When it was full I undressed, combed my hair and stepped in. I laid myself down, closed my eyes and went under water. There I opened them again. The blood from my arm coloured the water slightly pink, and I had to smile. Pink glasses for the optimist, I thought. Then I closed them again, and breathed in the water. It burnt my lungs; it was so painful my chest felt as if it would explode. I felt a hand reaching under water, and although I tried to stay under I couldn't, it grabbed me by the throat and pulled me up. Coughing I grasped for air. When I saw him, I started crying. His eyes were cold, cold as ice, and his smile was sarcastic.
'You are a silly little girl, Catherine. Don't you know I will always find you? You can't escape my eyes; I will always see you. You can't escape my touch; I will always grab you. Don't you remember what you promised me? Don't you?' He didn't even sound angry.
'Get up and clean yourself. We have lots of studying to do.'

I don't know what happened then. I only remember putting on clothes, and then there is nothing. I could only retrieve a few vague shards of memory; blood, pain, talking people bending over me,  a syringe, and then… black. Sleep, I suppose. Blissful ignorance.