She’d known this was coming for days now. Maybe even weeks. She’d called in sick to work a couple of times, completely out of character, begging off with giddy lies of a bad cold. Walking around in public felt dangerous, she covered up, baggy jeans and a sloppy jumper with nothing on underneath, every time the wind gusted it made her shiver helplessly, turning her nipples to glass. She was timid, anxious; hiding behind her hair, big scared eyes looking out at the world behind a screen. She felt transparent. She wondered if anyone could tell.
No appetite. Sleeping badly. Binge reading erotica until it seemed like her brain would melt. Pacing around her house, restless and filled with buzzing tension, sinking her fingernails into her palms. It turned out the decision had been made long ago, she thought briefly as she picked up items almost unconsciously, shoving them in her pockets, and then shut off that train of thought to let her mind float away. Looking around. Door locked, she left.
It took two buses to get to the highway, her curled up in the back seat, blinking against the fluorescent glare. She kept kicking herself for having forgotten a book, but then she’d think about what she was about to do, and how on earth would she be able to carry a book when her hands would be all.. and then she’d have to bite her lip until she got the shakes under control. Streetlights passing outside, slowing down, stop 108, this was her. Stumbling down the aisle, automatically thanking the driver, down the steps. On the side of the highway, 12:42am. There were no more buses back to the city, and she’d left her wallet at home. Had she forgotten it, or had she been eliminating all possible safety nets? Think. Don’t think. Ok, ok.
She walked unsteadily toward a pedestrian bridge that spanned the road, registering the cars driving past, not many of them at this hour. Climbing the steps. She got to the top and stared out over the asphalt, eyes heavy lidded, almost drugged, at odds with the frantic activity inside her head. Without letting herself think too much about it, she pulled a long cable tie from her pocket and fashioned a loop, wincing every time it snicked another notch. She stood with her back to the guard rail, crossed her hands behind her back, encircling one of the poles, cable tie around her wrists, squirming one hand around to pull.. tighter.. ahhhhh….
It was just like all the other times. All the conflict, the inner gnawing, useless destructive self-analysis, it slid away fast enough to leave her breathless. The night was cold but she couldn’t feel it. She tested her hands and gasped at the sharp pain, the tie cutting into her wrists, heat in the pit of her belly, and she wondered again, like she had all the other times, if she’d be able to pull free. That bar that one time, on her own, getting drunk and going to the bathroom to put the tie on, not making eye contact on the way out, she remembered the walk home through the parklands and there’d been someone, someone had seen, but she didn’t want to think about that. She’d handled it. She closed her eyes and let herself breathe deeply, lungs feeling big enough to let her hold it forever, she could feel her heart beating in her wrist, stealing fingers around to press against the pulse. Slender currents of electricity pulsing around her body. Cars still raced underneath her infrequently, it had gotten colder and goosebumps stood out on her arms in sharp relief.
Hard nipples, swollen cunt. She drifted.
The sound of a car pulling over, tires crunching on the gravel shoulder and her eyes flew open, eyes darting wildly around, where was it coming from.. there. No more than fifty metres away, a cop car, lights flashing. Two officers, male, get out. She can’t hear them talking but they look around and one of them points toward the bridge, toward her, but there’s no way they can see her, how.. Briefly she wishes she could see what she looked like, it’s a pretty scene, red and blue lights flooding over pale, terrified skin, the reflection in her glassy eyes, and then she drags her hands against the tie to make the pain loop and whirl, this isn’t a fucking story or a movie it’s REAL and you had better start thinking VERY QUICKLY katy… you don’t want them to catch you, you don’t want to have to talk about why you’re here..
Hands scrabbling behind her back, terrified eyes on the approaching men, they’re on the steps, boots clanking, upward, closer. Ok. Ok shh. Breathe. You know how to get out of a ziptie lock. You’ve done it before. Remember how you trained. Clenched fists, thumbs in, make room, then wrists turned inwards and work the hands out. Face straining with effort. Just get the thumbs out, pull, pull. It hurts but the pain is distant, inconsquential. Almost..almost…
The men reach the top of the stairs, no more than thirty metres away. She redoubles her efforts. One thumb slips through.
“Excuse me miss, are you ok?“
Leaning her whole weight against the pole. Her hands rip free and she’s off, running to the other set of stairs, half blind and hyperventilating. Scramble down the stairs, tripping and fleeing into whatever car will take her, arms waving in the middle of the highway, please see me, stop or hit me I don’t care. A car pulls over and she half sits, half falls into the seat, mumbles the name of her city. Looking down at her hands to see bright red blood dripping from raw wounds around her wrists. Now the shakes come in earnest.
"Rough night?”
She looks over at her transport, and finds she can’t even speak.
“You look cold. Here, have a cigarette."
