Page 24 of Taunting Tarran
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ Emma shivers.
Pleasantries are exchanged, the rhythm of our voices blending into a comfortable hum of the cafe. As the girls dive into their news and updates, laughter and exclamations raising here and there, my thoughts drift. The events of the last few days vividly linger at the edges of my mind, unrelenting and pulling me momentarily from the table. I nod and smile in the right places, but a part of me is elsewhere, lost in the tangle of recent memories while their chatter forms a soothing backdrop.
‘Hello, earth calling Tarran!’ Anna snaps her fingers.
‘I have something to confess,’ I admit, but that’s where I stop. The words falter, hanging in the air.
The girls’ eyes lock onto me, expectant.
‘She’s got a boyfriend,’ Emma declares, finger pointing straight at me.
‘Errm,’ I stammer, the courage I carried in with me now dissolving.
Boyfriend,or boy friend? Hardly.
Their gazes don’t waver. They can tell I’m holding something back – something we all swore we’d never do. That’s why I keep quiet most of the time. Every word I say feels like a lie by omission, hiding my past that refuses to let me go.
‘You finally got laid?’ Rachel blurts out, laughing. My eyes widen, and I throw my face into my hands.
‘No,’ I mumble, my voice muffled. ‘And no, no boyfriend.’
The waiter interrupts, placing five coffees on the table with a smile. ‘Here you go, girls.’
‘You did!’ Emma exclaims, pointing her finger at me like she’s cracked the case.
‘I didn’t, I swear,’ I blurt, grabbing her hand to stop the accusation mid-air.
‘But I do have a problem.’
They all take a sip of their coffees, their silence urging me to continue.
‘You’re pregnant?’ Anna ventures, her voice with mock concern.
‘God, no. Will you just -’
‘That’s £18.50,’ the waiter interjects, smiling politely.
‘Hey, let me get these,’ I say, fumbling for my bag. My hand freezes as I look inside, my stomach dropping.
‘Let me guess - you forgot your purse, Tarran?’ Anna teases, her laughter light but pointed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get this round. You can owe us one.’ She scoffs playfully, handingthe waiter a crisp £20 note.
‘Excuse me, I...I need to use the bathroom,’ I stammer, snapping my bag shut with trembling hands. Without waiting for a response, I hurry away, my pulse pounding in my ears. In the quiet sanctuary of the bathroom, I fumble to open my bag. My breath catches as I spot another envelope inside. My stomach churns, and my heart sinks further when I notice a dark smear of blood seeping through the paper.
‘Fuck! Fuck, fuck, what the fuck is this?’
My thoughts spiral in every direction as my trembling hands tear open the envelope. Sticky blood clings to the edges, smearing the familiar note inside. I barely glance at it before my eyes lock onto the words scrawled across the note.
Now that you’re mine, Tarran, I won’t let another man touch you. If he does, he’ll lose his hands. The Conqueror lost his teeth, and his cock...but I’ll spare you that image. It was hardly recognisable after I’d finished with it.
Any guesses who these belong to?
As I peer into the envelope, my stomach churns at the sight of two pink strips of flesh nestled at the bottom. The bile rises, and I find myself hunched over the toilet bowl, retching uncontrollably. After a moment, I force myself to breathe, to steady the chaos within, and zip my bag shut before heading back to the table.
But my hair falls in loose strands, framing the side of thetoilet bowl again as my stomach churns, twisting in violent spasms. The pungent stench of ammonia burns my nostrils, sharp and acrid, as my trembling hands brush against the array of cleaning products tucked beside the porcelain. With a shaky breath, I stand, walking towards the sink. I cup my hand beneath the tap, swill water around my mouth, and spit into the sink. My gaze rises, locking onto the mirror. The reflection staring back feels unfamiliar – eyes hollowed by exhaustion, skin pale, and my lips are trembling. Red-rimmed eyes stare back, still wet with the remnants of tears. With a trembling hand, I wipe away the traces of my despair.
This has to stop!
I tell myself the words while staring at the woman in the mirror who wears my face. A woman caged not just by this man, but by my own making. I tell myself I can’t live in this prison he’s constructed, but the truth is, the bars were forged long before. They were wrought the day I shot my grandfather – a moment that cast me into darkness. Since then, the claws of others have sunk deep, marking me as something special.Something desirable.Something worthy.
