Creative diary- first draft of text 4

I got a lot more work done this evening...erm morning...okay here is the first draft of the last text that I have written:

HER: Her soft canvass pumps crunched lightly on the small coloured pebble path. In the crisp, cool air, the sound seemed to echo out across the sleeping hills and houses. It was dark

HIM: Was it dark? Not dusk?

HER: No, it was definitely dark.

SHE: How dark?

HER: As dark as the blackest night, but with a beautiful pale moon.

HIM: As black as aces, with a pale round moon hung low in the sky like a sinking diamond bobbing in a black sea.

HER: So it was dark, very dark; with a full moon.

SHE: She nearly always met him in the dark, it suited him, it was part of what made him special, their secret and special midnight meets.
HIM: So it was dark

HER: With a full moon.

SHE: She took meandering steps until the glow from the street lamp ended in a fuzzy line at her feet; she hesitated at stepping into the disparate light.

HIM: Disparate? Is that the right context?

SHE: Ok. Beat. She hesitated at stepping beyond the fading light.

HER: I don't like fading….it's too…you know.

(Pause)

Ooh, I've got it. She hesitated at stepping beyond the luminous arc of safety, spilling from the street.

HIM: She wrinkled her nose, took in a deep breath and pushed on with hesitant footsteps further down the path. Although a/
SHE: Although a sinking feeling was nagging at her stomach and burning like acid in her throat, she pushed on. It was/

HER: He raped her.

HIM: Not yet.

SHE: You have to build the suspense first, you know build them up to it, so that it comes as a shock. If you just blurt it out, then there is no story to tell, no progression. They don't even know about him yet, the reason she was foolish, the reason she was there, in the dark, alone. The reason she was making her way by the light of the moon underneath the murmuring canopy, darkness cloying to her like a liquid.

HER: He raped her.

He hitched her dress up over her arse, pulled her white pants to one side and raped her. He slid his cock deep inside and he raped her as she screamed.
HIM: He was waiting, poised behind the dark shadows, hidden and immanent. A deep secluded threat.

SHE: Stop, hang on not yet. Tell them the story in full, tell them properly. Tell them how she was on her way to him, to meet her love in their secret place, their special place by the sea. Don't just skip to the crunch.

HIM: Brooding in the darkness of his concealed position, his jealousy congealed and festered, setting solid his resolve. He had seen the way she looked at him, how she teased him with her eyes.

SHE: Spurred on by the thought of her lover waiting in the moonlight, skimming pebbles out across the silvery sea. Waiting for her. Needing her. Aching for her.

HER: He raped her

SHE: Stop, you will confuse them. Tell them she knew he would be waiting. Waiting to embrace her and to envelope her, desiring her. Waiting. Wanting.

HIM: She was raped in the bushes by the footpath, near the sea.
Beat.
But nobody did see.

HER: He pushed it deep inside her, muffling the screams with his dirty, large hand. The feel of her teeth on his skin, only added to the pleasure.

SHE: Tell them how he would kiss her mouth so gently, softly; his lips on hers. His soft black fringe lolling across his forehead and brushing lightly on her cheek. His eyes on hers. His shallow, hot breath on her skin. These thoughts pushed her on down the dark path, pushed her on to him.

Him: He raped her.

SHE: She imagined his kisses like a summer's breeze, how they would embrace and sink slowly to their knee's. Just past the footbridge and she would almost be there.

HER: His knee's dug into the ground; under the force of his rhythmic driving. He drove it deeper and harder into her. Grunting as he took it, took her, using her up with only the moon looking down.

HIM: His coarse hands pulling at her flesh, gripping her too tightly, his think fingers tangled in her hair, pulling, hurting. His body heavy on hers. His putrid breath, fast and hot on her flesh, as he took it, took her, used her up. Tears springing from her wide eyes, making silent tracks down her cheeks but only to find his dirty thick fingers where her mouth should be.

HER: He pressed down on her head to keep her from squirming under his grip; he was so close now, driving his rude and uninvited phallus into her.

HIM: He raped her

HER: He raped her

HIM: Pushing, thrusting, he could smell her and he

SHE: STOP!

(Very long pause)
I pushed it with the very tips of my fingers and it groaned like a weak old man getting up from his comfy chair. I squinted at the sudden change to my wet, sore eyes; the man made heat of the strip light buzzing on my cheeks.

Pause
I stood still, entirely frozen for what felt like an age. Just standing glaring back at the pallid refection almost hidden by steam in the mirror. Looking at those big eyes, looking back at me. A stranger, so distant like a hallucination or ghostly trace of some distant memory.

Beat

HER: I wrinkled my nose and frowned, like an echo, she that stranger in the foggy looking glass frowned back. The tiny little wrinkles across my nose nudged forth a vague remembrance of a mischievous little girl; pouting at the dinner table when presented with sludgy green Brussel sprouts. Just a ghost now, confined to the depths of history; not even she could help me know. He had made sure of that. I stood so still, on the threshold of that room, the room.
Pause

HIM: She closed her eyes, put her weight forward and stepped in amongst the steamy clouds rising up from the hot water.
The cold, crisp white tiles underfoot made her gasp as they made contact with her naked feet.

Beat

HER: Excitement was beginning to tickle from deep inside me and as I stepped up to the sink, butterflies were exploding in my tummy.
I placed both hands upon the immaculate white sink and steadied myself; I looked to those eyes again for courage but they stared back at me coldly, refusing any comfort. I stood still waiting for courage to come, searching for it within those eyes.
I thought I felt it begin to flood me, but it was panic rising up and gripping me violently.

HIM: "Stop it!" Her voice was muffled as though it were having to push up through something thick like treacle.
"Get a grip" This time shrill and forced but somehow more familiar and comforting. It quelled the panic and set her resolve to reach up and open the cabinet.

Pause

SHE: There they were, sat neatly next to the bewildering array of moisturisers, facemasks and anti wrinkle creams, as though they too were a mass marketable remedy to solve the problem. There they sat waiting, ready for me to abuse, but I couldn't move, just couldn't seem to relinquish my grip on the sink.

Beat

HER: The coldness of the porcelain and the pressure of my grip were seeping into my fingers making pins and needles nip at them like hungry terrapins.
A wave of nausea crept up into my throat and flooded my mouth with a vile juice and I swallowed hard to fight it back. I wanted to reach up and grab them from the cabinet, but I just couldn't, I was rooted to the basin and floor; suddenly I felt lumbering and foolish.

Pause

SHE: I shuffled my ridiculously heavy numb body and deposited it clumsily on the edge of the bath. The ceramic edge was cold despite the hot water tumbling into its capacity. I let my back sag like a lolling tongue and my arms drop beside me. I cried. Huge wailing sobs burst out of me and sank into the steam; the tears cascaded off my cheeks and down my chest leaving slick wet trails. I wanted to reach up, to stand up and get them, but I just couldn't. I wanted to find the strength. I wanted to move, to be moved, but nothing, just still numbness and tears.