Zippers

PART 8

 

The following day I awoke feeling like I'd been run over. Everywhere was tender. My nurse saw the discomfort I was in and gave me more painkillers.

 

'I'm afraid the second day is always the worst', she said opening the curtains allowing me to see the crisp, clear morning, 'why don’t you have a look at this menu and tell me if there's anything here that will help take your mind off it'

 

In spite of the soreness I remember being ravenously hungry and asked for a full English breakfast with sausages, scrambled egg, toast and fresh coffee.

 

When it came it was fantastic. Like a five star hotel it was all beautifully presented and prepared from the finest ingredients. My lips were thick and swollen but as I put the first fork of soft, creamy, scrambled egg into my mouth, I realised I hadn't felt so good in days. I closed my eyes to savour it. The nurse brought me a newspaper and gave me the television remote. She told me that the room had all the film channels you could possibly want and told me to spend the morning relaxing; she would get me up for the afternoon. In the meantime if I needed anything, anything at all, I only had to buzz her.

 

Within half an hour I was carefree. The painkillers had kicked in and I felt a lovely satiety from the breakfast. Ignoring the effects of the delicious, Guatemalan coffee, I nodded off to the morning news on the television.

 

Before lunch I was given a warm, soothing bed bath and changed into some soft pyjamas that had been in my bag. Like my outfit from the previous day they were pink, this time more of a bleached cerise. They had the Playboy rabbit on; they were awful. The nurse made no comment on my taste but I felt very embarrassed as she said that she thought I should have lunch with 'my friends' in the day room at the end of the corridor. I didn't really want to see anyone, or have anyone see me, but I agreed reluctantly. She exchanged a smaller bag onto my catheter line and strapped it to my leg. Then she wrapped me up in a thick pink dressing gown and told me that no-one would see it and not to worry. She lined up my slippers and Zimmer frame again and before I could admit that actually I'd rather stay in bed, I was struggling up the corridor.

 

The day room was actually a conservatory looking out across stunning pastures with mature woodland hills up on the far horizon. A huge weeping willow dripped over a wide, wind-swept lake to the right. It was the perfect autumn view to sooth the eyes and encourage recovery.

 

The room itself was high-ceilinged and furnished with deep burgundy sofas and tall-backed leather chairs around a stout oak dining table. A television hummed quietly to itself in the corner; the usual morning chat show; this time some shouty young teenager defending her choice to have an abortion. I hated morning television.

 

There were three other girls sat there already. Thankfully they were beyond caring about my situation. Of the three, one of them had a walking frame too. They were all bandaged around the breasts and, with the exception of Janine, their faces too. I noticed that the girl in the nearest chair had a complicated set of metal bars forming a harsh looking brace around her mouth. I counted that as a small mercy as I tip-toed past her to take a seat.

 

'Hi Anita', said my little friend from the day before. She came over and sat down next to me giving me kiss on the cheek.

 

'See, I told you it would all be okay. Look at these'

 

She tried to thrust her chest out at me but recoiled in pain after pushing herself a little too far.

 

'I can't wait to be able to go shopping for some new tops, something to really show these off in, maybe a push up corset or a boob-tube or something'

 

She made a few gentle poses, imagining herself in front of the lens.

 

I considered myself a serious and intelligent woman; I usually couldn't stand glamour models or bimbos. It outraged my feminist sense of worth as a woman to see other girls turn themselves wantonly into compliant sex objects for men to lust over. Ordinarily I would have not given her the time of day and would have scorned her; but the circumstances had made me warm to Janine. I had so needed a friend and she had been there when I needed her. She had the same grass-roots honesty and transparency as Melanie, and that endeared her to me even more.

 

'You'll look gorgeous sweetie', I said, trying to play the role of the encouraging big sister, 'you'll be beating them off soon, I'm sure'

 

That was one of Melanie's expressions; that you’d have to beat the men off with stick because you looked so good.

 

The other two girls weren't saying much. The one with the braces looked like she wouldn’t be capable of proper speech for a while. I noticed that she had a fine yellow tube coming out of one nostril. It must have been so she could be fed while her jaw was so extensively wired. I felt so sorry for her; but she didn't have a Zimmer frame and she didn't seem to be in as much discomfort as I was. The forth girl had the same array of dressings that I did. She was the one with the walking frame. She was a slim light-brown skinned girl. Even under the bandages I could see that she was extremely pretty. She had lovely long eyelashes. She made no eye contact and studiously ignored the two of us, looking down at her feet. I thought maybe she was ashamed to be here, like me.

 

'Jeez, you must have had the whole works done babe', Janine said looking me up and down.

 

I blushed and turned away. The attention was now back on my own modifications.

 

'I've never seen anyone have that calf thing done, that's pretty hardcore that is. You in videos or a dancer or what?'

 

I was a little shocked. The black girl had heard what she had said too and stirred a little. I had wished that Janine was a little more subtle.

 

'Er, Dancer', I said. It was the closer of the two I supposed.

 

'Thought so', she said, 'you have a dancer’s body'

 

'Thank you'

 

I tried to take it as a compliment and was secretly a little bit pleased that she thought I had a dancer's physique. It was impossible to make it out under the thick dressing gown and surgical dressings then though.

 

'I'd love to be able to do what you girls can do’, she mused, ‘I can only just walk a bit in really high heels, but that's it, I’m unsteady and it's proper hard too. I know I’ll have to wear 'em for porn shoots and that. Can't do no real dancing mind, pole dancing and lap dancing stuff, that's proper skilful that is.'

 

It was easier not to bother pointing out that I was not an erotic dancer.

 

'Bet that hurts though at the moment. Walking, I mean. My tits are pretty sore but you're all bruised up everywhere; and with that walking frame too!'

 

There were some things I wished she'd just shut up about.

 

'Yes. It hurts, thank you, Janine', I had said. I looked out over the meadow and welcomed a moment’s silence.

 

 

 

Before long a waitress came and took orders for lunch. Presumably out of sympathy, the wired girl was escorted away while the table was laid for three. It was a difficult meal. Janine didn’t stop talking, while the other girl couldn’t even look at us. I didn’t say much myself, instead I allowed myself to get lost enjoying a beautifully cooked sirloin with potatoes and sauce Béarnaise. Janine had a plate of chips with mayonnaise which she ate with her fingers. I was relieved when, finally, my nurse came and walked me back to my room.

 

 

Later that afternoon I found myself back in the day room. I had been given a wonderful massage in my room. It had lasted over half an hour. The masseuse was a plump Asian girl with long pony-tailed black hair swinging down to her bottom. She had a firm, powerful grip and clearly was very well practised at her art. She had concentrated on my feet, arms, neck and head; so as to avoid my tender areas. She had also worked extensively on my calves to loosen them. It had tortured me as she glided her thumbs along the lengths of my burning tendons, again and again. She had rubbed them over and over to get some heat into them and then gradually applied a stretch to them. I had screwed my face up tight trying not tense them as I knew that that would make them hurt even more. I was so relieved when she finally moved down to my feet and the agony became a relaxing, soft bliss.

 

I had taken a brief afternoon nap before being walked back to the day room. It was empty save for the black girl from earlier.

 

I felt a difficult tension in the air and sat on a sofa away from her. I watched her from across the room. She was curled up in her chair looking down. Below her, a pair of black leather, stiletto-heeled mules was discarded and to the side was her walking frame, similar to my own. She had dressings over her nose and breasts and was wrapped in a thick gown as I was. I wondered if I could make out the bulge of a urine bag against her leg. She ignored me. As I watched her some more I realised that she did not look at all happy. Then a possibility jumped into my mind. I sat up, alert, wondering. I had to talk to her; she wasn't like the others. I had to do this..

 

I grabbed my frame and slid my shoes back on. I carefully stood up and made my way over to her. I was determined to find out about her. She looked up as I inched across the room towards her. She seemed frightened and at first tried to shy away, that only made me more determined.

 

'Hello', I said in as friendly a voice as I could muster.

 

She tried to give me a smile, instead looking like she was about to cry.

 

'Hello', I said again, 'my name's Anita, what's yours?'

 

'Lisa', she said quietly, looking down again.

 

I turned round and sat myself down next to her, exaggerating the show of relief I felt as my calves eased. I wanted her to see that I was in the same state as her; I was a friend. I didn't know how to broach the next subject. I knew that certain topics were taboo for me and that there were some that I would be completely unable to bring up. I was also very mindful of my need to not do anything that could be interpreted as misbehaviour by my Mistresses. Vivienne had told me to have fun with the other girls, though, so I was clearly allowed to talk to them

 

'How are you feeling?’ I asked innocently

 

She looked into my eyes and I cold see tears forming.

 

'I'm..........’ the tears welled up in her eyes and she started to sob.

 

'Are you able to answer?' I asked her, forcing her to look at me. She sniffed and then I saw a spark of recognition in her eyes. She realised what I was getting at.

 

'Yes' she nodded.

 

'Are you able to talk?' I asked her.

 

'No', she said staring at me in disbelief and acknowledgement. She was now fully alert.

 

'Just answer questions then?'

 

'Yes, Anita, that's right'

 

She sniffed and tried to stop her crying; she was trying to smile for me.

 

'It's okay', I said putting my arm gently round her, 'it's okay, Lisa, I’m your friend now okay?'

 

I felt calm and composed. For the first time it was me who was able to be the strong one. She wiped her eyes and then looked at me. I wanted to ask her all sorts of questions; if she was as controlled as I was; when she had been taken; what had been done to her; but I didn't dare try. Instead I asked her about herself. Even using ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers it was possible to learn a lot from someone. Lisa could at least reply a little more fully than that. I found out that she lived two hundred miles away, almost on the south coast. She was 25 and had been born in Somalia but came to live in England when she was a baby. Her father, originally French had been a diplomat in Somalia initially but had taken permanent residence in England after an early retirement. Not long after this he had passed away. Her mother was still alive but they had fallen out, I didn't want to ask why, I was after all, trying to raise her spirits a little. She had two brothers and a sister back in Somalia. She was married but separated and she had no children. She had started working as a lawyer for a large firm in London. She kept a small flat there since leaving her husband.

 

I kept talking to her for at least another hour about anything that came into my head. I remembered how horrible it had been when my own speech had been restricted. I wanted her to be able to express something of herself to someone. Even if we couldn't talk about the issues burning in our minds, we shared so much in what was not spoken. We had found each other; someone else who was being put through the same. I wouldn't have wished it on anyone but I was selfishly glad to not be alone any more.

 

Our meeting was eventually terminated by my nurse who came to put me back to bed for more rest.

 

I didn't leave my room after that, I was too tired. I ate another fantastic meal and fell asleep for the night in front of the television. It was seven o’clock.