Cheap White Meat

  I wonder if I could look after myself if I were let loose in the big wide world. When I’m allowed to be someone else I can speak, sort of. I don’t try to be someone special. Just someone normal, or gullible, whatever your take is on it.

  This guy really is getting to me. He’s got my mind to drift and he’s not even droning on about anything. I need him to take off those sunglasses. One: they look stupid. And Two: they’re giving him the upper hand. Come on, just take them off, and leave me alone to get on with being a loner freak.

  My cheeks look chubby in the reflection of the sunglasses. And my skin is so pale. I didn’t realise I’d gone that pale. Well, my cheeks are still their normal colour, but the rest of me looks drained of emotion. I always thought that I could pass for normal if you just saw me without being briefed about what a messed up freak I am. I thought that was what made me so intriguing. That I look relatively normal on the outside but so complex on the inside.

  And shouldn’t Gillian be here? They’ve left me alone with a total stranger. I’m a vulnerable child. I could be sexually assaulted at any moment. For all I know he could be sexually assaulting me with his eyes behind those sunglasses.

  Is it possible to look at a female’s body without noticing her boobs? For a man I mean. I used to show cleavage, when it was a novelty. Now I sort of do my best to hide them. Since The Psychotic one moved in and developed a complex.

  See, because I didn’t exactly look like a child that’s why I didn’t consider myself to be one. Stupid really. Or is it? My body’s definitely ready. My mind’s probably ready. Or do they just want an excuse to get him, the guy who’s apparently ruined my childhood and mentally scarred me for life. Are they after him because he was different? Different ways. Different beliefs. I didn’t really agree with his ways, but we didn’t really discuss them.

  Anyway, back to the present. He’s definitely looking at me. But I can’t tell at which part. I need to take those sunglasses off him. I lean forward and feel like a toddler playing with an activity centre plaything. My hand doesn’t seem to be able to grip properly. Am I so useless that I can’t even rip a pair of sunglasses from some blokes head?

  I’m touching the sunglasses but he still hasn’t reacted. This guy is weird. Firstly, he’s turned up here. You’ve got to be weird to want to do this job. Secondly, he’s dressed far too well compared to the rest of his cronies. And finally, he can sit in total silence with a complete nutter for ages and not even blink an eyelid. Well, maybe he has been blinking but I’ve not been able to tell.

  I can feel his breath on my hand. It’s not hot and sweaty like it used to be when I felt some strange bloke’s breath on me. Is he allowed to be this close to me? After all, I’m the child; he’s the adult. No matter what I do, he’s got to behave himself. Stay within the boundaries. Keep his composure. Well, his breathing pattern certainly suggests that he’s keeping calm.

  But how you gonna cope now Mr Strong Silent Type? Now that I have your sunglasses.

  I fix the sunglasses so that they hang from my hoodie. Now if he is caught staring at my tits then he can claim that he was checking that I hadn’t damaged his precious fashion accessory.

  After the big build up, and the expectation, his eyes aren’t all that special. I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but I was expecting a bit more life. He’s only young as well. Not my age, but it was more like Big Brother was watching me; rather than dirty Uncle Steve who still tries it on with Mum.

  I don’t know if I have an Uncle Steve. I don’t know what good it would do me anyway if I did. I’ve got too many problems now to be placed back with my family even if Mum does behave herself and gets let out as soon as she’s eligible for parole. I know that is soon because it’s supposed to be just after my 16th birthday, but I’ve forgotten the exact date and they don’t mention Mum any more.

  When they stop mentioning certain things it means that they think it’s hindering my “recovery”. It could mean one of two things: either; every time they tried to use the perfect “sweet 16 fairy-tale birthday” as some kind of incentive I’ve developed some other weird personality trait, or; Mum’s not been behaving herself inside so they don’t want to be the one who has to tell me.

  Pretty crafty if it is the second one. Whilst they hate it when I don’t answer their questions so that they’ve got nothing to write about in their little report; if there’s something they don’t want to mention to me they know that I won’t ask them about it. So I have to sit and wonder. Sit and wonder if one day when I’m allowed out for some fresh air that “Mum” will be there to greet me.

  But I know that won’t happen. They don’t introduce me to anyone who can actually make my life better.

  I look at his eyes again.

  He’s not looking at me but just past me, like he knows I want to check him out but don’t want to make it obvious. I’m checking to see that he doesn’t resemble me. I know Mum didn’t have any other children, but I’m not sure about whoever my “dad” might happen to be.

  But he can’t be my brother. They wouldn’t just let him into my enclosure like this. There are rules and procedures that have to be followed. Even though I’m a “special case”, they’re not going make an exception for the likes of me.

  So what now? I’ve got his sunglasses. If he wants them back he’s got to ask for them. I don’t really want them. And seeing his eyes hasn’t really helped. He now looks more human but I need him to speak before I can judge him properly. And then dismiss him like all the rest.

  I suppose I could just walk away, but this is my territory. And if I let him win today’s battle then they’ll only invite him back another day to torment me then. Just simply giving this guy the silent treatment isn’t working. They’d have him sitting in on other sessions just watching, observing. I need to break him and I need to break him fast.

  I wished I’d have paid attention now at what made people give up in the past. Some just didn’t care so I didn’t need to try with them. Some needed the money, and had to try to make this job work so they took a week or two, but they’d always run out of questions to ask in the end. I’ve had it all. Been spoken to in the first person. The third person. Past tense. Present tense. Like I wanted to speak but was unable. Like I used to be able to speak but recently forgotten how the English language works.

  But never this.

  Never just sitting here. Waiting.

  Waiting for me to speak first. Some think they’ve tried that with me before but they don’t know that they lost me when they said “hello” with their eyes when they first looked at me.

  But this guy hasn’t even done that. We’ve still not properly made eye contact.

  I look up to the window by the fire escape. It’s where Gillian normally sits when she wants to make it look like she’s doing her job and keeping an eye on me. But I could sense she wasn’t there. I don’t know if Dan and his subordinate are still here. Many doors have to be beeped through before you get out into whatever counts as civilization these days so it’s not always easy to keep track of who is coming and going.

  So I’m left with silence. Is this how annoy it is when someone doesn’t speak? I really am a bitch. If I’d have known I was so good at something I wouldn’t put myself down so much all the time.

  I stand up and put his sunglasses back on to cover his face. But he still doesn’t flinch. He might have drawn the battle today, but I’ll crack him tomorrow or whenever he tries next.

  Chapter Four

  I’ve retreated to my room so it doesn’t surprise me when Gillian beeps herself into my room. Except, when I look up, I see that it’s not Gillian. It’s him again. Naked. There’s a naked man inside my room. My room without any C.C.T.V. and only one escape route. And he’s blocking it. Stood there with his naked eyes.

  10 minutes he’s given me. 10 minutes alone to compose myself and work out how I’m going to deal wi
th him. Doesn’t this guy understand the British way of slacking on the job?

  I really don’t know what to do now. They’ve never done this before. Let a total stranger into my room. I don’t normally stop people just walking in when they please, staff I mean. The Others aren’t allowed in here. As soon as they found the laptop and T.V. then they’d kick-off. But this guy must have about 5 degrees and the most enhanced CRB check in history because they’ve just let him loose with me.

  Where did I go wrong with this guy? And why is he freaking me out. I’ve never been alone in a bedroom with a strange bloke this long without the smell of a condom making my stomach turn. If I came onto him would he stop me? Well, I know he doesn’t fancy me, but would he risk a cheeky blowjob? I mean, who am I going to tell?

  And why do I keep thinking about having sex with a complete stranger. That’s definitely one of the symptoms of a borderline personality disorder, I looked it up online. So if I can recognise the symptoms myself then perhaps I can stop myself from doing something stupid.

  After all, I don’t fancy this guy. He’s too skinny. If he wasn’t wearing stupidly expensive designer clothes then he’d have nothing worth talking about regarding his appearance. Even his socks look expensive. And they’re far too close to my face. So close in fact, I can see that he’s got weird shaped feet.

  What kind of bloke strolls into a 15 year-old freaks room, takes his trainers off, and sprawls out on the bed in the opposite direction to said 15 year-old freak?

  And I still don’t think he’s acknowledged that I’m here. I did think he could be blind, or partially sighted, but he doesn’t look it, if you know what I mean. You can tell when someone is blind because their eyes seem vacant. But his eyes are definitely occupied. Just like my personal space.

  I wasn’t exactly watching anything on T.V. but it would have been nice if he’d have asked me if he could change the channel. Even though my T.V. has been paid for at taxpayers’ expense it doesn’t give him the right to come in and watch it like it’s his. It wouldn’t be so bad but he’s switched over to some radio station aimed at his age demographic.

  This is even freakier than before.

  Actually, is this not in fact normal? Okay, we’re not speaking, but that’s because we hardly know each other and are both shy.

  Stop.

  This isn’t a date. This isn’t normal. He’s a copper or a social worker or psychiatrist. And he shouldn’t be getting to me like this. I’m not having any impact on him. He’s pretending that I’m not even here so I’m going to do the same.

  Well, that didn’t work.

  He turns the T.V./radio up full blast when a new song comes on. The way I do when a song comes on that I like. I’ve never heard this song before and it’s being sung so fast that I can’t understand any of the words. I wonder if I tried to take the remote from him if he’d stop me. He didn’t stop me taking off his sunglasses. And his expression didn’t change when I put them back on him.

  Another song comes on. He must not like this one as much because he’s turned the volume back down to normal. This song is slower and I can pick up some of the words. Something about “if you tolerate this then your children will be next.”

  I wouldn’t be that cruel to have any kids of my own. No one deserves to be hampered by 50% of my genes. Apparently, many of the illnesses I’m “suspected” of suffering from are hereditary. Perhaps they can perform a hysterectomy on me when they’re giving me a tummy tuck. Making sure that my “idiot gene” died with me would certainly be in the interest of the human race.

  ‘Who sings this?’

  One of us has cracked. It must be me because I don’t know the answer so he’d be wasting his breath. But he doesn’t respond. Either he didn’t hear me or my mind is playing tricks on me and I didn’t say it after all. Phew! That was close. I thought I’d given in.

  ‘Manic Street Preachers.’

  Damn it.

  He mutes the T.V. and says, ‘They were big well before your time. And probably before mine to be honest.’

  What now? Do I speak? Is it time for Plan B: only speak in closed statements.

  ‘Oh.’

  He turns the song back on but some advert about car insurance has replaced it. So he mutes the T.V. again. I do that. Apparently, you’ve to see, or hear, an advert seven times before it sticks in your head. I don’t know why I know that and I hope I’m not talking out loud.

  ‘Interesting fact.’

  Fucking hell!

  Not only do I sound like a right dork but I’m also having a conversation with some stranger. And why do I like this guy?

  Do I?

  I can’t do. I don’t like anyone. But what is he getting out of this? We’re having a conversation about nothing. It’s pointless. Leading nowhere. Come on Radio on the T.V. Man; say something to make me hate you.

  Silence.

  Golden silence. No judgement. No reassurance that none of this is my fault. No condescending lies about being here to do everything possible for my welfare. So why is he here? And why is he getting up to leave? I was almost ready to talk.

  Chapter Five

  How long was he in my room for? It must be late because The Others are back. I’m stood in Gillian’s watch point, watching The Others. They’re crowded around my friend. The one who understands me. He’s talking to them but I think it’s only to answer their questions.

  Four pairs of eyes tell me I’m not wanted when I stand about five yards from them. But he doesn’t turn around. Maybe I repulse him and if he looks at me then he’ll throw-up. I feel like throwing up sometimes in the morning when the first thing I see is my muffin belly. I run my hand over my stomach, for some reason I think doing that makes me look slimmer, and stare at the back of his head. His hair’s sticking up slightly at the crown. Actually, his whole haircut is a bit naff. A bit last decade.

  He’s single!

  Or at least that’s what he’s told The Self-Harmer. But that’s the safe option. It doesn’t lead to any follow up questions. Or at least it shouldn’t. Anyway, Gillian’s back. She calls The Others inside and they must not have been fed today because they don’t cause a fuss.

  ‘Knock on my door later,’ The Self-Harmer says. ‘I’m in the penthouse suite.’

  What she means is that she has they had to create a special padded cell – I mean room – for her so that she couldn’t cause herself any harm.

  Jack.

  My new friend is called Jack. That’s what The Biter’s just called him. “See ya later Jack”, she said, but I couldn’t see his reaction.

  Maybe he’s not here to deal with me after all. And there’s me letting myself think that I’m special. But he’s not following them inside. That means that he’s mine. All mine.

  So we’re all alone again. Just the two of us.

  ‘They always like that?’

  I was just about to answer him but he turned around and put me off. Now this is tricky. He’s never spoke first before. My reaction now could undo all his good work.

  Oh no, the sunglasses are back on. Come on Jack, they’re not you.

  ‘Cost a lot of money these did.’

  Did I speak out loud again? Maybe I’ve spoken more over the past couple of years than I’ve thought. Or can he read my thoughts? Nah, he can’t read my thoughts because if he could he’d be crossing his legs to stop me looking to see if I can see it. But then maybe he’s not shy. Happy days!

  ‘Money doesn’t make you happy,’ I say.

  ‘Easy for you go say; you’ve never had any.’

  That’s what you think. I’ve got £380 tucked away in the bedroom you’ve just made yourself at home in. Or at least I think I do. They have a tendency to snoop around in our rooms and I haven’t checked it for a day or two.

  Wait a minute. Is he supposed to talk to me like that? I’ve just been merked by some guy who’s at least 10 years older than m
e. I’d like to know which training manual encouraged him to try insulting his problem child.

  But this is nice. Just the two of us. Out here in the sunshine. Still no need for the sunglasses though.

  ‘Take them off.’

  ‘Maybe later.’

  ‘You mean for The Self-Harmer?’

  He doesn’t get the nickname. ‘Georgina, the one who lives in the penthouse suite.’

  ‘So what little nickname do you give yourself?’

  ‘I don’t need one, Jack.’

  He smiles when I say his name and takes off those stupid sunglasses so that I can see his eyes light up.

  ‘That your real name?’

  ‘Even my mum calls me Jack.’

  ‘How long have they given you? To get the answers they need from me.’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Well they won’t pay you sit in my room and listen to the radio forever.’

  ‘They’re not paying me now.’

  Work experience.

  He’s on work experience. He’s an unemployed graduate trying to gain some work experience. This can’t be happening to me. I’ve broken the greatest minds the care system in England and Wales has to offer and the fucking work experience boy has got me pouring my heart out.

  ‘How do you afford them clothes then?’

  ‘I did have a job but I quit. Didn’t like it.’

  ‘And you wanted to come here?’

  ‘I didn’t even know this place existed until someone recommended it to me.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, you’ve been a success story everywhere else so they thought they’d see if it was beginners luck?’

  Don’t wink at me Jack. It looks wrong on the C.C.T.V. if I put a complaint in that you’ve over stepped the boundaries.

  ‘So what you gonna tell ‘em?’

  ‘What do you want me to tell them? Rosie.’