Free The Territory by Sarah Govett Page B

totally absurd. He kept pulling this one particular move – sort of hammering with his right hand and bending his knees in time with the music. He looked like a genuine denser. Then he kept on trying to dance with me and hook his arm round my waist, but it didn’t feel right and I remained glued to a sofa at the edge.
    ‘Why are you being off with me?’ he asked, but I didn’t feel like having THAT conversation so I pretended I was hungry and went to eat some crisps I really wasn’t in the mood for.
    My eyes kept returning to the front door, my heart getting a weird lame flutter every time someone new walked in. The flutter turned manic when Raf finally turned up just after 9pm. He was wearing this yellow shirt that would have looked malc on anyone else but somehow looked really cool on him. Jack must have seen my reaction as he said, ‘Oh, OK, I get it. I see,’ before stomping off. I was torn between approaching Raf and following Jack when the doorbell rang one more time.
    Daisy, euphoric from dancing and general flirting, sprang up to open the door, her dazzling hostess smile at the ready. The smile vanished and I knew something was wrong.
    Hugo and Quentin barged in. Here comes trouble, we all thought, but they were acting nice. Worryingly nice. They’d brought loads of bottles of vodka with them and without it seeming like they had any sort of agenda, the vodka was made into cocktails and before long everyone was pretty hammered.
    I’d only had two drinks but was already feeling a bit out of it. I remember edging round one side of the sofa to get back to where Raf was, when Hugo sneaked round the other side. Quentin blocked the way back and I was caught in an evil freakoid sandwich. Quentin started to stroke my arm in a pretty sleazy way and Hugo just watched and laughed as if he was properly enjoying it, but not in a fancying me way, more in a ‘I like to watch her suffer’ way.
    ‘Stop it,’ I hissed. I didn’t want Raf, or Jack for that matter, to clock what was going on, as I knew there’d just be a massive fight and things would get out of hand.
    Quentin stayed put. His hand kept moving, roughly now. He kept on trying to put it down the V of my top.
    ‘Get your pervy hand off me.’ I pushed him away.
    ‘Stop pretending you don’t like it,’ laughed Hugo. ‘Have another drink. Everyone knows Norms are easy. Why do you think we came to this malc party?’
    Quentin grabbed my wrists, pinning them behind my back with one of his massive hands.
    ‘Get off!’ I shouted, a lot louder this time. Everyone in the room stared at us.
    I must have gone a bit trancey. I was brought back into the room with a start at the THUMP as someone’s head hit the wall. I turned to see Raf trying to tackle Hugo. His face looked calm but his eyes were blue and green ice. Hugo had the weight advantage though so Raf kept on being thrown to the floor and the best he could manage was to jump onto Hugo’s back and end up having a kind of piggy back. The absurdity of it made me giggle in spite of myself. That is, until I saw Jack, his face distilled anger, wrenching Quentin’s arms behind his back as he repeated slammed his head against the wall. I don’t know if he’d broken Quentin’s nose, but blood was streaming out of it and there was a trail, like train tracks, down the pale green wallpaper.
    ‘Jack, stop!’ Daisy shouted, seeing it at the same time. ‘He’s not worth it.’
    We both rushed over to Jack and tried to pull him off Quentin. It was like ants trying to stop a truck. I tried again, grabbing Jack’s left arm and he instinctively punched back hard, throwing me off. My head seemed to crunch as I hit the edge of the coffee table. The metallic taste of blood in my mouth. Then blackness.

    People with ‘self-inflicted’ injuries don’t get to go to hospital. Can’t even see a doctor. Well, I guess you could see a private one, but even if you could afford that, there’d still be records. Carelessness