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"Don't you dare!" he whispered. His voice sounded strangely distorted, the bored drawl with which he usually spoke had disappeared. "No one is going to believe you. And even if they do, do you really think they've got a chance against me? I could control every single one of them just as easily as I can control you." His breath was hot against her ear. Laura cringed, tried to move away. She did not want him to be so close to her. "I really should give you less freedom," Martin continued. "It is quite obvious, that I have been too nice to you. You are taking advantage..."
His grip on her arm tightened, the pain made Laura groan. And then the feeling of his breath against her ear was replaced by something wet and slimy -- his tongue.
"You are sick!" Laura hissed angrily.
Martin replied with a laughter that sounded more like the giggle of a teenage girl. No, it sounded crazier than that, manic somehow, as it started echoing in her head, the last thing she heard before her mind went blank.
***
The next time Laura woke up, she was lying on her bed. A look towards the window told her that it was night. In the darkness, she could make out the shapes of the trees in her garden moving in the wind and heavy raindrops splashing against her window. She clearly remembered the snow that had covered the ground just yesterday, or in fact, in her memory, less than an hour ago, when she had walked through the crisp morning air towards the police station. Wasn't it much too cold for rain?
She got up, feeling sorry for a moment to leave the warm comfort of her bed, and the reassuring numbness of still being half asleep, and walked to the kitchen. She had to squint for a moment when she turned on the light. Once she got used to the brightness of the kitchen lamp, Laura got a glass from the cupboard and held it under the tab, filling it with water. She looked around in the kitchen. On the table, there was a newspaper; probably her father had left it there after reading it last night, as he did every evening.
Laura drank a sip of water, and then went to sit down at her usual spot, pulling the newspaper closer to herself. Her eyes flew over the front page and soon enough got caught at a headline. Who in the world would break into the museum of local history? There was nothing worth stealing there, just a bunch of old documents and photographs showing views of Leskow from different decades. She started reading.
"In the early hours of Sunday morning intruders broke into the Leskow Museum of Local History. According to the museum director, Mr. Peter Schmitz, PHD, they only stole 45 Euros from the museum's cash register. The intruders broke a window; the noise of the breaking glass attracted the attention of a neighbor who called the police. The intruders managed to flee, however, before the police reached the museum. The neighbor claims to have been watching the place the whole time after calling the police, and it took not more than five minutes for a police officer to arrive at the scene -- how the intruders managed to flee so quickly is yet to be determined."
A strange instinct told Laura that this article meant something important, that it had something to do with her. Maybe the intruders had, in fact, not been able to flee unseen? Maybe the truth was that they had calmly walked out of the museum right under the eyes of the police, and the policeman in question, her uncle or one of his colleagues, just had not done anything to stop them? And maybe he now just did not remember any of this anymore?
Laura decided to cut out this article from the newspaper, to put it to the notes that she had made to show to her uncle. It might be another item with which to prove her story. While she was carefully tearing the article from the paper, her eyes wandered up to the top of the page. There, at the right side, the day's date was printed along with some other information about the paper. Her breath stopped when she read what it said up there: It was the second of March.
*
Martin had stolen almost two months of her life! Almost two months that she could not remember, that were lost forever. Laura was sitting at the breakfast table, staring angrily at the toast she had made herself, but the thought of even trying to bite off a piece made her feel sick. She had spent the whole night searching the house for old newspapers, and getting her dictation machine ready for another session. It was hidden in her pocket now, but she was not sure if she should switch it on yet. She was not sure of anything. She was just angry. Much too angry to eat.
Two months! Why had he let her wake up again just now? Was there any reason or was it just his idea of fun, to torture her with the awareness of how much control he had over her? Or maybe, Laura wondered, he had not allowed her to wake up after all? She picked at her toast, taking a small piece between her fingers and crumbling it. It was dry. No, surely she could not eat this, or anything, she felt much too sick. The idea, however, that she might have escaped Martin by her own strength, seemed like a little glimmer of hope in this otherwise dark morning.
Her research had not yielded many results. Nothing important seemed to have happened in Leskow during the last two months, except for the event at the Museum of Local History and a few more strange robberies. Never more than a little bit of money was stolen. Laura thought about the robbery. Maybe that was the reason she had woken up? Maybe Martin had been distracted in some way, trying to keep his control over too many people at once: The police, the neighbors staring out their windows... But then, why had she only woken up last night, if the robbery at the museum had already taken place the night before?
Laura was torn from her thoughts when her mother entered the kitchen. She looked up and caught her mother glancing over at her. She looked worried. Somehow, it seemed to Laura, her mother's face seemed to be accustomed to taking up a worried expression at her sight. Probably it was noticeable that she hadn't been quite herself during these last months.
"Are you okay, Laura?" the mother asked, her voice tired. "You aren't eating anything. You know, the principal has called me again yesterday. She never has seen such a sudden deterioration in a student's performance. Why won't you tell me what is going on with you?" She sat down at the table and took Laura's hand; her face desperate as she looked at her daughter again. Laura believed to see tears in her mother's eyes. "Please say something. Please talk to me again. I miss talking to you."
Laura pulled her hand away. She felt a big lump in her throat that seemed to make it impossible to speak, and tears starting to well up in her own eyes. Quickly she looked away.
"I've got to go, mom," she whispered. For another second, she hesitated. Then she quickly got up, grabbed her backpack that was ready and standing next to the table and went to the hallway to get her jacket and hastily put on her shoes. Her mother didn't try to call her back.
Only when she was outside, breathing in fresh air, could she pause to think again. What should she do now? She couldn't tell her mother what was going on, could she? Laura felt almost as if it was her fault her mother was suffering. She wondered what exactly her parents were thinking. Maybe they feared their daughter was involved with drugs? Or whatever other explanation people would come up with when someone behaved like she must have during the last two months. The truth, of course, was much too unbelievable, unimaginable. Laura still wasn't sure she believed it herself, but the bright blue spring sky, the trees that started to show the first little bits of green on their formerly bare branches, the crocuses and snowdrops in the garden told her it was, indeed, true.
Laura didn't try to choke back her tears anymore. She had lost two months of her life; she had no idea what horrible and embarrassing things she might have done during that time, against her own will, losing all control of her mind and actions. But she was awake now, and it was a beautiful spring day. Maybe Martin would leave her alone from now on? Maybe he had grown bored with her? Laura barely dared to hope so. It did not seem like him, somehow.
Deep in thought, Laura walked along her normal way to school without realizing. When she looked up to find herself on the schoolyard, which was already bustling with students, it was too late to turn around. And why, after all, should she leave? The more time passed the more hopeful she grew that she could from now on continue with her normal life. As she walked toward the staircase that would lead her into the school building, a few of her classmates greeted her. To her surprise, most of them were people she did not remember ever hanging out with.
In the classroom she sat down at her usual spot. Martin was not there yet. Maybe he had gone? Left town, left her life? It seemed almost too good to be true. But then, suddenly, she had the strange sensation of someone staring at her, a burning gaze that made her look up. She had been right; Martin was standing at the door, his eyes on her. He looked tired, and as if he had been in a fight: His face was slightly swollen, and he sported a prominent black eye. His eyebrows were pulled down, his expression a mixture of anger, determination and, to Laura's surprise, fear.
He did not move from his spot at the door, even though more and more students gathered behind him, trying to shove him out of their way so they could enter the classroom. Martin did not seem to notice them; he focused all his concentration on Laura, not even blinking so he would not have to break his stare. Laura tried to stare back at him defiantly, when she suddenly grew aware of a strange tremble in the air. It felt, as if everything around her took on a different quality, as if the air itself grew thicker, started moving in waves that wanted to carry her brain away with them. Her thoughts became a blur, and for just a moment she still noticed herself grasping on to the edge of her desk, as if she could keep herself present by that physical action, before everything disappeared.
***
Laura felt wet lips pressing onto her own. A tongue was rotating clumsily inside her mouth, intrusive and slimy. She tasted saliva, its taste unfamiliar, felt it running down her throat. Laura wanted to pull away, to escape this kiss that felt more like an assault than like an act of affection, but a hand was holding her head firmly in place, another one on her back made it impossible to escape. Martin was holding on to her, he was too strong.
Finally he let go, and Laura looked around in shock. Her surprise let her forget to protest, to express her disgust with the insults she had already laid out in her mind: She was sitting on the meadow in front of her school, in the midst of a circle of students from her own grade and from 13th grade, almost all of them boys, most of them known to be bullies. Martin's friends. They were grinning at her and Martin approvingly.
Martin was grinning as well. Laura was sure that he meant to smile at her, but his face was just not suitable for that kind of expression -- the strain he had to put into it, took all tenderness out of the gesture and made it seem cynical and hollow. Martin reached out for her hand, took it between both his own hands and held on to it tightly. The pressure was enough to let Laura guess that this apparent sign of affection was meant, in fact, as a warning, telling her to remain quiet, to not betray her true emotions with a single wrong word. Laura guessed enough about Martin and her own situation to take this warning seriously.
"Oh Laura," Martin said with a pathos that must have sounded sarcastic to any of his friends, though they did not seem to mind. "You can't imagine how glad I am that you said that. Yes, I love you too, and everyone shall know it. Everyone should know that the two of us belong together."
Laura's eyes widened, betraying some of her fear. She felt Martin pressing her hand once again painfully, while his friends cheered and seemed to consider the whole situation normal, albeit highly entertaining.
She looked around. The meadow was full of students. Almost everyone seemed to spend their school breaks outdoors today. It was no surprise; after all, it was a beautiful day. The sky was dark blue, and most of the trees already were exhibiting many small green leafs. Laura estimated that it was at least the end of April, if not the beginning of May. The image of the date on the newspaper appeared in front of her inner eye. Once again several months had passed since the last day she could remember. It did not feel like any time had passed, more like she had just been sleeping for a bit, and woken up right here on the meadow.
Then her eyes fell onto someone else, someone that wasn't part of the group with which she was sitting on this meadow or any other group, someone who was not sitting on the meadow at all, but standing near the schoolyard's gate and looking into her direction with a gloomy expression. Daniel. For just a moment, their eyes met. He pulled his eyebrows together. Then he turned around and walked away.
Just then, Laura started feeling the same tremble in the air, she had felt that morning in march as she was sitting in the classroom, staring at Martin's bulky figure in the doorframe: The sensation of the very atmosphere becoming thicker, materializing around her and drowning her, pulling her thoughts into an abyss. She didn't want it. She didn't want to submit to the blackness that started engulfing her every thought. Laura concentrated all her strength on staying in the present, on staying conscious -- and for a few short seconds she was successful. She heard Martin's angry growl, then everything became a blur again.
***
Laura gagged. Her mouth was open, her jaw forced into an uncomfortable position. She felt drool running down the sides of her mouth as something was jammed deep down in her throat. Something warm and hard. Laura's mind tried to fight the realization of what she was doing here, but as Martin withdrew his cock, her eyes focused onto the pale skin of his stomach, onto the line of dark blond hair trailing down from his belly button to his curly pubes. Then he rammed his cock again deep into her throat, forcing her to bury her nose into his pubic hair. He did not smell like he had washed this day. Again, Laura felt the urge to gag. She tried to pull away, but she was kept from it by a strong grip in her hair. He held on to her head and now started to ram his cock into her mouth at a faster pace, barely giving her a chance to breathe.
Somewhere high above her, she could hear his groans. Finally, he slowed his pace again, took another break during which he almost withdrew from her mouth -- just for a moment, just for enough time so he could speak to her. "Funny, isn't it?" he said.
And again, before she could put her thoughts in order, before she could make sense of anything, there was that strange buzz in the air, the feeling of everything turning into thick gel that enveloped her consciousness. Before she could wonder how much time had passed, and how much time would pass before she would wake up again, Laura's thoughts were drowned in the familiar darkness.
***
Laura's father was standing in her room and shouting at her. His face was a dangerous shade of red, one of the veins on his forehead was clearly visible. This was not a good sign. For a moment, Laura was just disoriented, and then she tried to concentrate on what he was saying, to find out what he was angry about. If she could reply well, maybe she could get him to calm down. To have a chance to say something. Tell her story. And maybe, just maybe to find a chance to somehow make him understand what was going on. She needed help, but how could she ask for it?
"... could you ever even have a boyfriend like that? He is impossible! I thought I knew you! And you want to move in with that guy? I just can't understand ..."
He would not stop. He was asking her questions, but his voice, loud and strangely shrill, did not cease shouting for long enough that she could get out even one word. Laura felt tears sting in her eyes, but he would just account those to their fight. Maybe, if she did something strange? She looked around the room, for anything to help her. The room, her old room, the room she had grown up in -- it still looked like always. Clean and neat. If she started throwing books out of the shelves, just to get his attention? But then, it might just make him angrier. It was no use.
When the air started growing thick again, filling her head with mist and drowning her thoughts, Laura considered just resigning to her fate, but something inside her told her to keep struggling, and so she did. To her astonishment, she was successful for a few seconds, while in the background her father kept shouting, without that she could take in the words anymore. Then, however, it grew stronger than her. The last thing she saw was a stuffed animal, a pony that she kept as a childhood memory on the top of her bookshelf. Then everything grew dark again.
***
Darkness. Someone was snoring in the darkness. Laura was lying in a bed, the warm cover felt heavy on top of her. The window was open, but the breeze blowing into the room was warm as well. It had to be June at the very least, the warm air told her. Somewhere in the night she could hear a nightingale's song, intermingled with the distant roar of a car. Was that a real nightingale or a thrush nightingale? For a moment she was tempted to ponder the difference -- that was certainly easier than starting to think about where she might be.
Reality couldn't long be kept out though. Next to herself, Laura felt a heavy body, heard even breathing. She did not dare move; she did not want to wake Martin. She was lying with her back turned to him, and could feel his squashy stomach touching the small of her back. He seemed deep asleep.
Why was she awake? Why was she conscious? The last few times it had seemed to Laura, that Martin had allowed her to become conscious on purpose, as another means of torturing her. He wanted to show her the extent of the power he held over her. Those glimpses of reality lined up in her memory like things that happened just moments apart. Moments that made her shudder in disgust. Her desperate struggle against his control, when he wanted to subdue her again after just a few seconds, seemed to only have happened a few seconds ago as well.
Was this a late effect of her struggle? Had she just woken up from her own free will? Some residue of the resistance she had tried to put up against him back then -- maybe months ago, or weeks, or maybe just today -- there was nothing in her last two memories to indicate the time of year they had happened --? It had to be like that. Vaguely, Laura remembered other times she had woken up at night, when it did not seem like Martin's plan for her to do so. Maybe his power was not as strong when he was asleep.
Laura lay as still as she could, she did not want to wake him. She had to put her thoughts in order. Martin should not find out that she had been awake. Her resistance was growing, she realized, and she should not let him know that. Maybe, with time, she could learn to rid herself of his control altogether? But she had to think. There had to be some secret behind his power, and she had to find out what it was.
Without realizing it, Laura turned to look at Martin, as if in hope to recognize his secret by a long look at him. The mattress moved, she turned too suddenly, and before she could feel him stir Laura already knew that Martin was awake. Her first instinct was to jump up, move away, leave the room, but she lay still, hoping he might think she was still asleep, that she had just turned in her sleep. She felt him sitting up, felt him move his massive frame over her, and then she saw his face. Sleepy and incredulous.
