Chalet Girls. Lorraine Wilson

careful I‘ll end up totally paranoid like Mum. Bipolar disorder often runs in families. I‘ve done the research. At three am I lie awake worrying there’s a rogue gene in my DNA, just waiting, like a ticking bomb, to ruin my life.

      My doctor said if I think I’m mad, then I’m probably not. I can‘t believe a modern GP still uses the word ‘mad’, but he did. He said mad people usually think they’re sane and ordered me to stop worrying. As if it were that easy. I’m not sure I‘m capable of doing that, but I do have to start taking chances again. If I see danger around every corner I‘ll never be free to live the life I want. For so long all I cared about was surviving. That‘s not good enough any more. If I live a curtailed life, then I‘m the one being constantly punished and that‘s wrong on so many levels.

      I‘m going to have sex tonight. It‘s a start and it‘s just sex. Only sex. A meeting of bodies, nothing more. I can keep my mind locked tight, metal shutters down and padlock on. I‘ll keep the two separate. I have to. I need to be touched really badly. I want to feel hands on my skin and be caressed and made love to. I need the connection, a tether to stop that floating-away feeling.

      The dark-haired guy comes back bearing two bottles. He‘s tall and good looking. A sporty type. There‘s a confidence in the way he holds himself that I like. Something in me wants to cling to that confidence. As though I can acquire it by osmosis.

      ‘Thanks so much. I‘m Beth.’ I say, trying to dispel images of a scruffy surfer sex god with laughing eyes.

      ‘I‘m Thomas.’ He chinks his bottle against mine. ‘Cheers.’

      I sip the fruity alcohol a little too quickly and warmth spreads through my chest.

      ‘Do you live in Verbier?’ I ask, searching in vain for interesting conversation to hold his attention.

      ‘I‘m based here but I have to travel a lot because I compete. Boardercross.’ He says, as though that‘s supposed to mean something to me.

      ‘Oh? I don‘t know much about the sport, I‘m afraid. I‘ve only just arrived here. I‘m a chalet girl.’

      ‘A chalet girl? Ah.’ A wolfish smile crosses his face.

      It should make me run, but it‘s actually kind of sexy. My body is letting me know, in no uncertain terms, it would be happy if Thomas gobbled me up. It’s good to feel desire again. For a long time I felt nothing, nothing at all.

      He places a hand on my back to guide me away from the bar. It seems conversation isn’t going to be required. Well, that’s … okay, I suppose. This is what I came here for, wasn’t it? I’ve got something to prove to myself. That I’m no one’s victim. I’m taking control.

      Adrenalin surges through me, but I’m split. I‘ve got the mind-body disconnect thing going on, making me separate from the sensations of attraction. As if this is happening to someone else.

      It‘s a feeling that triggers alarm bells.

      Maybe Eva is right and I‘m not ready to be out doing this. But I can‘t hide from the world forever and why should I have to? Plus, it‘s not like staying in on my own is such a great option. Being alone is when I feel most afraid.

      On my own is vulnerable, unprotected and unsafe.

      I get enough attention to reassure me I‘m reasonably attractive to men who are into willowy redheads, or want to be. I‘m willing to trade anything I‘ve got for someone who might make me feel safe. When Thomas‘s hand snakes down to my hip I lean in closer, craving the contact. Part of me wishes he was interested in small talk. This is giving me far too much time to think.

      I don‘t give a flying fuck if I‘m being anti-feminist. Alone is unsafe. I learnt that the hard way, growing up essentially alone. Mum was there physically, but she was never great at being the grown-up. Some days she was great. When she was spiraling up she‘d cook me a meal like a normal mum and maybe want to watch a DVD with me or go shopping. But even then there was a manic quality to her happiness that created a distance between us. I could never quite believe it. I never knew how long it would last. On other days she wouldn‘t get out of bed or eat, or even drink unless I made her. When she took her medication things improved but I still felt shut out. She‘d feel better and then she‘d stop taking her tablets because she didn‘t feel as if she needed them any more. Then she‘d get worse again.

      It was a seemingly endless repeating pattern.

      I thought everyone grew up feeling alone, that it was normal to be afraid all the time. Until I was paired up with Debbie for a geography project at school and she took me home to meet her family. Then I realised what Mum and I had wasn‘t anything approaching normal.

      We did a good enough job of pretending, though. I remember a social worker coming to see me once and I lied through my teeth. I had to protect Mum and our version of family. We were very lucky. The scarce visits had coincided with Mum‘s good days. Although being ‚lucky‘ meant I had to deal with everything alone. There was no dad on the scene to protect me, to help me, to be there for me. Well, he was around for a bit when I was a baby, but I don’t remember him.

      Thomas guides me upstairs and we step out onto the terrace, the cold night air assaulting us. I shiver. My fantasy of a man who’ll take care of me and defend me against the monsters under my bed seems really foolish. Am I doing the right thing?

      ‘Shall we go back to my place?’ He pulls me closer.

      ‘Sure, why not?’ I smile, my heart hammering. So Thomas probably isn’t going to be the guy who sticks around to help me slay monsters, but at least tonight I won’t be alone in bed and that might keep the nightmares away for a while.

      On the short walk back to Thomas’s flat he doesn’t bother to get to know me, but that’s fine by me. I will my body to respond to him when he gropes me in his apartment block’s lift, but I only feel numb as he runs his hands over my breasts, kneading them like they’re dough, tweaking my nipples so they hurt. And not in a good way.

      A shiver of fear runs down my spine. I ignore it. I‘ve got to get back to normal. I need this. I give him the benefit of the doubt and try to kiss him back with enthusiasm. I‘ve committed to this and I‘ll see it through. Like an experiment. As we enter his flat my fragile desire ebbs away and I‘m starting to think I‘ve chosen the wrong man to experiment with. The surroundings are cramped and bare. There are dirty dishes in the sink and the place needs a good vacuum. This is nothing like I imagined; it doesn‘t match Thomas‘s charming veneer. A veneer that‘s showing a good few cracks now he‘s confident of getting into my pants.

      A detachment creeps over me, a disconnected sensation that leaves me stone cold. Is it too late to change my mind?

      Before I can speak he pulls my dress up to my waist and is tugging my knickers down with one hand and undoing his flies with the other. Before I know it he‘s nudging between my legs without even bothering to warm me up.

      ‘Condom,’ I gasp and try to pull away, but his fingers are digging into my upper arms, gripping in a way I know will leave bruises.

      The forceful grip triggers a first flicker of real panic.

      ‘Oh, for fuck‘s sake.’ His handsome face clouds with irritation.

      It‘s the irritation that does it.

      ‘We need to use a condom,’ I repeat, resisting the urge to flinch, fuelled by anger that he‘s trying to make me feel unreasonable in asking for basic protection. I stare round at the grubby flat and realise he‘s making me feel grubby too. ‘Tell you what, let‘s not bother, if it‘s that much of a problem to you.’

      His cold, blue eyes glint maliciously and the grip on my arm tightens.

      Rage surges up in me so ferocious it practically chokes me. Never again.

      Never again.

      Even if I have to fight with tooth and nail and every trick in my arsenal, I‘m not going to let another man hurt me without fighting back. The rage gives me strength