Rabbit Hole

March the 10th was the day I arrived. It was a Friday. A pale, sunny day with a chill in the air. A washed-out landscape of pastel colours. Funny, the things you remember.

It hadn't been a sought-after destination when I started or even aspired to; it just evolved that way--shaped by events.

I took the drink from the waiter, thanked him with a big smile and then relaxed back on the sun lounger. I slurped on the straw; it was cold and tangy. I could feel it in my chest as it went down. I closed my eyes from the glare of the sun reflecting off the bright, blue sea and smiled contentedly.

Where was I? Oh, yes. March the 10th.

****

Jack Hare was the senior man in our small legal team. And by small, I mean me, Jack and his secretary slash financial officer, a thin woman in her forties, tidy brown hair, slightly too much makeup and a dress code that had a faint air of slut. Maggie was her name. Everyone called her Mags. Except Jack. To him, she was 'brainless cunt', a term he enjoyed using. It was kind of his thing. Claimed it built team ethos. Jack was full of shit.

Jack called me into his office that March afternoon. Mags was there. She was pouring champers into flute glasses. Three of them. He handed one to me and smiled.

"Well done! First for getting Matt off that sexual assault charge and second for leaving Matt free to enjoy himself. You should be proud!" His tone was partly mocking, looking for my reaction.

And that was the thing. What was my reaction? How did I, Belle Wariner, feel about my actions? How does any woman of 28 feel knowing she had put her legal talents to help a predator strike again? I mean, let's not be fooled by Jack's 'free to enjoy himself' jollity. We all knew what it meant.

The immediate reaction was all gut, a small knot tightening in my stomach. Disgust? A tiny part, maybe, I wasn't dead inside. Pride in my work, as Jack suggested? Yes. There was that. Mostly I guess it was indifference. My sense of morality had atrophied. How did I get here? Well, that is a tale. I raised my glass, knowing what was expected of me and what I expected of myself.

"Thank you," I replied.

Mags beamed. Jack laughed and patted me on the head. I knew he was thinking 'Brainless cunt' as he clinked my glass.

"Thank you." I said again, holding his gaze.

****

I graduated in law with a first. I was ambitious and bright. That was important to me. It was how I defined myself. Physically I was five feet of pure energy, with straight dark hair and brown eyes. I was ready to tackle the world, and I did. A top job in the City, handling in-house legal work for several major firms and knocking it out of the park. I loved it. Part of me did anyway.

The office politics, the sheer workload, the need to be at my best no matter what began taking a toll. I had little social life that didn't revolve around the office. I was strung out, tetchy and drinking too much. My mother tried to advise me, but I didn't listen. Why should I? What did she know of my situation?

It all hit the wall one Friday evening--yeah, Friday again. A rare date had fallen through, but I went out anyway. My life was grind, glare and glory. Fleeting glory usually and to cope, I anaesthetised myself. Drink, drugs and mindless sex. It was like I was lobotomising my emotional range. Emotions were a sign of weakness. I'm pretty sure it was in the Company handbook. So, I'm at a bar, any bar, it doesn't matter. I set the auto-destruct and sat at the counter with a fixed smile and a glaze over my eyes. I'm on my third wine, I feel like shit, and a guy hits on me. It's a toss-up between telling him to fuck off or letting him carry on. I let him carry on. Not sure I had the energy for anything else.

The guy was called Zack, or Zane or something like that. He was okay, amusing enough and even lifting my spirits a little. Maybe this was what I needed. So, we end up making out a little, I remember a taxi, then nothing.

A wooden floor is my next memory--a hazy, wobbly image. I was on a bed, and light was streaming in. A dull ache was next. My jaw, my arms, tops of my thighs. There was drool on the floor as I hung over the bed. I was naked. Alarm coursed through me. Then a slap on my bum.

"You need to get dressed and go." A male voice said.

I blinked and tried to focus on the voice. It wasn't Zack or Zane or whatever. It was a man I had never seen.

"You got railed, hun," he continued, pulling on boots.

I kept blinking.

"Bottled water by the bed."

I went for it, then stopped. The realisation I had been drugged and assaulted had finally registered. Drinking more potentially doctored water was a hard no.

He laughed, reading my hesitation. "Taxi will be here soon. Get your clothes on. Breath a word and the videos and pics will get released. Understood?"

On autopilot, I rose, winced and slowly got dressed. Next, I was bundled into a taxi and back home within thirty minutes. I was too numb to register anything. I slept for a bit, took some tablets for my headache and soaked in the bath. I could see the bruises on my breasts, arms, and even around my neck. That's when I cried, went back to bed and stayed there for the rest of the day.

Then I saw the video they had shot with my phone. It was me. Naked. Drooling on some guy's dick. There were at least three of them. I seemed to be responding to their encouragement. It even looked like I smiled.

I cried again.

Monday, I went to work. I wasn't better, but I wasn't worse. Besides, no one cried off sick. That was the culture. An unhealthy culture, yet the toxicity created by my work environment had evaporated. The nasty pettiness I inwardly smiled at and the work I breezed. My perspective had shifted. Priorities reordered. Funny what you can do when you stop caring.

And that not caring bothered me. To be honest, I was glad something bothered me. I had blanked the knowledge of 'the incident' -- we all rationalise, right? It wasn't like I was a stranger to mindless, emotionally stunted sex. I had been looking for it. Just to feel something, anything. And I got it. Just not how I intended, but no big deal, right? Wrong. It was a big deal. That was why I was on the net several days later, looking for something--anything that would help me.

That's when I stumbled on the support website. It said all the right things, offered counselling, advice--just what I needed, right? Except it was a front. A venue to prey on the vulnerable and seek pleasure from their misery. And to corrupt. That experience you had? Was it all that bad? It was subtle, though. It took me nearly two weeks to detect the hidden agenda. The woman I talked to was real. Not some guy pretending. She was happy to chat online face to face.

Despite this, the website served as an escape, distracting me from work, and I felt like a sleuth teasing out the real motives behind it. Also, it stopped me from replaying that video in my head. It had become an unhealthy obsession. Watching yourself, yet having no recollection is weird. It was me, but not me. It was a guilt-free experience, yet a disturbing and horrible one. The emotional conflict was twisting me up.

"You free to talk on cam?" I typed. My contact was Lauren.

There was a long pause, then. "Sure, but you have been questioning me hard."

I almost typed "I'm a lawyer" but didn't. "Just going through stuff since you know."

"Yes. The assault."

"Yeah." Lauren always zeroed in on calling it that. Wanting details, wanting to know what I remembered. It hadn't struck me at first, but now it seemed ghoulish. "Yeah. The assault. I need to talk about the assault." Instinctively I was baiting the hook. Lauren took it.

Her image appeared in the box on the right. It matched her profile pic. That surprised me at first. I guessed she was mid-thirties, with auburn hair, an open face and a wide smile. A face you could trust.

"Lovely to see you Elle. How can I help?" Elle was the name I had given.

I honestly had no idea what I was going to say, but it all tumbled out. Work. Stress. My toxic lifestyle. It all came out. I even cried.

Lauren looked at me intensely. "Have you thought about getting out? Another job?"

"No. I'm good at what I do."

"How has your assault impacted your work?"

"Badly." Not entirely true. I was still numbed to the environment, the culture, but it was wearing off. Or I was kidding myself. I wasn't sure anymore.

"Are you sure?"

No. "Yes, why?"

"Just that our conversations a few weeks ago were more relaxed, open, now they are tense, almost confrontational. I sense a change and not a good one."

"Maybe."

"Have you given any more thought to the police?"

"No, that would be a waste of time. Don't you think?"

"We try and not give advice on that, it's up to the individual. But it is harrowing and often unproductive."

"That sounds like advice to me," I smiled weakly.

"Just an opinion. Not advice. Have you deleted the video?'"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's evidence."

"Evidence? You don't intend going to the police."

"No, but--" I stopped, confused.

"It's evidence of what happened, you need that," suggested Lauren.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"It's an important event in your life. It changes people. It changed you."

"Yes, it changed me, effected me is more accurate."

"It does that, yes. It did for me." Lauren hesitated.

"What?"

"It's nothing."

Oh, you tease. "Tell me!"

"It changed me for the better, it reordered my priorities."

That struck a chord. "Oh," I said.

I broke the connection.

****

That exchange haunted me, playing on a loop in my head. It was Saturday. I was in the same bar. I had dressed up. Sexy short dress, stockings, a hint of cleavage--a hint was my best effort, I didn't have the biggest boobs. The bar was a pickup joint. A few hit on me; I flirted back and enjoyed male bodies pressing against me, but no Zack/Zane. I wasn't sure whether to be pleased or disappointed. What the hell was I looking for anyway? To be in control this time or not? Somehow, I needed this craziness. There were two sides to me, each warring with the other.

In the end, it was a Zack/Zane clone, a good-looking guy, charming and hitting me with the whole 'haven't I seen you in here before?' blah. I dismissed it initially, then suddenly wondered if he had seen me. Had he been one of the guys?

John was the name he gave.

"So, have you seen me before, John?" I fluttered, and I instantly saw the wariness.

"Honestly, I say that to all the ladies," he smiled easily.

"That is a shame. I was in here once a month or so back. Had good time, I think!" I laughed.

I swear his eyes bulged, then narrowed. "Really? That's fascinating."

"Why is that, John?"

Again the wariness. "Just is, I guess. Excuse me."

I watched him talking to a friend and then on his phone. I turned away, wondering if I had read too much into the exchange.

Turns out I hadn't.

Just gone ten, and I was thinking of calling it a night. I had enjoyed the flirting, the discreet groping, so perhaps that was enough. I knew I was looking for something, but no idea really what that something was.

"Still here, I see." It was John.

"Yes," I smiled.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure." I remained at the bar.

"Not here." He escorted me to a quiet corner.

"What's up?" My heart was hammering in my chest.

His gaze was hard. "A proposal. Maybe you would like to relive some past events. Either you agree and come with me, or decline and I walk away. No harm, no foul."

I looked down at the vial in his palm--a pale yellow liquid.

"What does it do?" I asked.

John grimaced with impatience. "I knew this was a mistake."

"I know what it does!" I said quickly.

"Good. What's your answer?"

I felt the world teetering around me. Breath quickening. "No, sorry!" Panic suddenly crowded in on me.

He surprised me by smiling. "No problem. It was a simple choice. See you around."

"No, wait." I grabbed him. "How many? I mean, of you?"

"That's not how it works, Alice. No potion, no wonderland and no info."

"I--I need to think."

"One time offer, babe. Kind of a shame."

"What is?"

He leaned in closer, his alcohol-laced breath on my face. "Why do you think?"

I collapsed against the wall. "You?"

"Yeah, me." His grin was broad with a hint of malice.

"You--you were one of them?"

"Maybe," he whispered, his hand on my rear. Then he was gone, back into the crowd.

I stumbled outside, needing the fresh air and hailed a taxi.

****

The rest of the week was a bit of a daze, the encounter playing on a loop, acting on me similar to the assault -- I had stopped referring to it as 'the incident'. I needed to own it.

I contacted Lauren on Wednesday. She was cautious but agreed to talk again.

"How are you, Elle?"

"Belle. My real name is Belle." I suddenly wanted to be out there. Nothing hidden.

"Belle. That's a nice name. I really am Lauren."

"I need to talk!"

"Have you remembered anything?"

"No, but I will send you the video. And I met one of the guys." I explained what had happened. Everything.

Lauren was silent for a long moment as she digested all this. "That was an incredibly stupid thing to do, Belle," she finally said. "What possessed you?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Something you said. About changing you. It has. But I am not sure what it has changed me too. Where it will take me. I had to find out."

"I see." She was quiet again. Then. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes. Okay. It is a journey, Belle and it can be a hard one. But what you get out of it will depend on you. Although doing what you did tells me you are ready to try this road. Send me your video, then I would like to arrange another chat."

"Okay, when?"

"Friday. In person, if we can."

Everything was ordained to happen on a Friday. I nodded agreement.

Lauren continued. "I hold a small group session from 7pm. I will send you the address and a phone number. The video?"

"Sending it. Why do you want it?"

"You offered, remember?"

"Yes, I know, but why do you want it? You could have declined."

Lauren held my eye. "You know why I want it, don't you, Belle."

I nodded. "Yes." I replied simply.

****

The address was a flat just off Marble Arch. It was housed in a thirties Art Deco building. All rounded curves and buff brick. Lauren buzzed me up. There was her and three other women. One was Mags. The other two were early thirties and nervous. One was noticeably pregnant. She had a plump, comfy look, the other more angular and rigid. Like me, they had dark hair. Mags was more welcoming, her glasses giving her a teacher look.

Introductions were made. Pregnant and plump was Barbera and her friend Julie. Mags was just Mags. I liked her straight away.

We took tea and cake--all very WI. Then Lauren addressed the group.

"You have all seen the video Belle sent me?"

My tea cup rattled loudly, my face burning. Babs giggled, and Mags reached out and squeezed my hand. "Nothing we didn't expect."

I nodded and sipped my tea. I hadn't stated it wasn't to be shared, and I instinctively knew why Lauren wanted it. My insides flooded with warm humiliation.

Lauren then asked me to retell my Saturday night. I gave it straight, no attempt to hide or excuse. Babs squealed in delighted horror, and Julie looked pleased. To my astonishment, she mouthed the words 'fucking whore' and smiled at me.

I just gaped at her, and Mags squeezed my hand again. I was expecting a similar admonishment to Lauren but instead got. "Perhaps you should have taken the offer, it was a leap of faith."

I looked at Mags dubiously, her sudden wide grin slightly unsettling me. I turned back to Lauren, who at least had counselled against it.

"Mags has a point. You could have gone down the rabbit hole," said Lauren.

"You said I was stupid!"

"Well, yes, you were. Also, you may have being recording our online conversation. But in reality our take is more nuanced. You went out looking for it, for something, didn't you?"

I put down my teacup, trying to comprehend this madness."Maybe," I admitted.

"It's about understanding our different and often conflicting needs. We are conditioned to be good partners, wives, mothers, but also to seek careers, and then there is our base side which pushes us to escape our conditioning and this conflict can tip us into rash decsions, with regrettable consequences. but we all need balance and denying one side isn't healthy, We need a pressure valve."

"It relaxes us, destresses us. Mags chipped in, Julie nodding vigorously. "Avoids thinking, it's all reaction. There is no expectation. No one wants anything of us other than to spread and fuck."

"And more to the point, is why you felt compelled to go back looking for it," said Lauren.

I nodded hard. "Yes, I need to understand that."

"Yes, you need to understand it, you need to accept and run with it, let it shape you. It is a part of who you are, to deny makes you miserable. You weren't responsible for your actions, you were driven by need and impulse."

I listened to Lauren's words. They resonated, but they didn't convince, and Lauren saw that.

"It's about accepting all aspects of what makes you, you. If you fight it, you fight your own nature and you end up poisoning yourself," she continued.

"And getting fucked while out senseless helps me," I responded sarcastically.

"Well, did it?" Mag's question was blunt and to the point.

"No! Oh, I don't know." I added quietly.

"So, why were you looking to do it again?" This from Lauren.

"I don't know," I repeated. "This is so confusing!" I felt Mags put her arm around me. I thanked her with a smile.

"Would you have accepted in a safer environment?" probed Lauren.

Again, that was a good question. Self-preservation had stopped me. "I guess I might. Take ownership as it were."

"Do you consider this a safe environment?"

I looked at Lauren. The world seemed to teeter around me--a surreal conversation in this most normal of surroundings. Understanding flowed between us.

Mags rose and fetched me a glass of wine. "How about a drink?" she said softly.

I nodded, but my eyes didn't leave Lauren's. The glass felt cool yet heavy in my hand. Loaded with meaning and intent. Down the rabbit hole, dear Alice. 'Drink me' printed on the side. I lifted the glass to my mouth, the sharp bite of the wine filling my mouth. For a brief instant, I didn't, couldn't, swallow. Then I did.

It was the last thing I remembered.

****

The ceiling shimmered as my eyes slowly opened. I shivered, cool air on my naked body, the hum of traffic from the open window. A small groan from the other bed by the wall caused me to turn my head. My limbs were leaden, my mouth dry, and I felt queasy.

Barbara was naked on the other bed, swollen belly and breasts with dark nipples, one leg trailing on the floor. The marks on her breasts came into focus. Red welts and teeth marks. She started snoring.

As my body connected with my mind, I became aware of aches and pains. Bite marks on my breasts, and my pussy was sore. I still couldn't move; no, didn't want to move for fear of making things worse. My mind floated for a while until I noticed Lauren.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

"How you feeling?"

"Sick."

"That will be the cum."

My stomach flipped.

"Try and keep it down. You will get used to it."

"Used?" I croaked.

"Yes. Used to it." Lauren bent over me and smiled, her long auburn hair was down, and it brushed my breasts. "You stink of sex, this room stinks of sex. Cup of tea?" she added brightly.

I nodded. "Is Barbera okay?" I asked as she got to the door.

"Barbera? Oh, yes. She drew the short straw to keep you company. Mags was furious."

I blinked rapidly and rested my fuzzy head on the pillow. Nothing made sense, I was exhausted, felt as if I had just run a marathon, and my stomach still felt uneasy. I tried not to dwell on the reasons why.