Over the Edge by Stuart Pawson

arms that were folded over her face. He came out of the bathroom carrying a towel.
    ‘Here,’ he said, throwing it down at her. She wiped her face on it and tried to stem her sobbing. ‘Now stand up.’
    She looked up at him, not understanding. He picked up the prod, switched it on and jabbed it against her ankle. ‘No! No!’ she screamed as the electricity convulsed her body. ‘Please stop! Please stop!’
    He did stop, and ordered her to stand up again, this time with a gesture. She reached up for ahandful of bedclothes and pulled herself on to he knees, never taking her eyes of the prod. He held it across his chest, like she had seen the soldiers of both sides posing with their guns.
    ‘Faster!’ he demanded, but she couldn’t move any faster. Every joint in her body felt pulled apart, and a searing pain pulsed behind her eyes. She leant on the bed and pushed upwards with her legs, but the effort was almost too much for her. As she rose to her feet she lost her balance and started to sway. He caught the front of her blouse in his fist and swung her back on to the bed.
    ‘Roll over,’ he said, pushing her towards the middle. She lay on her back, looking at him.
    ‘This is my friend,’ he told her, holding the prod aloft and switching it off. ‘I’m leaving him there, where I can reach him.’ He leant the device against the wall.
    Ludmilla lay on the soft bed where she had earlier spent one of the happiest nights of her life and watched him. He peeled his gloves off and then his jacket. She could hear his breathing, heavy and hoarse, as he clambered on to the bed and leant over her. He unfastened her jeans, pulled the zip down and began to work them over her hips.
    It was almost dark when he left her, locking the door behind him and taking the key. Ludmilla lay on the bed sobbing, wondering what would happen next. Her body ached and she was sorewhere he’d done things to her. Tomorrow, she told herself, she would be taken to the doctor’s house and would meet his children. She had been unlucky. Her driver was a monster. They existed in every country and it had been her misfortune to meet one in England straight away. She ought to tell the police, when she was free to do so, but then she would be sent home. What would she say to her parents and brothers? Perhaps the doctor would help her. She decided to sleep on it, wait until tomorrow.
    He came back in the afternoon, with a bag of food for her and some clothing. There were two dresses and underwear like she’d seen in magazines. He ran the bath and gestured for her to take one. When she was in it he came in and watched her. She dried herself and he told her to put some of the underwear on, after unwrapping the cattle prod and drawing the tip of it across her breasts, with the switch in the off position. Ludmilla trembled with fear and did as she was told. He raped her again and left. As soon as his uneven footsteps faded she took another bath and put her own clothes back on.
    That night two of them came. She was dozing when she heard the key in the door, and cowering with fear as they came into the room. For a brief second she’d thought they might be the police, to rescue her, but when she saw them her hopes crumbled. They had shaven heads and tattoos ontheir shoulders, and were carrying cartons of beer.
    ‘Who…who you are?’ Ludmilla asked, under the feeble pretext that this was her room and they were intruders.
    ‘Who we are?’ the bigger of the two mimicked. ‘Who do you fink we are?’ He tore a can of Carlsberg from the carton and tossed the other eleven on to the bed. ‘Let’s just say we’re friends, luv, and we’ve come for the party.’
    They came back the following night, with three of their male friends and a video camera. When it was over Ludmilla cried herself to sleep, wishing she were dead. She wished they’d been captured and shot when they hid in the woods from Milosovic’s soldiers. She wished she’d fallen into a ravine