Vodka Doesn't Freeze Read Online Free PDF Page B

was going to die. As a way of blocking the pain, she took to scratching deep welts in her arms using her fingernails, and progressed to a Stanley knife on her thighs. She hated the burn scars left by the rapists, but revelled in the blood-red warrior marks she made herself.
     
After three days in the basement, Jill had learned how to turn the physical pain off, mentally leaving her body when the two men were in the room. Sensory deprivation had heightened this ability to disconnect from reality – in the dark she could not see her attackers and they never spoke. After the police had brought her home, she'd found this capacity to become numb would take over involuntarily, and would smudge its way over everything, leaving her feeling empty, like a puppet.
     
At fifteen, Jill had given in to her mother's tears and agreed to see a counsellor. To her surprise, this time something clicked, and she began clawing her way back into her life. She returned to school, swapped cutting for tattoos, and starving for exercise. She swapped crying for control and order, and set about harnessing her ability to numb any pain. She found that ignoring fatigue meant that studying all night was nothing for her. She quickly caught up with her peers in her schoolwork, and soon overtook them.
     
She then set about finding a method to defend herself, vowing that if anyone ever again tried to hurt her, she'd make them bleed too. She took up kickboxing, and found a gym that taught the sport using full-contact, gutter fighting. At first her instructors were bemused when Jill insisted on fighting others blindfolded. She was beaten constantly, and soon most at the gym refused to fight her blind and defenceless. She would inwardly curse as those who did get in the ring with her tapped her lightly, instead of connecting properly, or told her verbally where they would strike next.
     
One afternoon, blindfolded in the ring, Jill was sparring with one of the trainers. The woman was walking through her moves, easily dodging most of Jill's strikes and, every now and then, half-heartedly throwing a light kick. When the trainer began a conversation with an apparent bystander, Jill swallowed her frustration. She wanted a focused, determined enemy. She remembered the helplessness of being blindfolded in the basement, and she was determined to conquer her fear of the dark. The grunting and panting of her speechless abductors also taught her a lesson; by the time she'd been released, after three days, she was excruciatingly aware that sound and movement could predict future agony.
     
The male voice at the side of the ring was scornful. 'If she wants to get flogged, Kaylene, you should give it to her.'
     
'Yeah, righto, Price, there's nothing to see here. Just use the other ring will you,' Jill's sparring partner responded.
     
'She's the one with nothing to see. What a friggin' waste of time.' Jill heard the man moving closer to the ring. 'Use the force, kid,' he called derisively.
     
Jill didn't respond; she continued to try to make contact with her blows, trying to anticipate where Kaylene would move next.
     
'Give us a go, Kaylene. I'll partner her for a while.'
     
'Just forget it, Price,' Kaylene began.
     
Jill stopped. 'Yeah, all right,' she said, removed her blindfold, and faced the man outside the ring. 'Thanks, Kaylene. I want to get some practice with different people.'
     
'This is not a good idea,' responded the trainer. 'Jill, it's dangerous trying to fight like this.' In a quieter voice, just to Jill, she said, 'Not this guy. You're not training with him.'
     
Jill reached a hand down to the man standing by the ring. 'I'm Jillian. Two-minute rounds okay with you?'
     
Kaylene shrugged in disgust and got out of the ring. The man took her place. He was about 170 centimetres tall – a little taller than Jill – with thinning brown hair and a slight beer gut.
     
'Ron Price,' he ignored her hand. 'So what's with the blindfold? Kinky?' he