Held Between

By Naomi George


A space.

Amos is extremely drunk.


I loved you again

and again and again and

again and again and again.

But by the end you were like a ghost. Just a bloody silhouette.



Before. The living room.

Throughout the scene Elaine gets increasingly frantic in her movements.

Amos: You okay?

Elaine: ...

Amos: Seem a bit distracted...

Elaine: There’s a smell.

Amos: Seem a bit... I don’t know, like something is distracting you. A bit like the old times.

Elaine: ...

Amos: Seem a bit... maybe we should get you home...

Elaine: You don’t smell that?

Amos: No. No I don’t smell anything. I love you, you know.

Elaine: Hmm.

Amos: A man should never stop saying it to the one he loves....

Elaine: Do you smell it? (Investigates the smell)

Amos: Because people, couples fall apart don’t they? It’s all the time nowadays.

Elaine: Amos...

Amos: And I need you to know that I mean it. I need you to know that you are loved. I need you to know that I’m trying to build us up. Build us into something good.

Elaine: There’s a smell.

Amos: Elaine... Maybe we need to get the dosage reassessed.

Elaine: It’s getting stronger. Nearer...do you smell it Amos? Smell that?

Amos: What?

Elaine: The smell. Bridges burning. I can smell it.

Amos: What? That’s a saying sweetheart. It’s not real. It’s not a real thing.

Elaine: The bridges are gone. Burnt down. And they’re getting closer. It’s coming for me Amos.

Amos: What are you talking about? What’s coming?

Elaine: Them up there. I can feel them coming. The rains are coming. I can smell them. They’re coming.

Amos: No one is coming for you.

Elaine: And I’ve forgotten the words.

Amos: What words sweetheart? Come on now calm down.

Elaine: They’re coming. They’re coming to shut me up. And I’ve forgotten the right words to say. I’ve forgotten the words.

Amos: ...

Elaine: I’ve lost it. I’ve lost the words. I’m losing it.

The Suited Man and an orderly bring a hospital bed onto stage. No one notices.

Amos: Hey! Hey! Hey! Calm down now. No one is coming for you. I’ve got you. I’ll keep you/ safe.

Elaine: You can’t keep me safe. / They’ll be here soon to take me.

Amos: I’ve always got you. / I’ve always got you.

Elaine: I’m scared.

Amos: No one will take you. No one.

Elaine is lifted on to the bed. She doesn’t fight.

Elaine: I’ve forgotten the words.

The Suited Man: She seems to have forgotten the words.

Amos: Impossible. Increase her dosage, change the medication. It’s impossible

The Suited Man: Well obviously it’s not. She can’t do it.

Amos: Tell her to try again.

The Suited Man: Try again.

Elaine: I can’t.

Amos: Try.

The Suited Man: Try.

Elaine: I can’t.

The Suited Man: She can’t.

Amos: She’s gone.

Elaine: They’ve come.

Amos: Shit.

The Suited Man: Yeah.

Elaine is wheeled out by The Suited Man and orderly

Amos is left onstage. Deserted.



The living room.

Enter Mila. She walks in hurriedly and is obviously distressed.

Cain: Mila where have you been? I was worried sick.

Mila: Worried sick? Worried sick? You were so worried that you were sick?

Cain: You know what I mean.

Mila: I went out, like everyone said I should.

Cain: Are you okay? What happened?

Mila: Nothing. Nothing happened. Leave me alone.

Cain: Mila!

Mila: Nothing happened. I stood on the platform and waited. Three minutes.

Cain: And then?

Mila: And then what. I went out. I did what everyone wanted me to do.

Cain: Fine. Good. It’s fine for you to go out. It’s absolutely fine. Just let me know, let someone know you’ve gone out so we don’t worry, okay.

Mila: Okay.

During the speech that follows Mila gets more and more exasperated as she continues on.

You look up and see a man staring at you through the crowd. He’s smiling. Is your skirt too short? Pull it down a bit, an inch or so, as far as it will go. It’s below your knees now; it can’t be too short can it? He can’t be looking at you for that reason. You wonder if he can see something in you just like those little girls at the doctor’s surgery. Can he see the madness creeping up inside you? You avert your eyes. Walk fast past him. You want to be wrapped up taut in a duvet. You want to give up. You want to be normal. You want to be happy. That’s all you want. There’s one minute left until the train comes. Everyone is so close but you don’t look at anyone. Not in their eyes anyway. That would be too far, they might see it too. It’s ok though, everyone is doing the same, that pretending not to see each other thing I mean. You walk forward. The train is approaching. You consider something and then push it to the back of your head. Everyone edges towards the brink of the platform, creeping forward second by second. Women push in front of you. They try to look like they aren’t but they do, you know they do. It’s a competition to see who can get onto the train first. There’s a booming voice over a microphone. Really, really loud. ‘Mind The Closing Doors!’ Mind the fucking closing doors. But you can’t mind the doors, you’re packed in like cattle, everyone is pushing you out. So you’re scared. Your scared that you’ll get stuck, that half of you will be in and half of you, the not so fast half will be stuck outside of the train. You imagine yourself splitting in two, half of you crushed up against a tunnel wall, sliced by the metal and the speed. Little lamb spread all along the wall. Buts it’s ok. You’re just overreacting. You haven’t been out in a while. When the last time you heard of that happening? It doesn’t happen, does it? People don’t get caught in doors, there are sensors and cameras right? So you’re on safe and sound. There are people all around you, sharing your same, small reserve of air. Someone sneezes. You don’t know who but you hold your breath anyway because that’s how it spreads, isn’t it? And no one’s talking. Not a single person is talking and you wonder why that is but in some small way you like it. You like the silence. A short bulbous woman stands in front of you. In one hand she holds a book and it’s folded in such a way that you can’t see the title. In the other she holds a donut. You think how it’s not the most appropriate food for the train. It’s hardly a crisp, or an apple, it’s not a tidy a food like that. Especially considering it’s so busy. You wonder how she’ll hold on once the train starts to move. She bites into the donut and you can see the jam bleeding out. It makes you feel slightly ill for a reason you can’t place. She goes to take another bite. The train lurches forward. You think you’re going to be sick. The donut hits her cheek instead of her mouth and jam oozes and droops down her face like an abscess. She giggles. You feel sick. The men look at you. You look at the bleeding donut. The woman licks her fingers. She doesn’t seem to need to hold onto the rails. You wonder how she does that. She must have strong legs. You feel sick. You get off. You come home. You see your boyfriend and he shouts at you for going out even though he’s been telling you that you really should go out. He’s been telling you that you really should go out and live in the real world.



A space.

Amos is drunk again. He drinks straight out of the bottle. He has become so use to it, he can almost stand straight.


To love her here leaves me hollow.

Leaves me.

Renders me unnecessary to the cause. Leaves me floating

above it all like a spectre. Because you are

...you were... are so necessary

to me.


To keep it safe I would give it another one of those...’s’alright love’ and if you let me a hug, in case you didn’t notice.

As if you could.

But I was building us still...one brick at a time.



The living room

Mila sits there alone while Moira talks to her from the kitchen.

Moira: Who’s your favourite Beatle?

Mila: Why?

Moira: I just wondered.

Mila: I don’t know, Lennon. McCartney? One of them...

Moira: No choose one. Everyone has to choose one. Everyone has a favourite.

Mila: What if I don’t?

Moira: Well. Nothing. I mean nothing happens if you don’t have a favourite but...

Mila: But what?

Moira: Everyone else does.

Mila: I disagree.

Enter Moira.

Moira: Well it’s the truth.

Moira places a basket of rolls on the table and goes about eating the entire contents throughout the rest of the scene. She talks with her mouth full at times and so should see fit to repeat herself as you would in real life. She continuously gestures at the availability of the bread to Mila but Mila never takes any.

Mila: Not my truth.

They sit in silence a while.

Moira: I like Ringo Star. Thanks for asking. I’m not a fan of much in the way of music. I’m not very musical but I know I like The Beatles.

Mila: Oh.

Another awkward moment.

Moira: Why is that when you close your eyes, no matter how dark it is, and it could be completely dark, why is it that you can see these little shards of light, kind of in your eye? Inside, as if the light was made there.

Mila: I don’t know.

Moira: Try it.

Mila: No I’m okay.

Moira: No try it. It’s really nice. You can follow the little shards until they fall off. Like this (does so)

Mila: No. I’m fine. Really.

Moira: But it’s so... it’s as if the closing of the eye allows you to see the manifestation of your own aura. Try it.

Mila: No.

Moira: But it’s... (Giving up.) Fine.

An excessively long pause.

You know, you are getting prettier and prettier by the day. Turning into a real stunner just like your mother.

Mila: Don’t

Moira: I’m sorry.

Mila: (Annoyed) It’s okay. Don’t apologise.

Moira: I am sorry though. I want you to know that. A child shouldn’t have to go through the things you’ve had to go through.

Mila: I’m not a child.

Moira: I know, I know. You kids. You and Angelo growing so fast. Still, shouldn’t have to deal with that sort of thing.

Mila: I’m ok. Really.

Moira: I know dear but it was very selfish of your mother to do that. Selfish of her to just leave you.

Mila: She didn’t do it on purpose.


Moira: I know. It’s the chemical imbalance isn’t it? Been reading about it on the internet. Angelo showed me how. Not her fault I suppose. A bit like fighting an invisible army.


I’ve been thinking about that Cain boy. He’s a good one isn’t he? Really supportive.

Mila: I s’pose.

Moira: Yes. Yes. I get good vibes from him. (Becoming embarrassingly ‘hip’) Love vibes maybe. I hope, or at least I would like to think that you two are being careful/ in the bedroom.

Mila: Oh God.

Moira: It’s okay. You are old enough. We all have our needs.

Mila: Oh God. Oh God.

Moira: In fact I did a reading on him, assessed his aura, and seriously love I really do think the two of you are meant.

Mila: What meant to be?

Moira: Meant to fit.

Mila: I don’t understand. We’re not a jigsaw puzzle. It’s not that easy.

Moira: Made to fit no matter what.

Mila: You keep saying that. It means nothing.

Moira: I see the way he looks at you. He loves you. People don’t get that very often. He’s not begging or pleading or even asking. Just loving.


Mila: So what’s your point?

Moira: Nothing. I’m just saying you’re meant. You fit. It’s like the sea and the shore. You might seem further away from each other than ever before, I mean the tide goes out on a daily basis. It’s just what happens. But you’re still there. You still touch, even when the tide is out. Just like me and David. Our auras have never looked more different from one another but it’s okay. There is always a line you know, where sea and shore meet, no matter how far out the tide. That’s how I know we’ll be okay. Does that make sense?

Mila: Yeah. But I’m not the sea. And he’s not the sand or the shore or whatever. We’re people.

Moira: Honey I know we aren’t the same, you and me but I see things. I can tell.

Mila: What, because you read auras?

Moira: No. Because I can see. Honey, you’ve gotta get better at this whole fun thing. Cain is good for you. Loosen up. You were always so tight. Wrapped up. Let your hair down Rapunzel. Get out of this tower, have some fun. Have Cain take you out for a drink maybe. I don’t know, get drunk. Fuck, make love, whatever you guys are calling it these days... Just Be. Loosen up a bit.

Mila: You just said fuck.


Moira: I know dear.



A park, by a tree.

Cain takes out his keys, on it hangs a small penknife. With it he carves ‘Mila and Cain waz ere’.

Mila: A bit juvenile don’t you think? Mila and Cain waz ere?

Cain: No I think it’s romantic.

Mila: Hmm, it’s a bit Year Nine, behind the bike shed.

Cain: So you were a behind the bike shed type of girl in your youth, were you?

Mila: No. I never said that.

Cain: So what were you then?

Mila: I was... I was a nothing girl. Just normal.

Mila takes penknife from Cain.

Anyway it’s more romantic like this. (She carves ‘4eva’ on the tree)

Cain: Mila and Cain 4eva. Nice. How many other boys did you write that with behind the bike shed then?

Mila: None. A few. It was just a thing.

Cain: No it’s ok.

Mila: I wasn’t a whore.

Cain: I know you weren’t. It’s fine. (Signals keys.) Here give me them.

Mila takes Cain’s hand and he freely gives it. She slices into his palm. He grimaces only very slightly, never taking his eyes off Mila’s face.

Mila: 4eva yeah.

Cain: Yeah.

Mila: I’m not sorry.

Cain: You don’t have to be. Blood is good for the tree anyways.

Mila drops Cain’s hand as if they were dirty.

Mila: Where’d you hear that?

Cain: I know things.

Mila: I don’t doubt you do. Who carries a knife around anyways? It’s hardly the hood.

Cain: It’s just a penknife Mila. It’s hardly gonna scare a group of hoodlums away.

Mila: Hoodlums? God you’re old.

Cain is slightly upset by this.

Cain: I’m not that old.

Mila: No you’re not. (She takes his cut hand and slowly raises it to her face. She rubs the bloody hand over her cheek) I’m sorry for this.

Cain: It’s okay.

Mila: No it’s not. It’s not. You’re good. You’re a good one. You are a good person and I feel like...

Something is strangling me. (She wraps his hand around her own throat.) I feel like something is strangling me.

Cain: It’s ok. It’s ok to feel, I don’t know, heavy I guess after the death of a loved one. It’s normal. It’s grief.

Mila: You don’t understand. I’m trying to tell you something. I’m trying to think something through.

Cain: What? What is it?

Mila: I’m trying to think about you. And I’m not going to say it’s interesting or even that it’s something to be considered because it’s not. It’s just feelings. Thoughts.

Cain: Well feelings and thoughts are okay Mila.

Mila: Stop analysing me. Just because you’ve read a couple of books, doesn’t mean you can analyse me.

Cain: I’m not. Go on. Sorry. How you feel?

Mila: Yes. How I feel about, towards you.

Cain: I don’t understand.

Mila: I’m trying to work out if I still...

Cain: If you still what?

Mila: If I still love you. If I even ever did. I’m trying to see if me saying I loved you still would be a lie or not. Trying to work out if its truth or just propaganda for this thing I wanted. This thing I thought could make me normal.

Cain: I don’t get you. I don’t understand what you want.

Mila: Trying to work out whether you have become the comfortable noose from which I hang from...

Cain: Mila, you’re upset.

Mila: ... the noose that I grasp for, droop and dangle and have / fallen for too many times.

Cain: Fuck Mila.


The noose?

Mila: Yes.

Cain: I’m your noose?

Mila: I think so.

Cain: I’m what’s strangling you?

Mila: Yes. I believe so.

Cain: Fuck.

Mila: Yeah.

Cain: I could back off a bit. If you’d like. Maybe move back out.

Mila: Moira said we were like the sea and the shore, always connected.

Cain: oh.

Mila: yeah, except I’ve been thinking and I think we’re more like an explosion.

Cain: Oh.

Mila: We came from the same thing. We were something like ‘one’ maybe once. We were beginning to be built as one but then someone pressed a button and we exploded away from each other, into something else. You’re this piece of shrapnel by a window somewhere looking out on the world and I’m another piece stuck in someone’s gut, all twisted and shit. And then someone, the ambulance crew comes and takes the person I’m stuck in away for surgery, and so I’m in ambulance and I’m taken to the hospital with this person and they’re all screaming and dying so they take me out and fix the person up nice while you’re on the other side of town still looking outside the window till someone comes to clean you away. Does that make sense?

Cain: Not really.

Mila: Well that’s how it is. No sea and shore. No constant join. Just people who might have been the same once, then the lamb matured and it could never be the same again. Get it?

Cain: I... maybe. Not really. What lamb?

Mila: Do you love me?

Cain: Do you love me?

Mila: Don’t answer a question with a question. Answer.

Cain: You know I do.

Mila: I don’t believe you.

Cain: What do you want me to say?

Mila: I don’t know.

Cain: I love you.

Mila: You wouldn’t know how. Not like her. You wouldn’t know how.

Cain: I wouldn’t know how to feel what I already feel?

Mila: You wouldn’t know how to feel it like her. To have me like she had me- In her palm, held there, in between.

Cain: Not like who? Your mother?

Mila: Don’t study me. I’m not a case. I’m your girlfriend.

Cain: I know. I’m not studying you. I’m trying to help you.

Mila: You’re not even a psychologist. You didn’t even graduate.

Cain: I know. I’m not saying I am. I just want to help.

Mila: You can’t help. Don’t you get that? It’s in my blood. It’s inevitable. My downfall is inevitable.

Cain: Nothing is inevitable Mila.

Mila: Everything is inevitable.

Cain: Don’t be so melodramatic.

Mila: Fuck you.

Cain: Fuck you too.



Mila: fuck you



The dining room.

David sits at the dinner table. Moira serves the food. It is a veritable feast: slow roasted shoulder of lamb with all the trimmings.

Moira: (Bored) He’s always been a drinker.

David: I know. But you should see it. It’s not the same. There wasn’t so much behind it before. Not in the same way.

Moira: David. Can we get through one dinner, just one, when we don’t talk about all of that?

David: I’m concerned. That’s all.

Moira: I’m just a bit tired of it. It’s like a poison and it’s wheedling its way into our every second of life and I would like to eat the dinner that I have cooked for myself and for my husband in peace. I would like to think about us and only us. I don’t think that makes me a bad person.

David: No. Of course not... fine. (Signalling the food) This all looks quite special today. What’s the occasion?

Moira: It’s just nice to eat really well every so often isn’t it?

David: What would you like to talk about?

Moira: I dunno. Nothing really. We could just chat.

David: Ok. What should we chat about?

Moira: Umm...well... we could... I don’t know.

David: No, neither do I.

Moira: We don’t chat anymore do we?

David: That’s not fair. We talk. We always discuss things.

Moira: We discuss. We don’t talk. Not really.

David: What’s the difference?

Moira: Your aura is very different to mine nowadays. Do you feel that?

David: You know I don’t believe in all that rubbish.

Moira: You feel it though, don’t you?

David: No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Moira: No. I suppose you don’t.


The parsnips are glazed in honey. Thought we’d try something new.

David: Nice.

Moira: ...and the lamb is slow roasted. Four and a half hours. Barely touched since I put it in the oven. Just cooks in its own juices. A little oil is all, and rosemary. It’s the shoulder of the lamb. Fancy that, actually eating the shoulder. Doesn’t look much like a shoulder mind you. Just looks like meat doesn’t it? It could be anything. Do you love me? Do you still want to be married to me?

David: I am aren’t I?

Moira: But do you want it? Am I something you desire, or something that you stomach? Something you put up with for convenience.

David: Where’s this all coming from?

Moira: Answer the question.

David: What do you want me to say?

Moira: The truth. Just that.

David: You want the truth?

Moira: Yes. It’s all I want.

David: I am content in the life we have together.

Moira: But do you love me?

David: I... Why does it have to come back down to love? What does love actually do? I thought better of you than that. I thought you realised. I thought you knew that it’s not about love or any of that soppy stuff. It’s not about hearts and flowers. It’s about me putting the bins out on a Tuesday, and you ironing the pleats down my jeans just how I like. That’s what it’s about. That’s real. Not whatever you want me to pretend to say now. I married you. I’m with you. Here. Now. I’m staying. We’re safe and secure. We have a roof over our heads.

Moira: Do I bore you?

David: I don’t know.

Moira: The truth.

David: The excitement comes out of anything after a while. It’s natural.

Moira: You bore me.

David: That’s ok. Because I know that...

Moira: Remember when we were young. I used to be so in love with you. I used to sniff your shower gel so I could remember what you smelt like when you went out to work. And then slowly I fell out of it so I concocted this silly little thing in my head. I even told Mila. I used to think that we were like the sea and the shore. Always joined. Always connected. I said, no matter how far out we might seem from each other, we’d always come back in. always have that line where we could meet...

David: And we do. We always come back to each other.

Moira: But I realise now. I realise that it’s all just a load of shit.

David: What do you want me to say?

Moira: Nothing.

David: I don’t want to hurt you. It’s just realistic isn’t it? It’s what really matters.

Moira: How are you finding the meat? It’s got very little bite in it. It’s not too soft is it?

David: (eats) It’s good. It is.

Moira: Food is shit.

David: No it’s lovely. Really.

Moira: No. Food. Is. Shit. I understand it finally. We eat it and it becomes just shit. It’s just sustenance and then we shit it out. All of this. All of the honey glazing and the slow roasting, it’s just extra. None of it matters. Not really.

David: No. I suppose not.

Moira: ...but it makes it taste better. Makes it easier.

David: Where’s this all come from? Is this Angelo putting ideas into your head again? Making you think you deserve better than me. Making you think that I’m somehow not good enough for you. I’m not the worst person you could have married Moira. And he might well remember that no matter how much he dislikes me, no matter how much we clash, he is my child and I am his father and he will respect me as such. I don’t know where you think you are listening to your son over your husband.

Moira: Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe, just maybe I could come up with such a notion myself?

David: Why do you always stick up for him? That’s why he’s ended up the way he has. No bloody discipline and too much of this soppy, emotional love. Not enough practicality.

Moira: I think he turned out just fine. (She continues to eat)



The hospital/ psychiatric ward. Elaine is in a bed

The Suited Man: Can you hear me Elaine? Elaine do you recognise that name? Do you know where you are?

Elaine: ...

The Suited Man: Elaine Goodman. Do you recognise that name? What about the name Amos? What about Mila? Do you recognise those names Ms Goodman?

Elaine: She was a lovely baby.

The Suited Man: You recognise her name? You remember that?

Elaine: She was my little baby Mila. My little bundle of joy.



David and Moira’s living room.

Enter Angelo. He is wearing a particularly loud jacket.

David: What on earth are you wearing? Don’t think I’m allowing you out of the house like that.

Angelo: Err, newsflash dad. I’m eighteen. You haven’t dressed me since I was three years old.

David: Well I’m not allowing it.

Angelo: You don’t have a choice.

David: I don’t have a choice? I tell you what, you get to decide exactly what to wear, and when and how to cut slits and stick fucking rhinestones on said item when you no longer live in this house. Is that clear?

Angelo: I’m going out dad. Don’t know what time I’ll be back.

David: Well you can take a bag with you. You won’t be stepping foot back in this house.

Angelo: Oh and mum will be perfectly happy with that then will she?

David: She’ll be fine. You are eighteen as you so frequently point out.

Angelo: Fine. You know, I’ll never get you dad. I’ll never understand why you hate me so much.

David: I don’t hate you Angelo. It’s you who insists on pissing me off at every turn.

Angelo: I really don’t get it though. Sheep don’t make fucking goats. That’s what everyone keeps saying. So how the fuck did I end up so different from you?



In the bedroom.

Mila is crying. Cain is comforting her.

Mila: I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. Kiss me

Cain hesitates for the briefest of moments then pecks Mila’s forehead.

Mila: No. No, do it properly. Kiss me like you love me.

Cain: I do love you.

Mila: Prove it.

Cain kisses Mila properly

Mila: That’s better. That’s good.

Cain: You are so lovely.

Mila: Cain. I need you to know. I need you to know that I’m not nice. And you can’t fix me. Do you understand that? I know you want to. I know that’s what you want for us. Me as this thing you can fix and hold and be part of but it can’t be that. It won’t be that. Does that make sense?

Cain: I never said I wanted to fix you. I can make you happy. That’s all I want.

Mila: I’m not good. I’m not good like you.

Cain: You’re perfect.

Mila leads Cain’s hand under her top up to her breasts. Cain takes her top off.

Mila: I’m not good like you.

Cain: I can make you happy.

Cain takes his top off.

If you let me. I can. Me.

Cain goes to undo Mila’s skirt

Mila: I feel like my life is slipping away. I feel like something is strangling me.

Cain stops undressing Mila.

Cain: It’s okay.

Mila: No. No it’s not. I’m losing control. I lost control because was scared that I.... it’s going to make me my mother.

Cain: It’s okay. I’ve got you. I can protect you.

Mila: I was afraid of what I’m going to become. That’s why...

Cain: Mila you do not have to be that. You don’t have to live the same life.

Mila: I’m terrified of everything. I can’t even... that’s why I did it.

Cain: What did you do?

Mila cries. She cannot look at Cain.

Cain: Come here.

Cain holds his hand out for Mila to take. Mila sees the bandage he has on it from the cut she gave him.

Mila: Wait. Don’t touch me for a minute.

Cain: Are you okay?

Mila: I did that.

Cain: It doesn’t even hurt anymore.

Mila: My mother said I was a nice baby. Do you believe that?

Cain goes to touch Mila.

Mila: No really don’t.

Cain: Alright. Sorry.


What’s wrong? Mila, what is wrong with...

Mila: Me. What’s wrong with me? Ha. I am. I am.

Cain: You are what?

Mila: I just am. And you’re a fucking joke. You’re just like my fucking father.

Cain: I ask you what is wrong with you and you ...I understand you’re scared and your hurt about your mother, I really do. But you really don’t...

Mila: You have no idea.


Listen. Kiss me properly. Make me good. Please.

Cain: No.

Mila: Don’t you want me anymore baby? What if I take this off?

Mila lifts her skirt.

Cain: Stop it.

Mila: Am I not good enough anymore? Not lovely enough.

Cain: Don’t.

Mila: But I want to love you. I want to fuck you. I want to prove how much I can love you.

Cain: (Strained) Mila.

Mila: Don’t say it like that? Don’t say my name like that.

Cain: You don’t just get to mindfuck people like that and then fuck them straight after. It doesn’t work like that. It hurts. Inside.

Mila: (Becoming increasingly clingy and whiny) But I. Love. You. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I can love.

Cain: ...

Mila: I want to love you.

Cain: (Spitefully.) Don’t force yourself.

Mila: I am capable. My mother said I was a lovely baby.

Cain: Really don’t...

Mila: ...I’m sorry. I really am.

Cain: I don’t think I understand you how I used to.

Mila: Exactly.


Cain: None of it is your fault.

Mila: Stop it. Stop doing that comforting thing you do. I hate it. I fucking detest it. Leave me alone.

Cain: You really do mess me up. Do you know that?

Mila: I know. I’m sorry.

Cain: It’s ok.

Mila: No it’s not Cain. That’s the point

Cain: I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know what to do to prove just how much I love you.

Mila: Nothing. Do nothing.

Exit Cain.