October 2007
We lay in Cassie’s room, blowing cigarette smoke out of her cracked window. The walls are painted green and pink, like the tube of Great Lash she always carries in her bag and uses to touch up her translucent eyelashes. We had become closer recently after she laughed at my joke one day in English class. She said she thought I was a goody-two-shoes, but she loved my diss on Shakespeare’s dick language.
“You got a bad girl inside you, just like me!” she said confidently, her round face splattered with freckles and flushed cheeks, perfectly straight strawberry blonde hair a silky curtain flouncing in the wind. “We should hang out sometime.”
When she approached me after class that day, I remembered a picture of her from our eighth-grade yearbook, before Cassie knew I existed. She had been elected for the superlative of “Biggest Party Animal,” her picture like a movie poster with the words in bold, bright font above her cocked head. She was wrapped in a pink feather boa and had her arms around two boys, a mysterious look in her eye, her skin-tight, bedazzled low-v neck showed just enough cleavage for an almost-high-schooler to look undeniably desirable.
Cassie lived up to her reputation.
I had only just started experimenting with substances, but Cassie was an old pro.
“I like you,” she says between drags. “We gotta chill like this more.”
“Yeah, we should,” I smile back at her. “I like you too,” exhaling smoke from my nostrils and tossing the butt out the window.
She walks over to her iHome and docks her nano, cranking the volume. She lights another Marlboro Red. She inhales deeply and twirls to the music.
“Mmm… Did I tell you? Jaime’s parents are out of town next weekend…” her hazel eyes gleaming with mischief. “He’s gonna throw a raging kegger on Saturday…With more than just high school boys.” She offers the cigarette.
I take it, looking at her unsurely. “Oh? Really?”
Cassie really liked boys. Especially older boys.
“Yes! So we have to go. You tell your mom that you’re sleeping at my house, and I’ll tell mine we’re staying at Summer’s. Jaime said we can stay there at his place.” She winks as smoke curls in her eyelashes,
Cassie had brought Jaime around a few times since we started hanging out. He was at the local community college now, but was genuinely nicer than any high school boy I’d ever met.
I take the cigarette back, “I have a cheer practice that day, and I’m not sure my mom will buy it, but I’ll try.”
I inhale again, watching the paper crackle underneath the cherry, getting closer to the filter, warming my fingertips. Lying to Mother gave me a bad feeling—we had an unspoken honesty code, mostly because I had never felt the reason to lie.
Until I started doing things that I had to hide.
“Hey!” Cassie snatches the cigarette butt. “Stop smoking the whole damn thing so quick!”
***
I remember being nervous in the days leading up to the party. Mother didn’t really know Cassie, or the shit we got into. Let’s just say, it wasn’t a fall from innocence; it was a plunge. Mother trusted me enough to be truthful about where I was and whom I was hanging out with. So, when I told her I was staying the night at Cassie’s, she trusted that I was and that Cassie would pick me up from practice and drop me at home tomorrow morning.
The problem was that I had secretly fashioned myself a skilled liar. I learned to puppeteer others’ assumptions about me with harmless fibs, eventually devolving into intentional deception and manipulation. It didn’t take long for me to use these skills on Mother. And she had just enough willed ignorance to let me get away with it. She probably didn’t expect I was being a saint, but I knew she would never let her daughter go to a college party, justifiably.
And now, I wished I hadn’t lied so well, or that I hadn’t felt the insatiable urge to be self-destructive and reckless. But wishing doesn’t change the past. No amount of anxiety or regret will change what happened.
And I remember thinking something bad was going to happen because I was lying.
My intuition never lies.
I stare at my fluctuating frame in the mirror of the cheer bathroom. Logically, I know it is not a fun-house distortion, but I swear I can see the weight rippling across my bones, bloating more and more every time I look away and then caught my reflection again.
I turn around, unzipping my duffle bag and chaotically spread out my belongings. I plug in a hair straightener and lay out the special outfit I picked out: a pair of size two Hollister skinny jeans (that I was so proud to finally fit into) with tan rainbows split in two Vs on the butt pockets. And the shirt—more like a negligée—was made of green silk, thin spaghetti straps, and décolleté lined with floral white lace. My favorite TV character, Marissa Cooper, had worn something very similar.
I remove all of my clothes and refuse to look at my naked body in the mirror. I had recently bought a few new pairs of underwear, 5-for-$25 from Victoria’s Secret—the choice was between black-and-white striped boy shorts, with PINK imprinted in highlighter yellow font on the back, or a skimpy black lace thong that Cassie picked out because thought it’d be funny for us to match. It was my first thong and I’m too embarrassed to wear it. Plus, no one will see them anyway.
I slide on the striped boy short underwear, then the tiny Hollister jeans that just barely buttoned, and finally the main character blouse. Turning to face the mirror again, I lean on the sink. I open my make-up bag and touch up the sweat stains and imperfections. I get lost in a moment of dissociation, head swirling with thoughts of everything and nothing all at once.
Bzzzzp. Bzzzzp. Bzzzp.
Cassie’s call vibrating my phone on the counter snaps me back.
“Hey! I’m almost ready. Where are you?”
“Turning in now. Hurry up, I got a fifth of Goose waiting for you!”
I snap the phone shut as she laughs, my heart pounding in my throat.
I don’t look at myself in the mirror again, just gather my things and walk out.
***
The party had already started when we arrive at Jaime’s. It was just like what I’d imagined from my teen drama shows—too many people packed into too little of space, stumbling over each other, spilling alcohol and ashes, laughter reverberating in an echo chamber where radio rap and hip-hop is the soundtrack.
Jaime welcomes us with Solo cups of beer and a hit off the blunt glued between his lips.
“Ladies! So glad you could make it!” He hugs Cassie and kisses her on the cheek, then does the same to me.
“Jaims, THIS is a rager!” Cassie’s face illuminates. “Wait, didn’t your parents say they were putting up surveillance? Was that for real?”
He smiles shyly and tucks his bright red hair behind his ears. Holding out a hand to each of us, he leads us across the house, past the pong table, to the sliding doors that open to the patio outside. Through the glass, people litter the backyard with trash, smoke, and vomit. Jaime directs our attention to the corner of the house, pointing to a newly installed camera with a blinking red light, the backyard and living room in full view.
Cassie throws back her head and cackles. “Man, I didn’t think they were serious! You’re gonna be in so much trouble.”
“Eh, what will they do? Ground me? I’m in college now, not high school anymore.” He takes a grimacing swig of his drink. “If I wanna throw a house party when the ‘rents are away, then I’m gonna fucking do it!” His laugh matches the music melody.
Cassie and I wander around the house, observing. After our first cups were empty, we find a keg in the tub, covered in ice. At least six people are crammed into the bathroom, several of them holding another on top of the keg in a handstand.
“Who’s next?!” one of the college boys yells.
“Me, obviously! Move bitches!” Cassie walks up to the keg with confidence, gathering her straight hair in a ponytail high above her head, that mischief gleaming in her eyes.
She puts her hands on either side of the keg, while two boys lift her legs until she is upside down, her face redder and redder from the rushing blood. Everyone cheers her on, waiting to see how long she’ll last before she falls, or beer squirts out of her nose. She chugs about respectable amount before gracefully landing back on her feet, arms up, shouting in celebration.
“Okay hoe, you’re next!” She pulls me forward, wiping beer foam off her top lip, her words slightly slurred.
The boys move to lift me up, but I don’t need their help.
“Stand aside please,” I say, pushing them away. I tuck my blouse into the front of my jeans and grab both sides of the keg and kick one leg up, shifting my weight to my arms, and hoist myself above the keg in a perfect handstand, toes just touching the shower tiles. I smile at the upside-down faces and open my mouth for the keg hose.
A man appears in front of me, taking the hose, and putting the nozzle to my lips, pulling the trigger, the alcohol rushing in.
This was the first time I saw him. The Everyman.
Cheers erupt from the strangers surrounding me. But while trying to impress everyone, I forgot I wasn’t wearing a bra under the drapey negligee. The silk shirt slides from beneath my waistband and suddenly my underdeveloped breasts are on full display for all to see.
The Everyman is at least twice my size. His hair is short, between a crew and buzz cut, hidden beneath a black baseball cap stitched with the Florida state flag. He isn’t dressed fancy—a worn-out Guy Harvey shirt with cargo shorts and flip-flops. He appears innocent, unassuming. After he fills my mouth, he helps me down from the keg stand, noticeably staring at my bare chest before the silk slips back down over it.
Cassie eyes me mischievously from the bathroom entrance. I walk past, her eyes narrowed, matching her energy. She whispers: “Oh I see, there’s the bad girl now…”
Cassie, The Everyman and I leave the bathroom and walk toward the beer pong table. He definitely looks older, but I already knew most of the people Jaime had invited were from college. Clearly, Cassie and I were more mature than most high schoolers, that’s why we were invited to college parties.
From my peripheral, I see Jaime watching us as he crosses to the other side of the table, taking place next to Cassie. I stand next to The Everyman, and the game begins.
Jamie throws the first ping pong ball, rimming the cup until it plunks in the beer. The Everyman picks up the cup and tilts it towards my mouth to sip.
After a few losing rounds, I am definitely tipsy. I saunter over to Cassie, her shape glowing with a hazy, golden aura.
We embrace drunkenly and I nuzzle in her ear, breathing in the strawberry shampoo smell of her strawberry colored hair, “I think I want him tonight…” I giggle, lifting another cup to my lips.
She smiles back dangerously, “Well, it looks like you can get it, girl! Your first real hook-up, right?” Cassie pulls a pack of cigarettes out of her back pocket and hands me one.
“I mean, kind of…” I lift the cup to my lips again and finish what’s remaining. “I’ve made out with a few randoms and ‘dated’ Jason last year for maybe a week,” I pause, looking at the empty cup, “But we didn’t, like, do anything.” I gave her a look that said: you know, sex stuff.
“Yeah, I figured,” she says, balancing an unlit cigarette in between her glossy lips, “I always pegged him for a fuckin’ homo anyway.”
Cassie turns to Jaime. “Let’s go out have a smoke.” She winks and shoos me away.
***
The Everyman takes my hand and leads me into Jaime’s bedroom. We lay on the navy blue plaid fleece blanket while he flips innocuously to find something to play on the TV in the background. The air buzzes like the static snow on the in-between cable stations.
He leans in and puts his tongue in my mouth.
His midnight shadowed face reddens and burns my cheeks as he kisses me too roughly.
“You’re so pretty,” he says between kisses, “and young. You have a baby face, but you look like you could be in college too.”
I giggle, nervous but excited. Jaime’s room starts to spin, the walls rolling waves.
The Everyman’s hands cover me, running up over my back to my silk-covered non-breasts and then to my sharp hip bones. He pushes himself up on his elbows, rolling me underneath him, and observing me from above. “You are such a pretty girl.”
His hands run down my front again, now unbuttoning my jeans. I freeze up, suddenly tense and afraid. Cassie’s voice echoes in my mind: There’s the bad girl.
The Everyman pulls down my Hollister jeans in one swift motion. His breathing becomes heavier as more and more of me is exposed.
“No thongs yet, huh, sweetie?”
I can’t move. I can’t say anything. I lay still, frozen.
My bare legs curl up in embarrassment and I feel sick. I hadn’t prepared for anyone to see the childish underwear I’d chosen. I hadn’t expected any of this. I had only kissed a few boys, and barely let Jason put his hand down my pants before I recoiled from his touch.
I told Cassie I wanted The Everyman but not this much this quick.
The room spinning faster. The static air suffocating.
I hear The Everyman’s voice from between my legs: “Has anyone ever -i-ck– your -u-ss- before?”
He pulls down the striped PINK underwear and tosses them to the side. I am almost fully exposed, naked except for the chartreuse silk covering half of my chest. I tried to open my mouth, but my jaw locks. I shake, shiver, convulse. Frozen.
When I was younger, my mom and grandma would take me to the beach at least once a week. I would lay where the ocean met the shore and let the white-capped waves wash over me, over and over me. I’d stare up at the sun through closed eyes, a gradient of red and orange, letting the water fill my ears, and the constant push and pull anchor my body deeper and deeper into the earth. The world further and quieter. I could sink into the sand and disappear.
I can’t move. I can’t say anything. I lay still. So I take my mind there, imagining myself being pulled under with the waves, the sand rising higher.
He kisses me between my trembling thighs, “I knew she would be p–k and -i-gh-t, fresh just like you…” He speaks as if my body and I are separate entities.
I can’t move. I can’t say anything. I lay still. My body no longer exists. I feel nothing but the motions of my imaginary waves. The sand swallowing me whole.
The Everyman’s breath is hot and heavy. He forces my legs apart, raking his index and middle fingers up my inner thigh until they meet between the most intimate parts of me, under his tongue as he continues to kiss me where I don’t want it.
“Do you like that, pretty girl?” He grunts like a feral boar.
I fixate on the ceiling fan in the unfamiliar room, watching my consciousness escape above me higher and higher, drifting away with the strokes of the fan blades and swirls of popcorn ceiling. I lose myself in the mirage of ocean waves. I stop feeling anything—Jaime’s itchy plaid blanket under my back, the booze euphoria, The Everyman between my legs—it all finally fades to black.
How much time has passed?
The Everyman is interrupted.
I turned my heavy head towards the door, now open.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry… I—”
The Everyman locks eyes with Jamie and winks.
Jaime stares at me, a look of disappointment and disgust. “Don’t mind me,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean to cock block.” The door slams shut.
“J—”
I try to call out to him. I try to ask for help. No words escape. I was drowning.
I can’t move. I can’t say anything. I lay still, frozen.
There are a few things you should know before this story continues:
- I blamed myself for a very long time. “I was drunk,” “I was dressed more provocatively than usual,” “I was leading him on,” “I wasn’t forceful enough.” I convinced myself the fault was in my actions.
- I did, eventually, say “No.” I did, eventually, say “Stop.”
- At the time of this event, The Everyman is a legal adult. I had just turned fifteen.
The Everyman and I leave Jaime’s room, but I don’t remember why. I pull on my underwear and jeans quickly. The party has died down, and most people are already gone. A few overserved stragglers sprawl out, waiting to sober up before they drive home. I look for Jaime but didn’t see him anywhere. The Everyman leaves, presumably to go find him.
I find the master bedroom, where Jaime told me Cassie and I can sleep. Next to the door, Cassie is slumped over on the couch, a zebra print cowboy hat tipped over her red face, Solo cup still in hand. She doesn’t see me walk by. She didn’t see me go into the room. She doesn’t see The Everyman follow behind me. She doesn’t hear him shut and lock the door.
I get into the bed and turn away, curling towards the wall in a fetal position, hoping I can just go to sleep.
The tone of The Everyman’s voice darkens. “C’mon, pretty girl, you’re not gonna play with me like that, are you?” He moves quickly, and his hot breath exhales in my hair as he enters the bed.
He rolls me over in one motion, pinned on my back again. A streetlight beams in through the window, and I can see the outlines of his muscles as he holds me down.
“Now, it’s my turn to have some fun.”
He rips off the jeans and striped PINK underwear again, flinging them to the other side of the room, and rips off my blouse too, leaving me exposed and vulnerable to his will. He opens my legs again, spits on his hand, and shoves his fingers inside of me, again, more forcefully this time
I wince, sucking air between my teeth. I feel a strange wetness,
I can’t dream away an escape from this part of the story.
“Ohhh,” demonic energy hisses through his airy syllables, “You’re a real virgin.” He lifts up his hand, bloodied. “Time to change that.”
I groan in pain, drunkenly, catatonically struggling against his hands, pinning down my shoulders as I try to turn over and get out of bed. He grips my throat, pushing me against the headboard. One hand on my neck and the other above, legs holding mine apart, he penetrates.
He forces himself in and out in and in and out in and out. “Isn’t this what you wanted, pretty girl?”
“No…please. Please stop.” I don’t want to cry.
The pain slices through my pelvic floor, eviscerating my insides and staining them all over the sheets. He moves faster, his grip tightening on my neck. I try to force my fading consciousness to speed up, holding my breath to blackout quicker.
I try to call for Cassie. I try to call for Jaime. I tried to call for Mother and Mimi my dead Father. No sound came out. Or, it did, and no one heard me. I try to take myself back to the shore, with the waves and the sand. I remain conscious.
It felt like he tortured me for hours.
He finally removes himself, crawling up so that his legs are spread over my head, one hand still holding my neck down.
“Put it in your mouth and finish me off.”
I’d never seen one of those up close before. It was obscured by the drunken darkness, but I was disgusted. It was hideous, protruding and covered in white and red flesh.
I finally start to cry, whimpering weakly, “Please, no. Please, stop. Please, please, please.” My silence turns into sobbing.
He lunges off the bed, huffing in frustration.
“You fucking bitch…Who do you think you are? Giving me blue balls all night and then not following through?”
He walks into the master bathroom and turns on the light. I roll over so I can’t see his outline, but I can hear him. He finishes himself off in the toilet, a brutish yelp and a splash before the toilet water flushed down, far away.
My back is still turned when The Everyman walks out. He comes around the other side to face me.
“Well, that was fun,” He pinched my cheek, his hand reeking of copper and salt. “Word of advice,” he leaned in my ear, pinching harder, “No guy likes a fucking tease.”
He spits on the bed, walks to the door, unlocks it, and leaves the room.
With The Everyman finally was gone, I let out a soundless sob that had been burning to erupt. My core aches, my soul gouged out and flesh left ripped and leaking. I stare at the striped PINK underwear on the floor. Maybe if I had picked the thong he would have thought I was already ran through and left me alone.
I curl into myself and beg the God I Don’t Believe In to be taken away from the world.
But, for the rest of the night, I can’t move. I can’t say anything. I fall into a static snow white noise and try to imagine the waves.
I wait for the sun to rise and illuminate what was done in the dark.
***
Cassie and Jamie find me the next morning. I sit up quickly when they open the door, covering myself in the sheets and looking awkwardly at the underwear, still on the floor. The mutual exchange of looks shows they know what happened, but neither says a word.
“Can you, um, hand me those, Cass?” I point towards the other end of the floor at my jeans, rubbing my throat to cover the indented nail marks.
Cassie changes her tone, brightening the room as she opens the blinds.
“Well, well!” she walks over, laughing, cowboy hat still on her head. “I can guess what happened in here last night! You little slut!” She’s proud of me. “In Jaime’s parents’ bed too! Goddamn!” She whirls around with a perfect smile.
I look at Jaime, tears brimming. He doesn’t meet my eyes. He turns away and jingles his keys, “Just meet me outside when y’all are dressed and ready.”
He still doesn’t look at me, but clearly he notices enough. “Don’t worry about the sheets,” he whispers. “I have to clean everything up anyway.” He shuts the door before I can reply.
Cassie hands me the size 2 Hollister jeans and demands every detail. I keep my face stoic as I make up a story, nonchalantly utilizing my ability to lie. Disappointed in my tale, she goes to pee into the bathroom, where The Everyman had finished just a few hours ago.
“All right, well I guess the good thing it’s over now.” Her voice echoes with her stream of urine, “Don’t sweat it—this means you can officially join my Hoes R Us club!” She laughs and again the toilet flushes down, water whirling far away.
I get out of bed and see the full view of what Jaime had been talking about—I was lying in a large red stain, growing brown at the edges. My cheeks flush with embarrassment, and I quickly bunch the sheets to cover the stain and throw a pillow over it before Cassie came back out. I pull on my jeans as blood still trickles between my legs and slip into the wrinkled blouse. I grab the underwear off the ground and shove them into my back pocket.
Cassie takes off the hat and shakes out her strawberry hair. “C’mon bad girl, Jaime’s waiting!”
She leaves the room, and I follow, but turn one last time to imprint the scene in my memory. Though I would never see it again, this house will come back to haunt me in flashbacks and night terrors for the rest of my life. Just a few months ago, I had a nightmare where I was stuck in this house with no escape, opening every door over and over again to just return right where I started.
Cassie and Jaime get big, greasy gas station meals for breakfast. I choose a zero-calorie Gatorade, “For hangover hydration,” I say but there’s no way I’m eating any time in the near future. We drive across town to where Cassie and I live. Jaime drops her off first, giving us some time to talk alone.
“So,” he hesitates, “What happened last night? Guess you’ve got a thing for him, huh?”
I look out the window at the other cars, wondering how many of the passing lives were better than mine, and how many were worse.
“No, not really…” I turn my tone cold. “I just needed it to happen, you know? And the opportunity presented itself…So.” I donned the same icy liar bravado I gave Cassie.
“Yeah… I guess,” Jaime says. I could feel his eyes on me. “You know… I like you…I’ve liked you since we met. I mean…” he stammers, “We could have…”
“No offense Jaims,” I cut him off as he turns into my driveway. I still don’t look him in the eye. “You’re just not my type. You’re too nice.” I grow icier, heartless, to protect us from the real truth we both know:
I had been raped.
***
I walk into my house in a half-dream, desperate for an escape. Mother and Mimi are painting my room. We decided on an accent wall of dark and light pink stripes, like the walls at Victoria’s Secret. I looked at the paint and think of the striped PINK underwear in my pocket, and the black lace thong, with the tags still on, in my duffle bag.
“Hey hon,” Mother smiles with paint on her face, “How was the sleepover at Cassie’s house?”
I fight the impulse to cry, to scream, to confess everything to them right then and there. I feel like I will be in trouble or will be told “I told you so.” I relax my face into the composed mask.
“It was good. We just watched movies and played games all night,” I force a chuckle. “Barely got any sleep.” It shocked me how convincingly and easily I could lie now.
“I’m so glad you’ve made some nice friends, love.” Mimi smiles too, paint in her hair.
They moved my bed to to the middle of the room. I curl into it, still wearing the clothes from the night before, and hold Chill-Chill close to my chest, pulling the comforter completely over my head. I close my eyes and tears seep out from between my lids.
“Don’t you wanna get changed? Those tight skinny jeans can’t be comfortable to sleep in.” Mother’s voice is muffled slightly inside my cocoon.
“Uh-uh,” I mumble. “Just want to get some sleep.” I manage to keep my voice from breaking, burying my face into the clean sheets.
Mimi gets down from the ladder and comes over to the bed, rubbing my back, like she used to every night when I was a little girl. That little girl was gone now. Later, she would know I was raped without me ever having to say a word.
“You okay, darling?”
I poke out slightly so she could see me but avoided her eyes. “Yeah…” I give a weak smile. “Just really glad to be home.”
But I want to scream at the top of my lungs:
“Something horrible happened! He hurt me! I’m ruined!”
But I fell silent, like I always do. And I would stay silent, for many, many years.
Until now actually.