by Chessy Prout
Malcolm smirked and then whispered something to Owen, who was standing next to him. I saw Malcolm moving his beady eyes from Lucy to me and then to Owen.
I was back in the mechanical room, pulling up my bra straps, yanking up my underwear, and dragging Owen’s face away from my vagina. No, no, no, let’s keep it up here. His hands were by my head. There was something inside me. Tears pushed open my eyes and I saw Malcolm looking at me again. I tried to tamp down the panic rising from my gut.
As Lucy, Katie, and I walked uphill past Library Pond and the squash courts, a stillness came over my body. I had to tell Lucy. I knew she might be angry that I hadn’t listened to her advice, but she would understand that I didn’t want this to happen. She knew me better than anyone. She’d know what to say, what to do.
I stopped her in front of Sheldon, the gray stone admissions building, where a year and a half earlier, Lucy had taken a photo of me after my interview.
“I went with Owen last night,” I said, as tears escaped. “He had sex with me, but I didn’t want it.”
Lucy pulled me in tight and threw her arms around me. Then she uttered four of the most important words I needed to hear: “It’s not your fault.”
Before I could say anything else, fury flashed across her face. “I’m going to kill him.”
She ran away in her white dress and red flip-flops and headed back to the flagpole. Katie and I raced behind her.
“She can’t do this,” I pleaded to Katie. “This can’t happen.”
“Lucy, please don’t cause a scene,” I begged from behind, trying to catch up. “I’m okay. Don’t worry, don’t say anything, don’t do anything. I don’t want to ruin the weekend.”
Lucy was already at the flagpole, yelling at Brooks. I hung back with Katie until Lucy returned with news: Brooks already knew, and Owen had snuck away.
“So where exactly did he take you last night?” Lucy asked.
“He had keys to the roof of the Lindsay building, but then he brought me inside this noisy room.” I sniffled.
Rage returned to Lucy’s eyes. “He took me there too. He’s not getting away with this.”
We were so late for dinner and total messes when we finally showed up. Mom looked pissed. She’d worked so hard to put together the perfect evening, getting special permission to host the celebration in the courtyard of Kehaya. Lucy had a gray hooded sweatshirt covering her dress and folded her arms across her chest as if in protest. Mom thought she was spoiling every picture on purpose.
Lucy blinked back tears and whispered to her best friend, Zoe. I walked over to the tables of food and grabbed a plate of Uncle Ken’s salmon rolls, knowing full well I was allergic. I didn’t care about the consequences.
I clearly was not doing a decent enough job of holding it together, because Mom came over and scolded me: “If you’re going to look so miserable at this dinner, the least you can do is go play with your little sister.”
It was the best punishment. I took Christianna by the hand and led her to the trampoline near Lucy’s dorm. I felt free for the first time, jumping high in the air, pushing through the pain still searing inside me. Maybe if I jumped high enough, I’d disappear into the sky.
My throat was closing up and my lips were swelling from the salmon. Mom said I needed Benadryl, so I stopped at Clark House with Ivy to pick up medicine. Later that evening I headed across the street to the chapel lawn to wait for the end of the Last Night Service. It’s a tradition where the underclassmen line up to celebrate the sixth formers as they walk out of their final chapel service before graduation.
I joined in on the clapping and cheering and searched for Lucy. Finally she walked out. We locked eyes and both began to bawl. She embraced me in a big-sister hug and said, “I’m so sorry, Chessy.”
Then she snarled: “I’m going to get Owen.”
She had a determined look in her eyes as she hustled toward the throng of students celebrating on the grass. I finished saying good-bye to other senior friends and then escaped to my dorm.
Lucy called later with an update: she had marched over to Owen with her girlfriends by her side.
“This is for taking my sister’s virginity,” she yelled before punching him between his nose and cheek. He looked stunned, a deer in headlights. For the first time, Lucy said, Owen didn’t have a witty comeback. Her knuckles still stung, but she swore it was worth it.
That blew my mind. Lucy hated confrontation as much as I did. I couldn’t believe she’d done that. I was still trying to process it all when Briana, a senior in Con20, called me into her room.
Briana was small and feisty—her nostrils flared whenever she was angry or happy. She had a sister the same age as Christianna, and she was very protective of the younger girls in our dorm.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I’m still so confused,” I said. “I don’t really know what’s going on.”
I recounted the night: the rooftop, the kissing, the bra straps, the underwear.
“I said no but Owen ignored it,” I sighed. “His fingers were inside me and then the next thing I know his hands are above my head and I realize something is still inside of me.”
“Oh my God, Chessy, he did the same thing to me during junior year,” Briana said.
It was dark, she couldn’t see, and he was very aggressive. She told Owen she didn’t want to have sex. He had one hand on her thigh and a finger inside her vagina. She was okay with that. But then Briana suddenly felt both of his hands on her thighs and pressure inside her. She sat up and it ended abruptly.
“Chessy, you did nothing wrong,” Briana said.
I wanted the words to sink in, but I was wearing my protective armor to get through the weekend. If I hadn’t done anything wrong, then someone had done something wrong to me. I’d lost control. I couldn’t accept that.
Just after midnight, Owen messaged me on Facebook.
Owen: chessy, here are my thoughts. i think you’re an amazing girl--i’m sure you’ll crush it next year. fourth form was the best year of my life by 10,000 miles. anyways, people have been saying all kinds of things to me today (which i don’t really care about), but i don’t want your sister, who i also think is sweet, to leave with a bitter taste in her mouth. lucy and i were really tight at one point. all i want to say is that, when a boy actually takes your virginity, i hope it’s golden. i hope he loves you to death and i hope he treats you like a goddess. there’s a difference between making love and messing around. if only the rest of the world understood--maybe you can help them. you’re an absolute gem. bisous, owen
ps i checked in lindsey for your earring this morning. i couldn’t find it!!
He was backtracking. Did Owen think I was an idiot? But I still wasn’t willing to confront him like Lucy.
Me: Thank you so much for that owen, things have been difficult and I haven’t been making the most pleasing decisions (to lucy) recently, and that makes me feel terrible. I hope for what you said as well. On a happier note, félicitations, diplômé! And thank you for looking.
Done. Or so I thought.
Owen: yeaaahhhh you sister punched me in the face after last night service.
Me: I am so sorry . . . Shes very protective . . . . .
Owen: hahahha all of her friends ran after me never have i been attacked by so many crying yelling girls
Me: oh my god thats every guy’s worst nightmare hahahaa And the emotions don’t help at allll
I wasn’t sorry but maybe an apology would make him go away. The last thing I wanted to do was cause a scene. I was too weak to tell him he deserved getting slugged. I just needed this idiot to leave me alone.
Graduation day had finally arrived. I was counting the hours until my family left so I could exhale. It was exhausting pretending to be fine. I was running late and had to save seats for Grandma Prusaczyk. But Catie insisted that I go get Plan B first.
I was leaving Catie’s room, my new home base, when I ran into Veronica, a fifth former in my
dorm. Veronica was very mindful of the newbs—she was one of the girls who told us to come up with hand signals for Nash Bash, and she drew up a list of good boys and bad boys at the beginning of the school year.
Veronica pulled me aside in the hallway and whispered, “I know I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but Owen did the same thing to two of my friends.”
One of the girls was like me and had no sexual experience.
“She had no idea what was going on,” Veronica said.
My eyes bulged and anger bubbled in my stomach. I couldn’t believe he’d done this to so many girls. And I was shocked that everyone knew about it too.
“I was so confused,” I said. “I don’t even know if he used a condom. I have to get Plan B.”
“If you don’t want to go to Clark House, I can buy it for you downtown,” Veronica offered.
I briefly considered it, but decided I needed to clean up my own mess.
“No, it’s okay,” I said. “I’m going over to get my meds anyways.”
I still hadn’t fully accepted the whole Plan B thing. I was supposed to get my period any day now. It was the first time in my entire life I was praying for it.
“Well, I’m here for you,” Veronica said, and gave me a hug. “Let me know if you need anything at all.”
I started weeping the second I stepped foot into Clark House and told the nurse I needed to talk to her about Plan B. She led me into a private examination room and left me alone while she got some paperwork. I sat and reminded myself that I couldn’t make this day about me.
The nurse returned with a checklist and began ticking off questions: Had I taken Plan B before? Did I understand what the medication was for? Could I already be pregnant? She saved the hardest question for last. Was it consensual?
I couldn’t cause any trouble. Through tears, I said yes. I was already running late. I still thought it might be my fault. And this was Lucy’s weekend, not mine. The nurse kindly offered me a tissue and said that the medication would be available in a couple of days.
I rushed out of Clark House and was blinded by sunshine and a sea of white. All the senior girls wore white dresses with red flowers pinned to their chests. I couldn’t help but think of my friends in white togas at Sacred Heart on the day of the earthquake. The day everything changed. I felt like I had back then: shocked and scared. What had I done to deserve so many bad things in my life?
I didn’t have time for a pity party. I needed to get in line to reserve enough seats for our family. I was glad Grandma Prusaczyk was there, even though it was hard seeing her sick and in a wheelchair. I knew how much she loved us, and how happy she was that Lucy and I had returned to the United States. She and Mom have had a tough relationship over the years. I don’t think she ever got over Mom and Dad moving to Japan for so long.
My eyes were glued downward during the graduation ceremony, as if I was having a staring contest with the grass. Mrs. Hebra, the school’s vice rector and an adviser in my dorm, announced the names of the graduates. I took deep breaths when she called out Owen Arthur Labrie. I didn’t clap for him. That was my big act of defiance. I forced my head up when I heard Lucy’s name.
Dean of Students Chad Green then took over the microphone to announce student awards. Rusher the Crusher received the Benjamin Rush Toland Prize for her intellectual achievement, athletic ability, and gallant spirit. Then came the Rector’s Awards for students whose “selfless devotion to school activities have enhanced our lives and improved the community shared by all at St. Paul’s School.”
I was stunned when I heard Owen Labrie’s name. All the breath got sucked out of my chest as he sauntered across the stage in his royal-blue crew blazer. Why did all the adults think he was this perfect gentleman? Someone had to know he was a sick guy who took advantage of girls. Owen smiled and mouthed, “Thank you” to Mr. Hirschfeld as he shook his hand and took the award.
I could tell the end was finally near when someone started handing out cigars to the graduates. This turned into another picture-fest. I gritted my teeth.
After Mom and Dad said their farewells, I returned to my room to get changed. Tabitha was there and I tried flashing her my best fake smile. But when I unzipped my strappy blue dress and found a bloodstain on the back, I started crying.
“I never thought I’d be so happy to get blood on my dress,” I said, too ashamed to look over at Tabitha. “Owen Labrie took advantage of me and I don’t think he used a condom.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice trailing off.
Neither of us knew how to say anything more.
Catie barged in and announced it was time for a frozen yogurt excursion downtown. That always made things better.
Catie was still worried that I might have an STD, so she made me FaceTime with her friend who had graduated earlier that day. I was mad that she had confided in him, but he gave me good advice and offered sympathy. He explained that I could go to the hospital and have a rape kit done and get tested for sexually transmitted diseases.
“You need to make sure you’re physically okay,” her friend said. “And you should talk to a counselor.”
I was overwhelmed. Hospital. Rape kit. This was all too much. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. I needed to shift my brain to something else. Something not rape. Studying. I had math and science finals this week.
On Monday I hunkered down in a study pod—a windowless jail cell with white walls in the basement of my dorm. I took a break from geometry to change my Facebook cover photo to one of me and Lucy from graduation. We were standing on the chapel lawn, and Lucy had me in a semi-headlock and was holding a cigar in her right hand. Lucy and my friend Violet commented first.
Lucy: aww love you chae
Violet: so cute chessica
I was in the middle of inserting two red-heart emojis below Lucy’s comment when a classmate typed Owen Labrie’s name in a comment under the photo. My phone started ringing. The reception was terrible downstairs, but I could make out that Lucy was shouting. I ran upstairs through the common room, past Mrs. Hebra, and into my room.
“Why did you have to do this? Why did you go with him? It was so stupid to go and meet him,” Lucy roared. “And then you apologized to Owen after I punched him? I was defending you. That’s sister code. Don’t you get it?”
“I’m so sorry, Lucy. I’m so sorry.”
“Just tell your stupid friend to take down his tag of Owen.”
“He’s not my friend. I don’t know why he would do this.”
I was upset that Lucy was upset, but I wasn’t mad at her. I was mad at me like she was mad at me. But I was also mad at Owen Labrie. He did this to me. I pulled up my bra straps. I yanked up my underwear, twice. I dragged his head up away from my vagina. I said, “No, no, no, let’s keep it up here.” I know I didn’t kick. I didn’t scream. I didn’t run away. I froze. And I wasn’t the only girl he did this to.
Later that night Owen MacIntyre texted me a sickening manifesto. I was so gullible to have believed that nothing bad would happen. Why did he pressure me so much to go on that STUPID SENIOR SALUTE?
O. Mac: Chessy, I know what happened with you and Owen, and I just wanted to say I’m really sorry, and I know nothing I am saying will change that but I just wanted to let you know that as much as I love you I love Owen too. I know him really well and if he thought he was doing anything to hurt you physically or emotionally he would’ve stopped. I know that all this drama is probably wearing on you and you don’t know how to handle everything that’s happening to you, so I just wanted to let you know that you can talk to me. If Owen knew all the stuff that’s being said about you, he’d do anything to stop it. It is my understanding that he didn’t ask you if you wanted to have sex before he did that and that is 100% his fault, but I think that he thinks that because you didn’t tell him to stop what he was doing was okay. So before you tell anyone names, I just want you to consider the circumstances. Owen is starting a new life in a new place, and n
ext year will be a fresh start for you too. If anyone else says anything to you I’ll deal with them, and if you need a hug I can be there for you. I just love you both and I know what he did hurt you, and maybe you didn’t necessarily hate what he was doing at the time. I don’t want to see either of you get hurt.
Love,
Owen
What was everyone saying about me? Maybe I didn’t hate what he was doing? Was this some kind of threat? My body convulsed and I shrieked uncontrollably.
Dr. Theresa Gerardo-Gettens, a dorm adviser who lived next door, heard me through the walls and brought me into her apartment. I started to tell Dr. G. about what happened, using hypotheticals, because that’s what we were advised to do at orientation when talking about serious stuff with adults.
I didn’t understand back then how messed up that advice was, how it appeared to protect St. Paul’s reputation, not the students in its care. It seemed like a well-designed loophole that allowed the school to get out of mandated reporting to the police. St. Paul’s led students to believe that talking bluntly to adults was a bad thing, that it could get them in trouble rather than get them the help they needed, the justice they deserved.
“What if somebody had sex with me and I did not want them to and said no?” I sobbed.
“I don’t want this to happen to anyone else. What should I do?”
“Call your mother,” Dr. G. said. “How you handle this will inform the rest of your life.”
On the night of my assault, I demonstrated on Ivy how Owen pinned my arms above my head so I couldn’t move (above). The next day, I leaned on my friends for support (first image, above).
After I posted this picture of me and Lucy to Facebook, a classmate wrote Owen Labrie’s name in a comment under the photo.
EIGHT
The Police
I walked out of Dr. G.’s apartment and ducked into an empty dorm room that three seniors had vacated after graduation. I sat on the threadbare carpet and hugged my knees to my chest.
