by Lisa Acerbo
I sit down in a comfy chair, and he checks out my hand.
“You want it here?” He points to the inside of my right wrist.
“Yes,” I squeak.
He smiles at me. “You okay?” He has the horseshoe already stenciled and applies it to the skin.
“I’m fine,” I say, pretending bravado.
“They say I’m pretty painless.” He hums as he gets his machines ready. “All set. You good?” His brown eyes stare into mine.
“Sure.”
I grab Kyle’s hand for support. My body tightens up as the first sting of needles hit my flesh. I begin to tremble.
“Just relax,” Kyle says.
“Doing okay?” James asks.
I bob my head. It really doesn’t hurt that much, so I take my deep breaths and control my fear. Forty-five minutes later, I’m as drained as if I’ve completed a marathon. I don’t care as I admire the dainty black horseshoe that now graces my skin.
It is a win somehow.
#tattoosrock
* * * *
I’m staring at my tattoo, unable to focus on Jack Johnson, my professor of Animal Nutrition, who stands behind the podium. He has a white beard neatly trimmed and short white hair. As he points to the PowerPoint slide behind him, he exposes a white shirt under his brown sport coat. He’s a disgusting pervert who often makes sexist jokes in class and has all the women call him by his first name. But he’s the only professor who teaches the class, so I put up with him. He always finds a way after class to corner one or more of the women. Today happens to be my turn. I’m flinging my purse over my shoulder in an attempt to vacate the lecture hall when he arrives. I pretend to be in a rush, but he doesn’t care.
“We need to talk about your last paper. Got a few minutes?”
I try to maneuver past him. “I have an appointment. I’ll stop by during office hours.” I can’t help but wonder if he blocks my path on purpose just to “innocently” press against me as I try to avoid him.
His sexual exploits with some of the teaching assistants and students are legendary, yet unknown to administration. His hand on the back of my shoulder stops me. I can’t help but grimace as it travels down and rests on the crevice between my lower back and butt.
I try again. “Sorry, Jack, got an appointment. We can meet in the morning.”
“First thing, Danielle. We have a lot to discuss,” Jack calls after me as I hop away like a scared rabbit, scrambling to the stairwell.
As I exit the building, I exhale deep, the dread subsiding.
What is it with men thinking they can just take whatever they want, no consequences? I’m sick of users. Maybe I’m recovering from Brice. I can’t stand the idea of sleazy men.
A cold rain seeps through my jacket the next morning. I’m chilled to the bone as I trudge into the under-heated red brick building that Professor Jack Johnson has an office in. I debate not showing up, but I need to understand what is wrong with my essay. The knowledge that I have the chance to fix it is overwhelming me, so here I am. I wait for Jack to beckon me into his office. I feel like part of his harem when I see another female student exit. Is she blushing or just red from the cold?
When he calls me in, I slouch in the seat, tracing the lid of my coffee with a finger, trying to appear unattractive. He busies himself at his cluttered desk. The walls around him are bare, except for a single oil color landscape painting. He stands, one hand braced against his stomach. For an older man, it is still relatively flat. Jack clears his throat as is his habit before starting a lecture. His closely-cropped silver hair and stocky frame make him appear militant this morning in his dark green jacket. The fact that he had, at some point in his life, also been in the Marines probably contributes to his stiff stance. His gray eyes crinkle, displaying fine wrinkles.
Again, Jack clears his throat, on the verge of saying something, but stands silent. He’s making me nervous.
I need to end the quiet. “What did you need to see me about? My essay, right?”
“Yes, the essay. I was searching for it on my desk.” He rotates some papers around. “Here it is. Very well done. High caliber. You’re as smart as you are pretty.”
“Thanks?”
Jack doesn’t hand me the essay over the desk but comes to the other side where I sit and stands over me. His crotch is at my eye level.
I grab the essay and glance away. “Was there something else you wanted to discuss?”
“I could always use an assistant in the office. I was wondering if you had any interest. My last one quit suddenly. It’s paid for through the university.”
I stand, my paper crumbled in my fist. “I’ll think about it,” I say, knowing it would be the last job I’d ever take. “Thanks for getting my essay back to me.”
“No problem, sweetheart.”
I run out of the claustrophobic cubicle of an office and step outside. Sleet pelts my face. Sleaze. I’m definitely starting that letter-writing committee.
#freeatlast
* * * *
One week later, a party rages at my apartment. Stress runs through my body like the discordant strum of a guitar. But Tanya insisted, wanting me to meet her new boyfriend. She promises to keep the guest list small, so I only invite a few friends, but it has grown like clouds revealing the stars in the sky.
There are people packed into every crevice. When Shami arrives with a pack of friends, I realize most of the interlopers have not been invited. Luckily, a couple shots of tequila keep me from worrying about these points too intensely, which was what I had been doing a few hours ago as I moved potted plants off window ledges, put coasters out to use under beer cans, and made sure Snuggles was locked away safe in her crate behind my closed bedroom door.
Now music pumps from our crappy sound system: portable speakers in a charging dock. I attempt to mingle. I mean, I have to, I invited people. I talk with my animal science friends about a sheep project they are working on. Annie, who runs it, tries to coerce me to join, but I have enough to do. Still, I say I’ll consider it.
Rickey, Kyle, and Bogden come as well. It’s weird to have all of them in the same room. Weirder still that Kyle has dragged Jeremy with him. I cannot decide who to say hello to first, so I ignore them all until a couple more drinks find me. Maybe someone will approach me.
The cheap beer, wine, hard liquor flow, the tunes play, and the food disappears quickly. Too many bodies in the apartment make everything sticky, or maybe it’s all the spilled beer. I have enough to drink to help me relax, but not enough to dull the realization that clean-up tomorrow will be a bitch.
At one point, Rickey corners me and wants to talk about the rats in Lab Animal Science. Don’t get me wrong, I love my rat, but I’m not feeling it. We make small talk for a few minutes, and then I move on.
Shami keeps trying to get my attention, but I ignore him. I see one of Jace’s famous scarves, and I’m spooked. I want to find Kyle or Tanya and have one of them tell him to leave. I’m on the hunt for them when someone hands me a drink. I thank the blur of a person and continue on my rounds through the room.
I take a long gulp to calm my nerves.
I corner Tanya, and she promises to kick Jace out if he’s there, but first introduces me to her new man. We clink our bottles together as we make small talk, and I finish my beer in a few more swallows.
I know I must be drunk because I keep repeating, “Dan, Dan the lifeguard man,” after Tanya tells me that was his summer job at one of the Connecticut beaches.
“Can you please look for Jace now and tell him to leave?” I ask after the small talk dies away.
They promise to hunt him down, and I’m alone in the middle of my own party even with all the people surrounding me. A flash of color to my left makes my heart race, sound pounding in my ears, and puts me in instant panic mode. It also makes me nauseous. I need air. I go to the back door, open it, and step out onto the concrete deck.
I jump when a hand slides down my back.
“It’s
okay,” the voice says. “The feeling will pass. Just come with me, and I can help you. I’ll make it all better.”
That sounds like a good idea, especially when I’m having the weirdest experience ever. I’m floating in front of my body. I should be terrified, but I’m relaxed.
I trudge into the darkness. Colors pop like fireworks. An arm cradles me, comforting and warm. Detached from myself, it is almost as if I exist in a dream and stand watching myself step away. My steps become heavy and awkward, yet I keep plodding forward. I giggle when I stumble.
“Dani!” I hear my name being called from far away. I like my dream and don’t want to wake. I want the name caller to go away, but he doesn’t.
“Dani.” I hear it again, and the warmth next to me disappears. I’m alone in an abstract hell and suddenly scared.
“Hey, what are you doing out here?” the voice asks me. “Who was that guy?”
“What? Who are you? Cold.” I don’t like the dreamscape anymore, but I can’t leave. My feet are planted, and colors dance in front of my eyes even though darkness lives all around me. Music come in waves, assaulting my ears, and then fading away.
“Come with me.”
My vision is hazy through the swirls of primary colors, but I finally recognize the voice. “Kyle?” I ask. My voice sounds strange to my ears.
“That’s right. Are you okay, Dani?” His hand finds my shoulder. The warmth, once again, reassures me.
“Where am I?” I ask. My eyes and ears strain, but only a kaleidoscope of color and sound greet them.
“Outside your apartment. You were walking toward the woods with some guy, but he ran off when I called your name.” Kyle sounds mad.
“I don’t feel so good.” I want to sink down into the ground around me. Would it be bad to lie down for a minute?
“You don’t look so good,” Kyle says. “Let’s put you to bed.”
I don’t protest as he leads me back to the apartment. The music stings like nettles as we head upstairs to my bedroom. I lie on the bed while Kyle goes to the bathroom to get a cold washcloth. I remember the drops of water cascading down my cheeks and Tanya’s voice in my ear, but nothing else as darkness takes over.
I wake up snuggled next to a warm body, but it’s not the cat. Kyle, fully dressed, sleeps next to me. I’m worried about morning breath, but more concerned that I have no idea why he’s here.
I roll over slowly, and hornets buzz through my brain, stinging as they go. A moan escapes my lips.
Kyle rolls over as well. “Hey.” It comes out sleepy and soft.
“What happened?” I whisper, afraid speaking any louder will let loose the hive in my head.
Kyle stares at me. His eyes are more serious than normal. “We believe someone tried to date-rape drug you.”
“What?” I sit up even though the pain makes me melt into the pillows. I moan softly.
Kyle jumps up. “Let me get you some water.” He returns with a glass. It’s cold, and I guzzle the contents.
“Why are you here?” I ask. When his face falls, I quickly qualify my answer. “I’m happy you’re here, just surprised you stayed.”
“Tanya and I were worried about you. We weren’t sure if we should take you to the hospital, so I volunteered to stay and make sure you were okay. If anything happened, we planned on calling your mom and to take you to the E.R.”
“Thank you.” I pat the bed, unable to say anything. “I think you probably saved me, although I don’t remember.”
Kyle sits.
“Can you stay with me for a while?” I want to sink back into sleep and not question the fact that someone tried to date-rape me. It’s too much for my muddled, painful brain right now.
“Anything you need.”
Kyle lies down next to me, and I let him snuggle close. He smells of beer and aftershave, and the familiar smells comfort me. I refuse to consider what could have happened last night. I refuse to let my brain rehash any of the events. Luckily, the leftover drugs and alcohol heed my request, and I fall back into oblivion.
When I wake and head downstairs for some coffee, both Tanya and Kyle confront me. I don’t like it.
“We have to talk about this!” Tanya says.
“What is there to talk about? I was stupid and brought it on myself. I should know better than to accept drinks from strangers,” I say.
“Did you?” Kyle asks.
I rub my puffy eyes, which sting even after I washed my face. “I don’t remember. It’s all a blur right now.”
“What do you want to do about it?” Tanya is miffed.
I’m suddenly awake and want to point out that it happened to me. I should be the angry one. “What do you mean?”
“We can’t just let someone get away with drugging you.” Kyle is livid. He doesn’t act like this normally.
“It’s my fault.” I repeat the words echoing in my brain. “It’s my fault. I was stupid to accept a drink from a stranger. There’s nothing to do.”
They don’t like it but agree that, since no one actually saw who handed me the drink or who took me outside, there is little to report. I vow to be more careful. In fact, I vow to never host a party again. Perhaps, I’ll even give up drinking for good.
#blamegame
Chapter 9
April 1
Realizing people aren’t always who you want them to be is hard. People’s lives remain a mystery to you even when you live with them or have known them for your entire life. It makes you wonder if anyone can really understand anyone else. If not, what’s the use of trying?
* * * *
The final days at work linger like an unrelenting stomach bug, but finally run their course, and I’m free to embark on my new life. Brice attempts to talk to me a few times, but I ignore him, more afraid I’ll fall to pieces in the office and make a fool of myself than not wanting answers. In truth, he most likely only wants to ensure I’m not planning on suing him for sexual harassment or inappropriate conduct. He should realize that’s too much effort and expense for a struggling college student. Still, I’d like to fake a phone call to his fiancée just to see him unnerved for a few days.
I stalk her on Facebook. Now I understand why Brice never accepted my friend request, but I find her Facebook page. It’s not set to private. I watch as she posts pictures of everything wedding- and Brice-related. I’m tempted to friend her, but I resist. I do follow her on Twitter and Instagram.
The good news is that I have an interview on Monday as a receptionist for a medical education company. I have no idea what the company does, but in his effort to smooth things over with me, I have a damn good reference from Brice. It makes me feel like I know what I’m doing. Bolstered by a new credit card with a ridiculous interest rate, I plan a shopping trip. I’m preparing to conquer the business world or at least find another job.
I attack the mall with Tanya. Normally, I hate the crowds, lights, and chaos, but we spend the entire Saturday there. I come away with two work-appropriate shirts, sleeves reaching the wrists of my long arms, a black skirt, and charcoal gray pants. Most store mirrors make me feel unattractive, even if they are supposed to do the opposite. Maybe that’s why I hate shopping, and it takes so long to find the energy to make an attempt.
Tanya and I get giggly halfway through our shopping trip and begin taking ridiculous selfies in outfits we’d never dare wear out. I put on a slinky black dress and make duck lips as she snaps away and posts to Facebook, Instagram, and Snapchat.
Finally, money spent and exhausted, we sip coffee at Starbucks.
“Are you okay?” Tanya has been asking me this question non-stop for two weeks now.
“I’m fine.” I’m not, but I’m getting there.
Embarrassment skates across her face. “I heard you crying last night.”
Can nothing remain a secret? “Really, I’m okay. Sad but okay.”
“Not too depressed?”
“I’ll live.” And I will. I send her a determined smile. “Let’s change
the subject.” I wonder if I should go home for the weekend and tell my mom. Part of me wants to, but I need to deal with this travesty on my own. “I got a text from Shami.”
“Who?”
“You remember, the weird McDonald’s guy one complex over? The one who didn’t even get me food.”
“What does he want?” Tanya asks.
“A date.”
“Seriously?” Tanya asks. “He actually thinks you’ll go out with him again?”
“Yes, yes, he does.”
“The boy has balls to show up at our party and continue to text you after the whole McDonald’s thing. I’ll give him that.”
“Let’s drink soon so I can forget him and that other one…”
Tanya interrupts me. “Don’t say that evil, ugly, stupid name. Drink to better things.” Tanya lifts her cup of coffee and taps it against mine.
As we sit and sip coffee, I feel I’m being watched. True, it is paranoia, but I can’t shake the feeling. I scan the coffee shop and then peer out the huge glass windows. Everything appears normal. A mom with a stroller, high school students in clumps, a couple people browsing, nothing out of the norm. Except me and this paranoia that will not leave.
Tanya snaps her fingers in front of my eyes, drawing my attention to her. “We’ll celebrate your new job.”
I focus on the conversation. “I don’t have the job yet, and you know I’m not really good at the whole cheerful, smiley people thing. If I hadn’t already learned that most of being a receptionist is hiding behind a phone and filing paperwork, I’d never have consented to the interview.”
“Tomorrow is going to be absolutely fine. You’ll kill at the interview,” Tanya says.
“At least I’ll look the part.” I cringe at the prospect of paying my credit card bill next month.
“You said Samantha, the girl from your lab, works there?”
I had just started doing some research for Professor Kaufmann and loved it. Samantha was in the same lab, having started working with Kaufmann last semester. The additional work added to my worries about how I’d handle all the responsibilities during my last couple months of college. I was more concerned than ever that I could do everything: school, lab, finals, and being a receptionist at Primus Medical Education where Samantha also worked part-time.
