27 Revelations

by Harlow Hayes

  “Here, drink this.” I handed the waters over to Melanie and Kate. They chugged it down so fast you would have thought that they’d been stranded in the Sahara without rations.

  “I have to pee. I’m going to pee on myself,” Kate said as she squirmed in her dress.

  “Hold it!” Rosalina and I said.

  “I have to go, too,” Melanie said, grabbing her crotch. She started bouncing around like a two-year-old.

  “I need to you stop jumping like that,” I said staring at her abnormally large chest. “Your boobs are about to make an appearance, and they are not welcome here.”

  She started to pout again, but I didn’t care about her feelings, not this time. All her bouncing was attracting unwanted attention from everybody, but mostly from the creepy guys. I thought her stopping would have kept them away, but one was brave enough to walk over, and of course he brought his friend.

  “How are you ladies doing tonight? Can I buy you a drink?”

  “No, thank you,” Rosalina said. “We’re getting ready to leave here soon.”

  The tall one was drunker than the short one, but he obviously didn’t like Rosalina’s respectful decline.

  “No one was asking you, you fat slut. We were talking to the hot sluts.”

  The short one grabbed his friend and began to apologize but the damage was done.

  Rosalina looked as if she was going to cry. I don’t know what it was but I couldn’t let that slide. I was no stranger to confrontation.

  “Fuck you, asshole. Eat shit and die. Get your friend, because if you come back over here again you’ll have a bigger problem,” I said, gripping the mace I had snuck in, and they went back the direction they came from.

  The line didn’t seem like it was moving at all, and I wanted to be at home in my bed asleep, away from all this crap. When the line moved up, we moved with it, and a bench outside of the bathroom became available to sit on. Rosalina and Kate sat while Melanie and I stood.

  “Is there no other fucking bathroom around here?” Kate asked. “This is… fucking atrocious?” Out of all of the words to choose, she chose atrocious.

  “I-I-I am going to piss in this glass.” Melanie took the glass that I had given her and set it on the floor. Rosalina and I didn’t believe she was being serious until she reached up her dress and pulled her underwear down. Rosalina’s chin fell to the floor in dismay. Kate started laughing like a hyena, which drew more attention.

  “Cover me, guys,” Melanie said.

  She wobbled to collect her footing then squatted down. Rosalina grabbed her and yanked her to her feet, then I kicked the glass away and stood there as if nothing had happened.

  “We got to get them out of here,” I said to Rosalina. “They can pee in the alley.”

  “You get her,” Rosalina said, pointing at Melanie. “I’ll take the tiny one.”

  Before we could make our getaway, a girl cut in line a few people ahead of us and Melanie’s face lit up with anger.

  She threw her hands up in the air and stepped toward the girl. “So bitches in red tube tops must think they’re special? That they don’t have to wait in line like the rest of us?” she yelled, her neck swerving in every direction. “I have to pee, but you don’t see me cutting in line, breaking the rules.”

  Her body moved so spastic-like. Good thing it only happened when she was excited or upset because people would think that there was something wrong with her. The girl she was talking to peered back at her, rolled her eyes, and didn’t move. I grabbed Melanie’s arm but she tore it away.

  “Oh. So you’re going to act like you didn’t hear me. I said bitches in red tube tops be thinking they’re special and that they don’t have to wait in line like everybody else.” The girl’s friend was standing next to her, well, barely, and looked like she would black out at any second. But before Rosalina and I could even process the situation, Kate was up off the bench arguing with the girl and her drunk friend, too.

  I couldn’t believe that this fight was happening. All I wanted to do was to get out of there, and preferably without the cops being called.

  They were starting to make a scene and I was on probation. Shit. I was on probation. I saw the bouncers moving towards us, pushing people aside in the crowd. I couldn’t mess up right now, let alone violate my probation because I got into a bar fight with my idiot roommates. My chest felt like it was on fire and I was about to breathe flames. There was no way I was putting my ass on the line, so I yanked Melanie’s arm and pulled her close to me so that she would hear every word.

  “Let’s go or I will leave you and let them bounce your drunk ass right on the curb,” I said, my voice stern.

  She started walking away with me, and Kate and Rosalina followed. The girls were still yelling back and forth but Melanie didn’t want to leave without having the last word.

  “You filthy whores! And you know what? I can see your friend’s vagina!” Melanie yelled.

  “Yeah!” Kate said. “And you’re not a good friend because I can see her vagina, too! Friends don’t let friends’ vaginas hang out!”

  I was angry, but I couldn’t help but laugh.

  We made it out before the bouncers could get to us and the whole train ride home we couldn’t stop laughing.

  Chapter 12

  “They call it hypoactive sexual desire disorder if you’re being nice, but pretty much all they are saying is that I’m frigid.”

  I looked at Zoey and her face held so much pain and sadness for someone so young, but the same could be said about me, and I sympathized with her.

  “So you have never in your life felt anything? Nothing at all?” Destiny asked.

  “No. The abuse stopped around twelve, after I got my period. I had a boyfriend that I really cared about when I was eighteen and I tried, but I couldn’t. Now I don’t know if I will ever be able to have a normal relationship. Sex is important.”

  “Sex isn’t everything, you know,” Roe said. “There are many people that are in asexual relationships.”

  “Like who?” Carla asked.

  “Yeah, I’d like to know because I haven’t met those people,” Sophie said.

  “I know that,” Zoey said, “but it’s part of what it means to live. To be able to express your love for someone on all levels, and I feel defective because I can’t do that.”

  “I know I probably shouldn’t ask, and I am sorry if I offend you, but do you look so disheveled for a reason?” I asked. “You smell nice, but you look like you try to look bad on purpose.” I knew the feeling all too well.

  Zoey squirmed in her chair. “If I look this way he won’t want me, that’s what I thought, at least, but he doesn’t care about that. Kevin loves me for me, but this is something that I am afraid to talk to him about. That sex with me might not be happening.”

  I understood her logic; I implemented it myself.

  “Zoey, have you tried again recently?” Dr. Moore asked.

  “No, I haven’t. I’ve been too afraid to even think about it. I’m nervous talking about it now,” Zoey said.

  “Zoey, I can understand that these kinds of conversations can be intimidating, but I believe that we have done a good job working on this over the past several months,” Dr. Moore said. “You are healing from the abuse but you still are having some anxiety on how to proceed with your relationships, and we will work on this, all of us here together.”

  The conversation made me think about my own relationships and how badly I needed to work on them. As an adult, I enjoyed having a sex life, and I missed it at times, but it seemed that I just stopped caring. I remember the last time that Frankie and I were together, but that was it. I had no desire. It disappeared completely after the attack. Even in that moment I wasn’t sure I wanted it back. At least, I didn’t want it back the way it was. Like I said before, sex with Frankie had always been intense, but the aftermath was me emotionally drained. I cared about Frankie so much, but I knew that there was no caring behind our sex. It was only a mean
s to an end, expressing nothing, growing nothing, and for me, ultimately pointless and stale. But sex wasn’t at the forefront of my mind and it wasn’t going to be. I was going to get through this first.

  I wasn’t sure if any comments I had helped anything. One approach was to talk about the event over and over until the anxiety of thinking about it went away. Some had gotten past their general anxiety, but I felt I hadn’t gotten that far. In my private sessions with Dr. Moore I was able to explain better, but group was different. I felt that I would be judged even though these women had experienced the same horrible atrocity as me, and for that I blamed my father. Looking down on me my whole life, ingraining the fear of judgment and eternal damnation into my head.

  Today Zoey shared her story about past abuses from an uncle and a cousin of hers and how it completely derailed her life. Zoey was a small girl with short, crinkly brown hair and a small, pointed nose. The horror that we felt as we listened to her story didn’t do anything to ease our own worries, because we just felt helpless again. We couldn’t stop the pain that Zoey felt, so in turn we felt it with her. Sophie was quiet most of the time, like me, but Zoey had started a trend, so more people began to open up. A couple of them had been abused multiple times throughout their lives and just hearing about it made my stomach turn. I didn’t agree with my own upbringing, but I was never abused.

  I was in that small percentage of rape survivors that didn’t have a past of abuse or even knew her attacker, but I couldn’t imagine having to encounter an assault multiple times, and for a couple of the women that was the case. Sophie unfortunately had married young and divorced her husband after he began forcing himself on her and beating her. The first time he was drunk and he begged her not to go, but from there it got worse. When she finally said enough and broke free, because she never pressed charges or called the police on her husband, he was granted primary custody of their seven-year-old, simply because his family had money. And Sophie ended up with nothing because she had signed a prenuptial agreement.

  “Ladies, thank you for such an incredible session today,” said Dr. Moore. “The stories that you have will help to fuel our progress on this journey that we are on. We are here to make our lives better, to be better, to grow as individuals, as human beings, and your input today is making that possible. I hope that you ladies will enjoy the rest of your week and I look forward to seeing how and where we grow next week.”

  I was glad that Dr. Moore’s speech was over. The same fluff talk every week. She was a soft-spoken woman, but she had a quiet confidence and at times I swear she could read minds. A couple of the women in the class stayed and talked in the circle but as I gathered my things I watched Sophie walk over towards the snack station. I didn’t want to linger behind too long, but I did want to say something to her. At the last minute, I decided against it.

  The fresh air and sunlight was rejuvenating, and the warm air engulfed me when I walked out of the building. Every time I approached the center I had an overwhelming sense of terror, but whenever I left it was as if there was magic in my life again, fairies and dancing unicorns. I stood there outside of the center, not exactly sure what I wanted to do with such a beautiful day. For the first time in a long while, I had no interest in going home, so I pulled out my phone and called Frankie, but as the phone rang someone tapped me on my shoulder. When I looked back, it was the chef. When I saw him at the club I knew it was a possibility that I might run into him again, but I didn’t care either way. I ended the call and assessed the quasi stranger standing in front of me.

  “Hello,” I said as I was putting my phone back in my bag. “Sorry, I was making a call.”

  “No worries.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “I saw you when I was walking out and I thought that you had seen me, so I didn’t want to be awkward and not say hello.”

  “I didn’t see you, but it’s okay, I appreciate the effort you put into making your presence known.”

  He laughed.

  “What was your name again?” I said. “I’m sorry to have to ask, but I really suck at them and our last couple encounters involved alcohol, so I’m blanking.”

  He laughed again. His smile was captivating.

  “Niko. I mean Nikolas, Nikolas Almeida, but Niko is fine.”

  “I’m Ma—”

  “Mara, I remember. But no last name was given.” He grabbed his chin and ran his fingers through his beard, looking at me, waiting for a response.

  “Goodwin. Mara Janae Goodwin, but Mara is fine.” I put my hand out to shake his. It was warm and strong. A breeze blew past us and his scent with it. That fresh, clean combo I remembered from the club. In the light his beard looked as if it needed a trim and his hair was longer than I initially thought. It was loose this time, and hung slightly past his shoulders, and in the light of the sun I could see a few strands of gray. It had been dark during our first encounters, and in the sunlight, I could now see that he was older than I initially thought as well. My initial guess was late thirties, but now I was thinking early forties, but he had a handsome charm, especially around the eyes. He was aging perfectly.

  “Well, Mara, I’m sure you’re a busy woman so I won’t take up any more of your time. Enjoy the rest of your week.” He waved and started to walk away. I wasn’t sure what it was about him that made me do it, but I opened my mouth before I could even process the action in my brain.

  “Wait… Mr. Niko.” He turned back, smiling.

  “Just Niko, no formality needed,” he said.

  “Niko, are you busy right now?”

  “No, I am not, Miss Mara.”

  “Just Mara,” I said, smiling. “Would you like to have coffee with me? There’s a shop just around the corner.”

  “I’d like that. I could use the caffeine,” he said, and we started to walk.

  I don’t know what it was, but I was all right with this. I felt comfortable going for coffee. I was taking a chance for sure and I kept dwelling on the fact that this impulsive decision was going to come back around and bite me in the ass, but I didn’t care. I was oddly drawn to this man, but I still had to be careful.

  * * *

  The coffee shop was cozy. I had passed it so many times and always wanted to go in but was too afraid to by myself. I was glad that it was early afternoon and not swarming with people. Niko seemed to be a decent guy, respectable, not lacking in chivalrous etiquette, but you never knew about people—more often than not they would surprise you. Our walk over was littered with dry water-cooler conversation about the weather and stuff like that, but I did find out that he wasn’t only a chef but part owner of the place where we had our first encounter. When we got up to order I couldn’t go without getting my vanilla latte, but he was simple coffee with cream. I offered to pay since I was the one who asked, but he wouldn’t hear of it and demanded that the cashier take his card as he pushed mine away. We sat down and I started my interrogation.

  “I know that you’re a chef and all, but that’s all I know about you, and I’m not going to beat around the bush. Are you a psycho?” I asked.

  He busted into laughter.

  “What is so funny?” I asked, barely able to hold back my own laugh. “Is that why you go to the counseling center? You don’t have to answer if you’re offended, but I thought that I would just get the awkward stuff out of the way,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, but I knew I was serious. He put his coffee down on the table.

  “You don’t waste any time, do you?” he said. I could tell he was amused.

  “No, none at all,” I said. “People’s time is valuable; it should be respected. I don’t take anything from anybody that I can’t give back and you can’t give back a person’s time. I’m sure you’re a busy man and all, being super chef, and I’m busy too. So, psycho or not?”

  “No, I’m not a psycho.” He put his head down and paused for a moment. “I go to the center because I’m a widower.”

  I about choked on my latte.

  “I’m so… I�
��m so sorry… I’m such an asshole… I didn’t mean to…”

  “It’s okay,” he said as he looked up. “It’s been two years now and it just got to a point where I just needed some extra help dealing with it and the stress of the restaurant and stuff, but it’s been going well. What about you? I should be asking whether or not you’re a psycho. You did lure me here with your charm, but it might all be a façade.”

  My heart paused for a moment. I wasn’t able to answer my own question. I didn’t want to start this off with that, that I was a rape victim. I should have said that my grandmother died and that would have been the truth, but it happened a good decade ago so it would have been a little late in the game to start the grieving process. I hesitated for a moment.

  “I’m a counseling psychology student. I’ll be starting my Ph.D. in clinical psych in the spring, so I’m just finishing up some hours for my master’s.”

  There it was, part truth and part lie, but I really didn’t care. All that mattered was that he believed it.

  “Wow, a future Ph.D. Your family must be proud,” he said, looking me in my eyes, intrigued.

  “I think for the most part they are, but I still have a ways to go,” I said, trying to be modest.

  “You’ll do it, and you’ll do it with ease, the future Dr. Mara Goodwin. Yep, you’re going to be somebody,” he said.

  I laughed.

  “You sound like an afterschool special or an overly optimistic high school counselor, you know that? How do you know I’m going to be somebody, tell me, please enlighten me, how do you know?”

  He took a sip of his coffee. “Because I can see it in your eyes.”

  He smiled at me, and I was chocolate melting in his hand. I liked the way he thought. A breath of fresh air. He knew nothing about my experiences and it would be nice having his new, fresh perspective on things. Maybe it was flattery, but I wanted to see what he saw in me. I didn’t know what it was, but I felt that he saw me in a genuine way, or I at least hoped he did.