It was fine. It was just sex. Everyone’s first time was supposed to hurt a little. That’s just how it worked.
I remember the feel of his hand tugging my long hair that sent a wave of nausea rolling through me. I remember how the first time I brushed my hair after, I felt that same tug on my scalp and that same pit in my stomach. I remember how good it felt to take the scissors to my ponytail and lob the whole thing off. I remember finding the condom wrapper, discarded on the floor under my bed. I remember being grateful that he’d been sober enough to remember a condom.
Mom had raised us in a sex-positive household, and she gave us the condom discussion when we were kids. I’d just started the pill, mostly to regulate my periods. I was fine with the idea of sex. But I couldn’t wrap my brain around what I’d done.
* * *
—
I glanced at the office door, waiting for Dad, but he didn’t come.
I told the school everything I could remember. The smell of the room. The taste of the rum. The feel of his weight on top of me. When I was done, I squeezed my eyes shut.
“That’s not what happened,” Chris shouted.
Coach Crespo cleared his throat. “Autumn, do you remember exactly how much you had to drink?”
I blinked at him. “No. A lot, I think.”
“And how many people were at the party?”
“I . . . don’t know.”
The coach sighed. “With all due respect, Autumn, it sounds like maybe you’re not remembering the night clearly. You’re fifteen years old; you shouldn’t have been drinking—either of you.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Maybe I wasn’t remembering it clearly.
“I know, Coach,” Chris said. “It was a mistake.”
Crespo pulled out his phone, producing a screenshot of that wretched Instagram photo. He showed it to the room, and humiliation burned hot in my throat. “Here’s what I’m seeing. You kids had a bit much to drink. Autumn, your clothes were already half off at this point.” The principal shot him a warning glance, but he continued. “I’m just saying.”
Chris lowered his head. “It was a mistake. But I feel like I’m being attacked here for something I didn’t do.”
“No one’s attacking you,” Principal Greenwich added. “We’re just trying to find out what happened.”
“Autumn, honey.” Kathy squeezed Chris’s hand and smiled at me. “It’s okay. It was a mistake. Lord knows I regret my mistakes.” She nodded toward her ex-husband across the room.
A mistake. That’s what the night was.
“It seems like you did something you regret. But you can’t just say things and expect them not to have consequences.” She was talking to me like a little kid who ate the last cookie and then lied about it. “I have to talk to Steve about this, because just last week you cut some classes and told us you didn’t. You can’t just lie when you don’t like the truth.”
My face burned. “I’m not.” I don’t think?
Her ex snorted. “Look, I don’t know why we’re here. You trying to send your stepbrother to prison? He rejected you and now you’re pissed? Is that it?”
I wasn’t trying to send Chris anywhere. But he kept going, hurling names at me. I was a liar. I was a slut. I should have said no. He was right—I didn’t say no, and I should have. This was all my fault.
“I didn’t do anything,” Chris said. His face flushed red. “I’d never sleep with anyone who didn’t want to. That’s not who I am.”
“We know.” Coach Crespo nodded at him. “This is just a formality.”
Coach Bratten hesitated, but cut in. “I think we should hear more from Autumn’s perspective.”
“Oh please. We’ve already heard her nonsense,” Kathy’s ex thundered. The man rounded on Kathy. “We all saw the photo. Just because your stepdaughter is a little whore who regrets her mistakes in the morning doesn’t mean our son should be punished for it.” He slammed his fist on the principal’s desk. “She lies about cutting class, and you believe her now because she says something might have happened when she was wasted? Chris should flush his life down the toilet because he got ten minutes of action?”
Kathy’s face drained of all color. “Flush his life away? No, of course not.” She gave Chris a comforting smile, like he was a little child who needed shielding. “Don’t worry, honey. It’s okay.”
“Did you say no?” the principal asked, looking dead into my eyes.
I hesitated. “No.”
“I told you!” Chris said, a hint of whine in his voice.
“Aha!” Kathy’s ex pounded the desk. “I knew it. You were probably begging him for it and don’t want to admit it because he’s your stepbrother.”
“That’s enough.” The principal glared at him. “Do you have anything else you want to add, Autumn?”
I’d caused a giant mess; blown everything out of proportion. In that moment, I wanted to be literally anywhere else. I just wanted the meeting to end. I didn’t know what to say.
So I said nothing.
* * *
—
Ivy stands in the middle of the room, suspicion in her eyes.
“He raped her, didn’t he?” My sister swallows. “Is that what happened?”
It’s like the air is sucked from my lungs. There’s that word. The word I never dared to say, couldn’t bring myself to type. I don’t know why I never could.
Dad’s brow creases. “Where would you get that idea, Ivy?”
“Tell me the truth,” Ivy says. “What happened at the meeting you had at school?”
Kathy’s eyes crease. “Ivy—”
“I wasn’t there. Kathy handled it.” Dad casts a cautious glance at his wife.
“It was a witch hunt.” Kathy shakes her head. “That female coach wanted to target Chris.”
“I don’t believe that. Not Coach Bratten.” Ivy looks at the ceiling, then back at Kathy. “Chris should have gone to prison for what he did.”
Dad holds his hand up. “Wait. Ivy, are you saying what I think you’re saying? Because that’s a very serious accusation.”
“Yes.” Ivy forces the word between gritted teeth. “I am saying exactly what you think I’m saying.”
Silence blares around us, louder than shouting. I close my eyes, letting her simple words wash over me.
“Do you really want to talk about this?” Kathy’s voice is softer than a whisper.
“Yes,” Ivy says. “I want to talk about this.”
Another wave of silence follows.
Kathy holds a shaking hand to her face. “He didn’t do anything. Autumn made the whole thing up, she regretted their mistake and tried to get him in trouble, or wanted attention, or something.”
Ivy’s face scrunches. “No. She searched about this on her private computer. She wasn’t looking for attention, she was looking for help—and it’s clear she wasn’t getting it from you.”
“She was accusing my son of something he didn’t do.” Kathy’s voice grows more frantic. “It would’ve ruined his life.”
“His life? What about Autumn’s life?” Ivy raises her voice.
Neither Kathy nor Dad responds.
“Chris’s life is fine. He’s probably going to get drafted into the NFL, and where’s Autumn, huh?” She throws her hands up and lets them slap back down against her sides. “Gone.”
I remember how we looked side by side on paper: the football star with the bright future, and the troubled ninth-grader with the dead mother who always cut class.
Dad’s brows lower. “Kathy, you said everything at the meeting was fine. That everyone agreed it was all . . .” He cringes. “Consensual.”
“Autumn makes a lot of . . . bad decisions.” Kathy wrings her hands. “But you can’t blame it on Chris—”
“Oh yes I can.” Ivy points at her. �
��Because it’s his fucking fault. You think it’s not his fault she sleeps on an air mattress? Why she turns her head every time she walks through the door? To avoid looking at that wall.” Ivy points. I don’t follow her finger, but I know where she’s pointing. “So she doesn’t have to see his face staring back at her from the bookshelf.”
Dad slowly turns toward Kathy, narrowing his eyes. “You told me everyone admitted it was just a mistake.”
“It was,” Kathy insists. “They heard something happened between Chris and Autumn and wanted to make sure it was consensual, and it was. Autumn didn’t even deny that. That’s what I told you.”
“You told me they had sex, you didn’t say anything about . . . about rape.” Dad raises his voice. “They’re not the same thing, Katherine.”
Dad and Kathy start arguing, getting right in each other’s faces. But I barely hear a word they’re saying.
I remember Officer O’Riley’s words from yesterday—Sometimes when we’re desperate to believe something, especially about the people we love, our minds can twist events. Kathy will never see her son as anything but her innocent little boy. She won’t see it because she doesn’t want to.
When I was a kid, Mom told me never to say the R-word. But there’s another R-word I never said. Because that would’ve made it real.
He raped me. He raped me. I can’t stop thinking those three words. I was raped. I was raped. It sounds wrong and accurate at the same time.
I lost my virginity to him, but it didn’t feel like something I had lost. It felt like something that was taken from me.
I didn’t say no. But I also didn’t say yes. And even if I had, I would’ve been too drunk to mean it.
“You defended him.” Ivy keeps her face emotionless, but her words are rich with acid and powerful enough to silence the yelling in the room. “He walks free because of you. She needed you, and you didn’t help her.” I can’t tell if she’s talking to Kathy or Dad.
Tears sting my eyes.
I remember how they blamed it on the alcohol, on my outfit, on literally everything but him. How they made me into a monster for being a fifteen-year-old at a senior party. How they decided that I didn’t say no because I wanted it.
How they urged me to confess when I hadn’t committed a crime.
It didn’t feel right, because it wasn’t.
I was raped.
I remember the weight of my mattress when I heaved it into the dumpster. I remember every detail I tried to bleach out of my mind. I remember the first time I tasted Ativan, and it tasted like nothing and everything, and the bad memories slipped away.
“You know I love your sister,” Kathy says. “But she does not have the best track record, Ivy. She lies. She smokes. She deals—”
“No. Stop it.” Ivy’s hands are balled in fists, shaking at her sides. “She’s a person, and she deserves to be listened to and believed. She deserved so much more than what she got.”
My hand hovers next to Ivy’s, an inch from reaching out and brushing her skin.
Dad stares at the ground. Kathy watches the TV, mute in the background, her eyes glazed over.
People talk about it like it’s a moment in time, a blip on the radar. They never mention the ghost that lingers after. The taint on everything that can’t be undone. How every touch becomes offensive. How the first time I bit into a slice of pizza afterward, I shoved my finger down my throat and spewed it back out.
I remember how word of the meeting in the principal’s office got out, and Chris told everyone at school I was a liar. That I threw myself at him and then changed my story. It was so easy to become a criminal once they already thought I was. I had no reputation left to ruin.
I hate that I don’t wear low-cut shirts anymore. I used to love how they looked on me. I hate that he ruined that.
I haven’t touched alcohol in three years and haven’t dressed up since then, but I wonder if any of those things mattered. It could have happened anyway. Because none of those things caused the rape—Chris did.
And now I am still at the mercy of a monster whose future is valued more highly than mine.
Ivy turns away and takes the stairs, one by one.
“I’m sorry, Ivy.” Kathy shakes her head, and calls after her, “I’m so sorry.”
Ivy pauses on the top step. “It’s not me who needs the apology.”
I let the tears streak down my face. There’s no point in hiding it anymore. I’m already invisible.
I follow Ivy into her room and sit beside her on the mattress. The solid mass of ice in my chest thaws and melts, leaving behind the raw lump of pain I’d buried there.
I run a finger down the tattoo on my wrist. “Thank you.”
Ivy doesn’t respond, but I swear she turns her head.
I let my hand hover over her thigh for a moment before resting it gently there. Warmth emanates from her body, bleeding into my lifeless hand. She places hers on top of mine, and it sinks straight through me until she’s touching the denim of her jeans instead of me.
I’m here, Ivy. I close my eyes. I’m right here.
Something jerks my hands upward, like someone’s pulling me away and forcing the air from my lungs. I suck in a breath and inhale the familiar stench of moldy cedar. Pain stabs into me from every angle.
A sliver of light peeks through the bottom of my vision, but something soft covers my eyes—a blindfold.
Cold air pierces my skin, and my body feels stiff and disoriented. Fresh rope burns into my wrists, binding my hands together.
“All right, that should do it,” says the grisly voice that sends a chill deep into my core. “She’s not going anywhere.”
“Good.” It’s a different voice. It sounds familiar, in a strange way. “Liam’s gonna be relieved.”
That piece of shit. I knew it.
“It’ll be dealt with soon,” the first guy says. “Tomorrow morning, this’ll all be over.”
“Did you come up with a plan?”
“Yeah. First thing in the morning, I’m gonna put her in the truck, weigh her down . . .” Something rustles, like the man stood up. “And throw her in the Merrimack.”
AUTUMN
I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them again, I’m back in Ivy’s room, sitting on her bed.
Everything inside me tightens and hardens until I’m sure I’m more rock than human. Oh my God.
That’s it. Tomorrow morning. It’s so soon.
What do I do? There has to be something I can do.
I have no idea where Liam would’ve put me. He’s in jail; he couldn’t have done this alone. But still, after two days, I’m no closer to knowing.
What the hell can I do?
Ivy kicks her boots off and throws them against the wall. They thump, leaving black scuff marks on the plaster. She grabs her hair in fists and sinks back onto the bed beside me. “I’m sorry, Autumn,” she whispers. “I failed you.”
I rest my hand on her leg. “You didn’t.”
The revelation hits me.
Nothing.
There’s nothing I can do.
I close my eyes, letting it wash over me.
Somehow, it’s freeing. I don’t have to try anymore. It’s inevitable. All I can do is wait.
The unknown makes everything churn around inside me. It seems like forever ago I had that conversation with Liam in his car. What comes after death?
Tomorrow, I’ll either be with my mom, or I’ll be nowhere.
I hope it’s quick. I hope it doesn’t hurt.
It hits me that I’m kind of lucky to know it’s coming. Most people don’t get a warning, so there’s no time to tie up their loose ends.
Mom and my aunt Bethany never had a good relationship. I’m not sure why; something happened when they were kids. When they put Mom into hospice, the doctor said she had a week
left. Her sister made plans to come and visit her on the weekend. She bought a plane ticket and booked a hotel room, just to say goodbye.
But Mom died on a Friday. By the time Aunt Bethany arrived, she was gone. Bethany never said it, but I always wondered if she’d intended to apologize for whatever happened between them.
I have one night left.
What do I do with it?
I focus on Abby Nelson. The moment she pops into my head, the scenery around me changes, all the colors and edges blurring together.
I’m standing outside Abby’s apartment. It’s a crappy brick public housing building with brown shutters on every window. Every apartment has its own entrance, and Abby’s already has an orange garland strung around the door for Halloween. Flower stickers cover the windows, probably put up there by her little sister.
I can’t remember her sister’s name. She’s probably said it a million times, and I never paid attention.
A few years ago, this complex made the news because a guy hanged himself in the parking lot and a bunch of little kids saw. It crosses my mind that I never asked Abby if she was one of them.
I’ve dropped her off here a million times but never set foot inside.
I float through the wall, into the cramped apartment. From the living room, I can see straight into the kitchen; piles of dirty dishes are stacked in the sink. Toys litter the living room floor. A TV blares, showing reruns on the Disney Channel. It smells like Kraft Macaroni and Cheese in here—it’s a very distinctive smell. Our AP physics textbook lies on the coffee table with a brown ring burnt into the top, like someone left a hot drink on it. Typical Abby. I don’t even know why she signed up for AP classes when she never does any work.
I tiptoe inside, careful not to step on anything, even though it wouldn’t matter if I did.
A little girl sits cross-legged on the brown crumb-covered couch in her pajamas, her eyes fixed on the TV. I should be looking for Abby, but I’m too distracted by the pictures on the wall. There are portraits of Abby, her sister, and her parents for every year since she was born. I’ve never actually met any of them before. In the most recent picture, an oxygen tube is linked into her father’s nose. Abby’s got her arms wrapped around her little sister, and her mom’s looking right at her dad instead of the camera.
The Last Confession of Autumn Casterly Page 24
