One of the workers with the plantation helps me find gauze and we wrap my knuckles before I make my way back toward the ballroom. A loud burst of laughter from down the hall catches my attention on the way and I slow, watching as Landon and two of his Mu Beta Chi brothers exit a room at the far end. His brothers share a high five as Landon takes a long pull from his flask, checking over his shoulder for something in the room they just exited. When another brother joins them, sweat on his forehead, hands adjusting his dress shirt back into his pants, my stomach drops.
Something isn’t right.
Landon sniffs, eyes catching mine just briefly before he nods toward the exit and his brothers follow quickly. Before I know what I’m doing, I let my feet carry me toward the room. Every step feels weighted, slow, like I’m walking through quicksand. My heart is hammering in my ears, adrenaline coursing through my veins and telling me I should walk away. Those primal instincts deep within me are screaming danger but I can’t stop walking. My hand finds the hard wood of the door and I pause, waiting for permission that never comes. Then, slowly, I push it open with a creak.
What I find knocks the breath from my chest.
That’s the only thing that happens quickly, and in the next few moments where I’m not breathing, everything else comes slow in a steady rhythm with my heartbeat.
One beat, Erin, face down on a pool table. Another beat, her mascara stained on her cheeks, brown eyes wide open, staring at me like I’m not real. A third beat, her light blue dress, torn in the back, bunched above her waist. The fourth and final beat, her lacey white panties around her ankles, strained against her silver heels still planted firmly on the floor.
One breath, inhaled slowly and exhaled like fire through my nose as my fists clench, breaking the cuts on my knuckles open once more.
“I’ll fucking murder them.”
I turn fast, eyes searching for Landon and his brothers as Erin calls out my name.
“Bear!”
“I’ll fucking murder them!” I repeat, running in the direction I watched them leave, but Erin’s voice stops me.
“Bear, don’t leave me!” she cries, and the sound rips through my chest like the sharpest blade. I choke on my next breath, torn between chasing after them and staying with her. A soft whimper is all it takes to make my decision for me.
“Fuck!”
I rush through the door, shutting it quickly behind me before crossing quickly to Erin. She hasn’t moved except for to squeeze her eyes shut tightly as fresh tears mark her cheeks. My hands gently find the edge of her dress on the table and I pull it down, covering her shaking legs, closing my eyes along with her and forcing another breath to stop myself from leaving her again.
I’ll fucking murder them.
I rip my phone from my pocket.
“I’m calling 911.”
“No,” she says softly, quickly.
“Yes, Erin.”
“Bear, please, stop,” she says a little louder, her palms finding the table as she tries to push herself up. The bruises already forming on her arms fuel the fire searing my chest. Erin was having fun tonight, she was smiling, she was dancing, she was wild.
And that’s when it hits me.
“They drugged you,” I whisper. She pauses, stomach still to the table. Her hesitation is answer enough. “I’m calling, Erin.”
“No.”
“Yes, goddamn it.”
“No!” she screams it this time, standing straight, fresh tears falling with the force. “It’s my body, Bear! And I said no!”
A sob breaks through and she doubles over, clutching her stomach as she sinks down to the floor, ankles still bound together by lace. I go down with her, trying to lessen the fall with my arms as I pull her into me. Slowly, I slide her underwear up, but she stops me.
“Take them off. Get them off of me.”
I rip the fabric and quickly tuck them inside my jacket, wrapping my arms around her again. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. All the skits from PSU freshman orientation and years of sex education come flying at me but none of it feels right. “We have to call 911, Erin.”
“And what?” she asks, lifting her tear-stained face to me, blue dress crumpled around her. It’s the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever seen, like I’m holding a princess broken beyond repair. “This isn’t a movie or a fucking seminar, Bear. This is real life. And in real life, rich boys with even richer parents and lawyers don’t go away for raping a sorority girl.” The word rape spits from her lips like poison. “They’ll say I wanted it, they’ll say I planned it, they’ll say I consented, they’ll say I was drunk on my own, they’ll say whatever they have to because it’s four of them against one of me. You weren’t here, you can’t say without a doubt that you saw them do anything. It’s me versus them. And in this world, when the me is a girl known for being emotionally unstable and the them is a group of privileged white men, they win, Bear.” She sniffs, leaning her head against my chest. “They win.”
My hand finds her hair and I pull her close, as close as I can, trying to protect her from a monster I was too late to fight. “Erin, you’re still . . . you’re not thinking right.”
“Please,” she begs, fists curling in my dress shirt. “Just take me home. Please, Bear. Please. Please.” She says the word over and over, each time softer, her frail body rocking in my arms. “Please.”
“Okay,” I finally say, letting myself feel her pain. I take it in, take it as my own, let it overtake my urge to do what I’ve been taught is the right thing. “Okay.”
ERIN ASKS ME TO TAKE HER to my room, knowing her house will soon be flooded with sisters soon, so I do. She asks me to help her undress, so I do. She asks me to burn her dress, so I do. But when she turns on my shower, I quickly turn it back off, keeping my eyes on hers.
“If you’re going to shower, if you’re really not going to tell anyone, then I need you to promise me something.”
Her eyes are so tired, so red, yet tears still pool and spill over. She doesn’t ask me what the promise is, she hasn’t said much at all.
“Erin, you have to get tested. They could have given you something.” I feel weird saying it, but I can’t just let her wash away all evidence without a promise that she’ll take care of herself. I’m already going against every principle in my being. “A disease . . .”
“A baby?” she finishes for me, laughing a bit. I can’t understand why. She shakes her head, leaning over to turn on the shower again. “They used condoms.”
“I don’t care.” I shut it off. She turns it on again but my hand covers hers. “I’m serious, Erin. Promise me.”
She swallows, and the way her eyes connect with mine makes me feel like our souls are tied together in a way that can never be undone from this day forward.
“Okay.”
I nod, dropping my hand and leaving to let her shower in peace but she reaches out for my arm. “Wait.” I pause. “Can you . . . will you . . .”
I turn, brows pinched together as the realization of what she’s asking settles in. But I won’t leave her, not if what she needs is for me to be here right now. I peel my shirt off in response and Erin watches me for just a moment before stepping behind the curtain.
The water is scalding, almost too hot to bear, but I let it burn us both as she scrubs their hands off her skin. The bruises are really starting to show now and her pale skin turns redder and redder as she scrubs, her tears mixing with the water from the showerhead. Tentatively, I take the rag from her hands and slowly run it over her tender skin. My touches are gentle, and she closes her eyes, lips quivering as I try to help her shed the last few hours.
I’m not sure how long we stay in the shower together. The water runs cold and still we stay, shivering together, crying as one. When her tears stop, I turn the water off and wrap her in a towel, carrying her to my room. I find a t-shirt and boxer shorts and she slips them on, crawling into my sheets and reaching out for me again.
So I hold her,
all night, through the tears and the silence and the nightmares and the pain. I hold her close, tight, and I whisper the same words over and over and over again until we have no choice but to believe them, until I have no choice but to never rest until they’re true.
“Everything’s going to be okay.”
HOW MUCH WEIGHT CAN ONE GIRL hold before she crumples beneath it, spent, too tired to even care if it crushes her?
I’ve been strong before. I’ve held myself together through experiences that should have killed me. But now, it’s as if that girl is a distant memory, or as if she never really existed at all. I’m just a shell now. A cracked, rusted shell.
I can’t shower enough. I can’t scrub enough. I can’t cry enough. Nothing is enough to cleanse me of that night. Nothing ever will be.
I think I broke Clinton, too.
He brought me back to life just enough to let me breathe on my own, though anything else feels impossible, and I asked him to go against everything he stands for. But he did it. For me. And I wonder how much of himself he gave up just to let me hold tight to the last little shred of what was left of me.
I’ve been holed up in my room since the morning after when I walked in a daze back to the house. I left long enough to take my last final and that’s it. The girls think I’m sick, and I let them think whatever they want to. Clinton checks on me from time to time but I ignore him for the most part, only responding enough to let him know I’m alive, though maybe that’s a lie, too.
But today, like a child, I called my mother. I showed her my scraped knees and asked her to bandage them. I asked her to fix me. Instead, she cried. And I cried with her. Now, we sit quiet on the phone together, both still sniffling as I curl into myself under my sheets.
“Are you packed?” she finally asks.
“I am.”
She sniffs, clearing her throat. “Good. I’m sending a car now. Listen to me.” Her voice cracks a bit and a new wave of tears rush in on me. “You are a strong, brave, incredible young lady. You have way too much ahead of you to let four spoiled little punks take your life away.” I tuck my knees up closer to my chest and exhale loudly to ward off a sob. “So you’re going to come home, and we’re going to figure this out together. Do you hear me? You are not broken, Erin Xander. You need to harden your heart, baby girl. Take everything you feel right now and hone it, use it to push you toward what you want most in life. Take what you want. Take what you need. Right now, you feel like you’ve been robbed, right?” I nod, even though she can’t see me. “So, take back what’s yours.”
“I don’t know how,” I whisper, wanting to believe her but feeling the exact opposite of her words. Is this what bravery looks like? A scared little girl curled up in sheets like they’ll be her saving grace?
There’s a weighted pause on the other end before Mom’s voice comes through again, stronger than before.
“I do. And I’ll teach you. Just come home, baby.”
So I do.
And going home isn’t the hard part. I go willingly, hopefully.
It’s coming back to PSU that won’t be easy.
And if I do make it back, the truth remains that I won’t be the same girl everyone knew before. That girl is dead.
Can a new one be reborn?
I’VE BEEN PRACTICING.
I’ve been working every word over and over in my head for the last week since formal. I want this to be perfect, I want this moment to be as big as I feel like it should be. So when Jarrett opens his door dressed in nothing but relaxed, navy blue sweat pants that hang low on his hips, I close my eyes to stop myself from getting distracted.
“Jess?”
“Don’t talk,” I say quickly, eyes still closed. “I just need to get this all out, okay?” I crack one eye open just long enough to make sure he’s still there. And he is, in all his sexy, tattooed glory, brow cocked, an amused look on his face. I close my eyes again, blowing out one long breath.
“I’ve been stupid. I’ve been fighting you on this whole relationship thing and giving you every excuse I could think of because the truth is that I’m scared. I’m terrified, actually. That I’ll hurt you, that you’ll hurt me, that we’ll fail miserably or worse—actually make it together.” I’m rambling. I’m an idiot. I keep going. “Because if we do make it together, then that means we give each other even more power to break one another. And that’s fucking scary, okay? So, I’m sorry I’ve been a little crybaby bitch. I sucked on a pacifier for a few weeks and pulled up my big girl panties and now I’m ready. I’m still scared,” I clarified. “But I’m ready to do this. I want to be your girlfriend.” I wait, chest heaving, but no response comes. “Jarrett?”
When I open my eyes to make sure I’m not talking to a closed door, Jarrett comes into view slowly, one arm crossed over his chest and the other holding his hand over his perfect mouth as he fights back laughter.
“This isn’t funny, Jarrett!” I scream, my hands flying up. “I’m serious! I love you! I fucking—”
Jarrett’s mouth crashes down hard on mine, stealing my next words along with my breath. His hands wrap around my hips with ease and he yanks me inside his apartment, slamming the door closed behind us before throwing me up against it. A picture frame on the same wall falls to the floor, glass cracking as I wrap my legs around his waist and lock ankles. I tug him closer, my nails digging into his bare back, our breaths heavy and desperate.
His mouth is eager as he tastes my lips, my neck, the swell of my breasts. His hips pin mine against the door and he lifts my arms, pulling my tank top up and over my head before flinging it to the side. His expert fingers snap my bra off quickly, letting it fall to the floor as he lifts me once more and carries me to the bedroom. We barely reach the bed before he tosses me onto it, the comforter expelling around me in a whoosh.
Jarrett makes quick work of my jean shorts, stripping them off my legs and yanking his own pants to the floor as I lean up to kiss his abs. I take him in my hand, stroking him from the tip all the way down to the base and back, my tongue still tracing figure eights on his chiseled abdomen. Jarrett groans before pushing me back into the bed, his hands gripping my skin as he drags my panties down my thighs, my calves, all the way to my ankles. He lets them drop before wrapping his long fingers around my ankles once more, pulling my legs up one by one to rest on his shoulders. Planting one soft kiss on the inside of my left ankle, he smirks, the tug of his lips tied to the longing building inside me. My thighs tense and tingle as he flexes his hips forward, his hard on pressed against my slit, teasing.
“Jarrett,” I breathe his name as my hands find my breasts. He watches as I frame my nipples, tugging each of them gently. Groaning, his hands grip my thighs hard and he pulls me to the edge of the bed, answering my call, filling me with one solid thrust.
“Fuck,” he drags the word out, his hands sliding up my ribs, my breasts before holding tight to my shoulders and pulling me toward his second thrust. With my ankles on his shoulders, he hits me deeper than I’ve ever felt him before. He works me slow and steady, letting me feel every inch as he pulls all the way out before sliding back inside.
His hands slide up higher, cradling my neck and stretching my legs further as he leans in close to my chest. Jarrett’s pace intensifies, his eyes dark, wide, and locked on mine as his slides the thumb from his right hand in to hook the corner of my mouth. I suck hard, letting it go with a pop and his eyes roll back as his hips roll forward.
“I want you to come like this,” he demands, trailing his hands down my body as he straightens his stance. The same thumb that was just in my mouth finds my clit and I reward him with a sharp cry of pleasure.
“Only if you come with me.”
He smiles, biting his lower lip as his thumb applies more pressure. Every circle sends a jolt through me, my need pulsing in time with his movement. “Always so fucking stubborn.”
“You love it,” I shoot back and he slows, his smile falling.
“I love you.”
I eye him through heavy lids, my sexy, bald, tattooed boyfriend.
Boyfriend.
Yeah, I could get used to that.
“I love you, too.”
He stops, dropping my ankles off his shoulders and pulling me up to meet his lips. His kiss tells me more than his words do, and I let it speak freely, wrapping my arms around his neck and tugging him closer.
“Turn around,” he demands, smacking my ass. I giggle, doing as he says, but when one hand grips the bend at my waist and the other positions him behind me, the laughter is gone, replaced by a carnal need only Jarrett makes me feel.
He rocks in slowly, but picks up speed quickly, his hands pulling my hips back to meet his own again and again. When his palm finds the center of my back and he presses me face down into the sheets, I grip them with my fists and hold on tight as I find my climax. I call out his name, chest tight as I ride the wave for as long as I can. Jarrett comes right behind me, and hearing him moan sends an aftershock through my core.
When we’re both spent, Jarrett falls into the sheets with me, pulling me to straddle his waist. His hands slide into my hair and he kisses me, softer this time, longer kisses followed by short ones, like the most beautiful cadence.
“Mine,” he whispers between kisses, smiling. “Thank fuck you’re finally mine.”
“WELL, LOOKS LIKE ANOTHER SEMESTER BITES the dust, girls,” I say, tossing the last of my bags into my rental car. It feels weird to not be loading up the Bimmer for my trip home, but I don’t regret giving her up one bit. I would do it all over again, if it meant Ashlei’s freedom from Xavier. Even with Bo leaving, she still seems so much happier—lighter—and I look forward to her getting back to the old Ashlei.
Palm South University: Season 2, Episode 6 (Palm South University #2) Page 5
