by Stella James
I watch as she approaches the middle-aged man who joined our group three months ago. He’d spent the majority of his childhood being abused by his stepfather and didn’t tell a soul until just a few weeks ago when he shared his story here for the first time.
I met Holly just over three years ago. She was pinning up fliers on the bulletin board at the grocery store where I was shopping. I still remember what it said, probably because I stood there after she left, staring at the piece of yellow paper like it could magically fix me.
Survivors of sexual abuse and assault support group
We meet every Tuesday night in the church basement on 45th
No judgement, no obligation to share, anonymity always an option
Refreshments served afterwards
7 p.m. sharp
It took me two weeks to build up the nerve to show up. I’ve been coming at least once a month, sometimes more, ever since. Holly has become not only a shoulder to lean on but a good friend as well. She’s in her mid-thirties and at my first meeting she told the story of how her younger sister, Katherine, had been raped at a frat party and later committed suicide, unable to cope with the aftermath. That was seven years ago. Holly started these meetings as a tribute to her sister and has played an active role between victim services and those who attend, ever since. She also set me up with one on one counseling sessions shortly after my first group meeting. I don’t know where I’d be now if I hadn’t met her.
I knew after spending my first summer out of school with my mom in Edison that I wouldn’t go back to college. I couldn’t. I hate looking back now and realizing how much worry I must have caused her. I was a mess. I tried to put a smile on my face but I just couldn’t. She tried to get me to open up but I could never get the truth past my lips. I eventually told her that I couldn’t go back, that college just wasn’t for me. I know she wasn’t happy about it but she supported my decision and in the fall, I packed up my belongings and moved to Fortune. A new place, a new start. Even so, that first year after I was raped was the hardest. I was lost, angry and slowly becoming unrecognizable, even to myself. I didn’t know what to do with everything that I felt. Holly hanging up those fliers saved me.
After she drops me off, I climb the creaking stairs to my small one-bedroom apartment. I unlock the door and set my purse and keys on the counter before I reach into the cupboard for a glass and flip on the faucet. I let the water run cold before I fill it to the top and drink it back.
After setting my empty glass in the sink, I walk over to my small balcony, looking out the patio doors at the twinkling lights of the skyscrapers against the darkness. When I arrived in Fortune, all I had were three suitcases and the keys to my modest apartment that I’d only seen once the week before. Luckily it came half furnished and I’ve managed to turn it into a decent home for myself over the years.
I continue to watch the blinking skyline and begin to think about Logan. It’s been over five years since I last saw him. Some days I wonder if this feeling inside of me, like I gave something away that I can never get back, is just part of who I am now or if it can ever be fixed. I like to believe that my tender seventeen year old heart knew back then what love is. But maybe it didn’t. Maybe I was a foolish child and this hollowness I carry in my chest is something else entirely.
After the attack, I was so angry. Angry at him for not being there, angry at him for giving up. I suppose it was then that I realized for certain that nothing was going to be the way I thought it would be. For that first year after his arrest, I still had hope, deep down that he would find his way back to me. That I would check the mail one day and there would be a letter from him. But there never was.
I tuck my hair behind my ear and wonder if I’ll ever feel it again. The things I felt when I was with him. I’ve dated, I’ve let men kiss me, but it never feels the way I think it should. The way I remember it.
Maybe it never will.
I leave my memories for now and turn off the kitchen light, triple checking that I’ve locked and dead bolted the door before I head down the hallway to the bathroom. I wash my face and brush my teeth before I strip off my T-shirt, bra and jeans and reach for the pink cotton nightgown hanging on the back of the door. I pull it over my head and run a brush through my shoulder length hair. I stare at the tarnished gold chain around my neck.
I’ll never take it off, I promise.
Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. I should let go. I should forget the way we were together…the plans we were going to make, how it felt when he held me. I should accept the reality. That as fiercely as I loved him, in the end…it wasn’t enough.
*
I use my key card and sneak in through the side door of Fortune Financial at two minutes to nine. Smoothing down my black pencil skirt, I make sure my green blouse is still properly tucked in as I quickly make my way to the staffroom in the back, my black heels clicking along the tile floor as I go. I place my things in my locker and head straight to the vault to get my cash float. I’m never late, but after two nights of restless sleep, I woke up thirty minutes late this morning. I manage to dodge Anne, my supervisor and slip into my wicket before the clock chimes and Lawrence, our security guard unlocks the large glass doors. I boot up my computer and take a quick look around, but it seems as though no one has noticed me yet.
I’ve been working here for the last four years, and I enjoy it for the most part. The customers keep it interesting and dealing with money and numbers all day makes me feel like I’m actually using my brain for something. I’ve thought about taking the company courses to get into lending and investments but I like the fact that when I leave at five, my day ends. There’s no dinner meetings, no conference calls, and I can leave on time. Being a bank teller isn’t the most glamorous job but it keeps me busy and it pays the bills.
There’s eight of us altogether on the front line but I’d only consider Brooke, who sits at the wicket beside me, a friend. Just as I begin to wonder where she is, she plops down into her chair and slams her coffee cup onto the counter top.
“Did Anne notice?” she asks, gathering her long blonde hair and pulling it into a ponytail.
“Nope, you’re safe,” I reply.
“What a relief,” she mumbles.
Brooke hates her job. Like me, she moved to Fortune from a small dot on the map. She was fresh out of high school and spent four years studying acting and theatre only to find that instant stardom wasn’t in her immediate future. Refusing to head home with her tail between her legs, she was forced to take the first job she could find. She’s been working here for the last six months.
We don’t have much time to chat before customers begin to trickle in and a line forms. The morning passes by in a blur and before I know it, it’s lunchtime.
“Come on,” Brooke says. “I switched with Debbie so we could have lunch together, let’s get the hell out of here.”
We head to the café around the corner and take a seat along the back wall once we’ve ordered. I take a bite of my turkey sandwich while Brooke checks her phone for any call backs from her last audition.
“Anything?” I ask.
“Ugh, no,” she says.
“I’m sorry.”
“Whatever,” she sighs. “It’s fine. I’ve got another audition lined up next week.”
“You should come with me tonight,” I suggest. “Get some of that frustration out.”
“I love you girl, but I’m gonna leave the sweating and grunting to you,” she winks. “I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re sure,” I say. “But it feels good…real good.”
“Lord, I think I’m finally rubbing off on you,” she snorts, taking a sip of my soda.
*
I head straight to the gym after work. It’s only a couple blocks away, so I forego the subway and walk instead. I reach the small brick building and walk through the front door, the smell of sweat and vinyl hitting my nose as I set my shoes on the metal
rack to my left and head back to the locker room. I’ve been coming to Pete’s Gym several days a week for the last year. It started with a self defense class that Holly recommended and now I come for regular kickboxing classes. I spot the owner, Jamal, finishing up his current class and wave as I walk by. Hardly anything in the gym is brand new, there’s no fancy equipment and no coddling. The building is ancient by most standards and every floorboard groans with age as you walk along the scuffed-up floor. But if you’re in Jamal Turner’s gym, you’re here to work and none of that other stuff matters.
I open my locker and strip out of my work clothes, pulling on a black tank top and a pair of purple leggings. I lace up my shoes and look in the dingy mirror above the sink, tying my hair back into a ponytail. Since I’ve been taking classes with Jamal, my body has changed. I’ve managed to hang onto some of my curves but I’m leaner now than I was before and I’ve got definition in my arms and legs. I feel strong. I feel like I can take care of myself.
I look at my reflection and know that being here is as much a part of my healing as the group meetings. I need to feel powerful. I need to know that I’m not helpless.
Chapter 14
Prairie
I use my flatiron to straighten the last section of my hair and spray it, fluffing it up at the roots a bit with my fingers. It only took me twenty-two years but I’ve finally managed to tame my mess of honey brown curly waves. I part it slightly off to the side and tuck one side behind my ear while I finish applying my makeup. I’m not sure where we’re going tonight but Brooke begged me at work today to come out with her and some guy she just started seeing. Apparently he has a friend that I just have to meet, according to her. So, I’m trying my best to let go of the past tonight and I’m going to try and move forward. Wherever Logan is, he isn’t here with me…and I can’t keep waiting with my heart in limbo. I dust some powder across my nose and swipe on a coat of mascara and stand back, surveying my appearance.
I’m not much for dressing up, opting for a plain snug white tank top and a pair of dark skinny jeans. I sit on the toilet and slide on my brown cowboy boots, my most frivolous purchase since I moved to the city. I stand back up and look in the mirror, staring at the necklace Logan gave me all those years ago. I reach behind my neck for the small clasp but find my fingers frozen in place. I can’t bring myself to take it off. I huff out a breath as I flip off the light and head for the kitchen. Moving forward is easier said than done, apparently. I pick up my phone and see a message from my mom and Neil.
Mama: Hey honey! Just checking in, Vegas is great! Miss you xox
There’s a picture attached of my mom and her husband, standing in front of the Bellagio Fountains. I smile as I type my reply.
Me:Miss you guys too! Have fun. Heading out tonight with Brooke
Mama: Good for you sweetheart, xox
Three years ago, my mom met Neil through an online dating site. I was skeptical at first but once I got to know him, I loosened up. He was married for ten years before his wife up and left him one day for her personal trainer. They didn’t have any children. When my mom and him started chatting, they bonded over their mutual distaste for the internet. They got married last year and still live in Edison, not far from my aunt and uncle.
I know my mom worries about me being here by myself but they’ve come to visit a few times and I go back to Edison for all the major holidays. I finally told her last Christmas about the assault. I tried to explain that I couldn’t tell her right away because I was still trying to wrap my head around it but she was still hurt that I’d kept it from her and of course she blamed herself for not pushing me when she knew something was wrong. But I wouldn’t have told her, no matter how hard she tried.
Every once in a while, she suggests that I should go back to college. But for now, we agree to disagree. I like where I’m at right now and I’m only twenty-two, I have time to figure it out.
A knock on the door grabs my attention and when I look through the peep hole I see Brooke standing there smiling. I unlock the door and pull it open.
“Hey,” she says. “You ready?”
Her blonde hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail and her makeup is natural with the exception of her dark red lips. She’s wearing tight black pants and a low cut black shirt, equally as tight, and black leather boots with a dangerously skinny heel.
“Yup, just give me one sec,” I turn back into the kitchen and grab my small purse off the counter. “You look great by the way,” I call over my shoulder.
She looks me up and down as I come back. Grinning she says, “You can take the girl outta the country but you can’t take the country outta the girl.”
“Amen,” I say.
“Jesse’s waiting downstairs,” she tells me. “I guess his friend is meeting us there.”
“Where exactly are we going?” I ask, locking the door behind me.
“Some warehouse downtown,” she says. “Apparently there’s some street fighting, MMA thing going on tonight.”
I give her a pointed look, but she raises her hands in innocence.
“We won’t stay long, I promise,” I swears. “We’re hitting the clubs tonight and getting our dance on as planned. This is just a pit stop.”
“Mmhm, I’m not doing anything illegal, I don’t care how cute you think this guy is.”
“A pit stop, I swear,” she repeats.
*
The drive downtown is mostly filled with awkward silence as I sit in the cramped backseat of Jesse’s Mustang. There’s something about this guy that just rubs me the wrong way. It seems unfair since I don’t even know him but my instincts are screaming at me that Brooke can do much better. She tries to fill the silence with small talk but Jesse just nods along, uninterested it seems.
Luckily traffic isn’t too heavy and soon we’re pulling into the gravel parking lot of what looks like an abandoned warehouse. We crossed the train tracks to get here and there’s not much on this side of the city except for an old railway station that looks deserted and a large fenced in junkyard of some sort. I really don’t like the looks of this place, but Brooke promised we’d be in and out so I suck it up and climb out of the backseat. I follow Brooke and Jesse up to the large faded brown building. There’s quite a few vehicles in the lot and some people standing around outside the doors smoking and drinking. I decline some girl’s slurred offer of a beer as we enter the building. The air is humid and thick with the smell of sweat and the coppery hint of blood. A large makeshift arena is set up in the middle, a rusted chain link fence surrounding it. Music blasts from speakers that I can’t see, people cheering and hollering just above it. Jesse drags Brooke deeper into the crowd and I follow along closely behind. As we get closer to the cage, I can hear the sound of flesh hitting flesh along with the occasional grunt. I don’t want to watch but I also don’t want to get separated from Brooke, so I keep up as best I can. When Jesse finally stops he turns to Brooke and me.
“You gotta see this guy babe, he’s fucking crazy,” he shouts. “I got five hundred dollars on him tonight, he never loses!”
Brooke glances back at me and shrugs her shoulders. The crowd around us begins to go crazy, cheering and counting down. There’s people in front of us but I find myself trying to catch a glimpse of their apparent champion. I’m suddenly thrust forward and when I look up, I see the man standing in the cage. He’s wearing nothing but a worn out pair of jeans and a pair of black boots. I glance up his body, past his heavily tattooed arms and muscular chest. His fists are still clenched at his sides as he’s announced the winner. Tension pours off of him in waves and when I finally feel brave enough, I look at his face. His jaw is clenched beneath a spattering of dark stubble, his dark brown hair a little long but it suits him. His eyes find mine and the breath is sucked from my lungs. I stumble back. Logan?
Before I can take a step forward, I’m pulled back by the crowd and shoved further and further away. My chest tightens and my lungs burn as I try to breathe. I fight back t
he tears that fill my eyes, trying to hold it together long enough to find Brooke, but the bodies around me blur and I can’t see her. I stumble back, towards the door. I need air.
“Hey there gorgeous, where you off to in such a hurry?”
The feel of a clammy palm gripping mine has me clenching my teeth and turning abruptly. I rip my hand away and narrow my gaze at a guy who doesn’t look much older than me.
“Easy there, just thought you might like some company,” he grins, his hands up in surrender.
“No thank you,” I say firmly, continuing to the door we came through when we arrived.
I step outside, through the people, away from the noise. I scan the parking lot, willing him to appear again when I spot a lone figure, walking away from the building. I head in the same direction, nearly jogging to catch up with him.
“Logan?” I call out.
He turns slowly, beneath the dim lamppost, his gaze is hard and unwavering. He’s looking at me as if I’m not really here.
“Logan,” I say gently, my voice breaking.
I take another step towards him when the sound of screeching tires stops me. A black car appears out of nowhere and three men jump out. I step back, knowing that I need to get help. They don’t notice me as they shove Logan to the ground. I turn and run, my heart rattling in my chest as I call for help.
“Help! Someone help him!”
I run straight into a hard chest as a pair of large hands brace my arms and I look up. “You have to help him,” I pant.
“Help who, sweetheart?”
“Lo-Logan,” I say. “They’re hurting him.”
“Logan?”
I nod frantically and point in the direction I came from, where I left him. He shoves past me and runs. I try to keep up and just as we approach the spot where Logan now lays on the ground, the black car speeds off.
“Goddamn Santos,” the guy says before crouching down. “Logan, can you hear me, come on man.” Logan groans and rolls over, his face bloody and bruised.
