It’s Friday night. I should be out somewhere having a good time with my friends—if I still had friends. Instead I’m sitting at the desk in my room, doing homework. Homework. On a Friday night. My mother probably thinks I’ve taken her advice and am throwing myself into my studies, so I can get into a wonderful, faraway university.
I’m not. At least, not on purpose. And to be honest, I’m not even really doing homework. I’m just staring at my history book. My eyes have been hovering over the events leading up to World War I for a half hour, but so far nothing has made it into my brain.
How can it? Murderous thoughts of Ross Schroeder are taking up all the space there. Confronting him in the school parking lot was like reopening a festering wound, and now hate is oozing out of me like pus.
He raped me. I’ve spent every minute of every day since then trying to scrub the memory of that nightmare from my mind, to rewind time and reclaim my life. I’d give anything for the guilt and shame to disappear and to feel whole again.
Today was the first time I’ve spoken to Ross since it happened. I don’t know what I was expecting. Remorse maybe? An apology? Even an excuse. There should have been something. Anything to show he knows he did a horrible thing. That he abused my rights as a person. That he physically hurt and violated me. That he shattered my self-esteem. That he stomped all over my soul.
But there was nothing—less than nothing. Ross Schroeder expressed absolutely no remorse for what he did because he feels no remorse. After he zipped up his pants, he probably never gave me another thought.
Realizing that is like being raped all over again. Except this time, I’m not ashamed. I’m angry. And more than anything, I want Ross to feel what I feel, hurt like I hurt. If only I knew how to make that happen.
The phone rings, startling me from my vengeful thoughts. As I move to pick it up, I notice red dents in my palm where my fingernails have dug into my flesh. I didn’t even realize my fists were clenched.
I glance at the screen to see who’s calling, and I’m startled a second time. It’s Jen. I blink at her name to be sure I’m seeing it right. My heart speeds up. Maybe our lunchtime talk had a positive effect after all. I lift the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“How dare you!” she screeches.
I wince and pull away from the phone. “Jen?”
“I can’t believe you went to Ross behind my back!” She races on. “What gives you the right to butt into my business? Who do you think you are? You’ve screwed up your own life as much as you can, so now you’re going to start on mine? I don’t think so, Emma. Unless you want—”
“Jen!” I shout into the phone, when it’s clear she has no intention of stopping her rant. “Could you listen for a second?”
There’s a pause. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s doing what I asked or if she’s merely catching her breath. No matter. It might be my only chance to speak, so I plunge ahead.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to butt in,” I say. I have to calm her down. “I wasn’t trying to run your life. I really wasn’t, and I am sorry. Okay?”
She’s clearly in no mood to be pacified. “Okay? Are you kidding me? No, it’s not okay. It’s totally not okay. You tail my boyfriend and tell him to stop seeing me. You have no right! None. Zip. Zero. Did you think he wouldn’t tell me? What’s gotten into you? You can’t go around poking your nose where it doesn’t belong and expect life to carry on as usual because you say you’re sorry. Get real, Emma.”
When she puts it that way, even I wonder how I could have done what I did. I try to explain. “I had no intention of talking to Ross. Really. It just sort of happened.”
“You are such a liar!” she yells. “You followed him to his car!”
“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. He passed me in the hall, and the memory of how he attacked me came flooding back. The next thing I knew, I was standing in the parking lot. I just wanted him to admit he’d raped me and that he lied to you about it.”
Jen comes back at me so fast, I know she can’t have thought about what I said. “You’re the one who’s lying,” she shoots back. “Why can’t you just face the fact that you’re jealous? Ross likes me, not you, and you can’t stand it. You’ll resort to anything—no matter how low—to get him back.”
“That’s not true,” I protest. “I wouldn’t go near him even if he was the last guy on earth. Why won’t you listen to me?”
“Because you’re talking like a crazy person. You’re turning into a stalker. Can’t you see that? You’re really starting to scare me, Emma. If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up in a rubber room.”
I try one more time to make her see reason. “I’m not lying. And I’m not delusional. I know what Ross Schroeder did. And so does he. The thing is, he has no conscience, and he’ll probably do it again—to some other girl. I just don’t want it to be you.”
Then I drop the phone on the desk and stare at it in amazement. I can’t believe I just hung up on Jen. Not that there was any point in continuing the conversation. She was never going to believe me, no matter what I said.
Maybe that was it. If I hadn’t ended the call, I would have been the one listening to dead air. At least this way, I salvage a scrap of self-respect.
Small comfort. For the millionth time I wonder how my life has become such a train wreck. The kids at school—as well as my doctor—think I’m a slut. Jen believes I’m not only a liar but have also lost my grip on reality. My mother’s convinced that ignoring what happened will make it go away. And Ross Schroeder thinks the whole thing’s a joke.
My life is a living hell, and all because I accepted a ride. I can’t believe I was so gullible. I’m certainly not anymore—for all the good that does. I can’t even keep my friend from falling into the same trap.
If only…if only...if only. I cling to those words, even though they drip acid into my gut. I feel like Prometheus from the mythology unit we’re studying at school. As punishment for giving fire to mortals, he was tied to a rock and had his liver pecked out by an eagle. During the night it grew back, so he had to go through the same hell again the next day—and every day after that. His torment never ended.
Will mine?