Saving Barrette

by Shey Stahl

  Or maybe… I was just in the right place at the right time.

  Do you see me pacing the parking lot of Safeway in Olympia? I drive all the way to Olympia thinking it will clear my head enough to make a rational decision about anything, but it doesn’t. I’m left with one final thought: I shouldn’t have left her.

  Breathing in deeply, I attempt to clear my thoughts, but nothing makes any sense. I straighten my body and look at my cell phone. Leaning into the side of the car, I stare up at the black sky, and then back at my phone. I don’t have her number.

  “Fuck this,” I mumble, sliding into the seat and starting my car.

  My mind races through thoughts about what I’m going to say to her. That I’m sorry and I shouldn’t have left her, or that I should have called. Knowing Barrette, headstrong, and determined to be her own person, she won’t forgive me easily, but I have to try. At least then I’ll know I did what I needed to do, and I can leave for college in August with a clear conscience and not worry about her. But then again, if she denies me, tells me to fuck off, then I’ll wonder why I hadn’t called sooner or made an effort.

  Remember when I said I was obsessive? You’re starting to see the truth behind it, aren’t you?

  IT TAKES ME half an hour to get back to Roman’s house, and by the time I do, it’s pouring outside and the party is still in full swing. I search, but I don’t see her, but I do see Xander sitting by the fire, passed out with a beer in his hand.

  I want to go up to him, ask him where she is, but I don’t. Something stops me. A thought. She never cared much for him. Had she been doing it to make me jealous?

  I search the lawn, by the fire, the driveway, but I don’t see her anywhere. I look for Cadence, Remy, Roman… but they’re nowhere to be found. Has she left the party already?

  I think about giving up when I notice the sweatshirt she was wearing by the water where the forest meets the shore. It’s dense over there and usually where couples go to fuck. I remember that much from my time here at Roman’s house. His dad used to find couples out there all the time.

  Making my way over to the edge of the water, I look down at her sweatshirt, and then to the tree line. Did I want to go look for her? What if she’s out there with some fuck and I see that? I’d kill any motherfucker who has the nerve to touch her, in that way, but then again, what right do I have to feel that way?

  My pulse quickens, the sounds of my heavy breathing and the waves lapping at the shore fill my thoughts. Rain hits the water making a popping sound. Swallowing over the lump in my throat, I say to myself, “Fuck it,” and walk toward the trees. Worse case, she’s with someone. Best case, she’s reading a book? I don’t fucking know. Christ.

  Shaking water from my hair, I trudge through the dense salal lining the base of the large pine trees. It’s dark and I have to use my phone to guide me. For what seems like hours, in reality, it’s probably minutes, I vaguely make out a prone figure on the ground. The white stands out. A white shirt.

  Barrette.

  My heart races, my breathing ridiculously labored as I attempt to make my way over to her. My first thought, she wandered out here and tripped. She’s never been very coordinated. As I get closer, reality sinks in. She’s not moving. A trickle of fear punches my stomach.

  “Barrette?” I yell, hoping she stirs. I’m about twenty feet from her now, everything around me dark, silent, deserted.

  I look up to see if there’s anyone else around, whirling my phone’s flashlight around. It hits nothing but trees. As I get closer, I swallow over the tightness in my throat. Two feet from her, I see the blood. Have you ever heard the saying “my entire world crumbled?”

  I used to think it was bullshit. How can the world crumble?

  Two weeks ago, I thought I had an idea.

  And now… I know exactly what people meant when they said it. Everything ceased to exist and turned to a crumbled version of reality. One where I knew my next step might mean I find her not breathing. Not living. Not being.

  Everything moves in slow motion when my knees hit the ground. I scramble through the leaves and broken branches around her. Gently, I turn her over. “Barrette? Are you okay?” A gasp leaves my mouth when I see her face. Is she okay? No, not even close. There’s a lot of blood coming from her face, cheek, her hair matted to the side of her face. Carefully, I touch her hand, scanning the rest of her.

  I shake my head, swallowing down the anger pulsating inside me. That’s when I notice she’s naked from the waist down. I start shaking, hard, and I think I feel my chest moving, beating, and it stings. It fucking boils, bursts into flames. Only… it’s not beating fast enough. It can’t keep up with my breathing. It’s so bad it knocks the air from my lungs, and I gasp, a muffled cry from my lips. There’s so much blood, everywhere. It’s all I see. Red. In rage, anger, blood… it’s everything I can do to not scream and find every male at the party and integrate the fuck out of them until they tell me who did this.

  I glance at my phone thinking I need to call the police, but something inside me tells me to take her myself to save time. It’d take them as much time to get out here as it would to take her myself. Every movement I make is too slow, as if I can’t make up my mind what I should be doing. I touch her hand. “Barrette, I’m going to pick you up and get you out of here,” I tell her, unsure if she can hear me.

  “Asa,” she breathes as I cradle her head. “You stayed?” She looks at me then, her eyes swollen and red, bruises forming already.

  Relief washes over me that she can talk, but I hesitate. I stayed? Did she think it was me who did this to her? No… she means came back for her? Right? I don’t say anything because when I lift her head, she curls into herself and screams in pain. And turns her head to the side and vomits.

  “I’m so tired,” she whispers, closing her eyes. Her breathing’s low and drawn out, the word slurred through a sigh.

  Did someone drug her?

  Rage rolls through me again. Who could have done this? I saw Xander… he was asleep. Did he have any part of this? Who else did? One person couldn’t have done this, right?

  The smell of vomit hits me, and beer. She’s soaked in it or maybe this isn’t the first time she’s thrown up. She mumbles something, her eyes opening and closing. Her hand squeezes mine, just once, and I look down and look at her hand. It’s hard to see with the harsh darkness, but a twinge of relief hits me. If she can squeeze my hand, she’s going to be okay, right?

  Harsh breathing escapes me in gasps. I can barely keep from falling beside her. I have to get her out of here. Ripping my shirt off, I manage to wrap it around her waist and then as carefully as I can, I pick her up. Her breathing is shallow, strained, and my hands keep slipping on the blood.

  I don’t know how I manage, but I carry her to the edge of the water, notice a group of people not far from me, and then scream for help. They rush over. “Holy shit, is that Barrette?” one asks.

  I eye them suspiciously and nod. “I uh… she’s hurt. Help me get her to my car.” I motion them forward and stop one of them, my hand on his chest. “Give me your shirt.”

  He gives me a strange look, arching his eyebrows. “My shirt?”

  Heavy exaggerated breaths and uncontrolled actions overtaking me. “Yes. She’s naked. I don’t want everyone seeing her this way.” I hold her tight in my arms, her head pressed against my chest.

  Without questioning, he does, and it takes three of us to get her to my car. I lay her down in the front seat and turn to the two guys who helped me. “Do you know who did this? Who was with her last?”

  They both look at me, and then each other. “Last time we saw her she was on Xander’s lap.” The taller one says, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I hadn’t seen her in a couple hours.”

  Frustrated, I run my hands over my face. Wetness hits me. It’s then I realize it’s Barrette’s blood on me. I turn to look at her when she moans. She bends to the side and vomits again. Her labored breathing brings me bac
k.

  My heart pounds, blood raging with nowhere to go. Breathing in deeply, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fuck.”

  “She was with Roman for a little bit,” the other says, shrugging one shoulder and wiping blood from his hand on his wet jeans. “He left though, so I don’t know either. He’s with some chick in his room.”

  A good part of me wants to rush inside his house and ask him what happened, but I know if I don’t get Barrette help soon, it could be too late.

  Rushing around the front of the car, I slide into the driver seat. Gravel and dirt spray up from my tires as I peel out of the driveway and head to the hospital. A drive that should take thirty minutes takes me fifteen. I park in front of the building and rush around the front of the car to the passenger seat. She’s not awake, either passed out or sleeping. I scream for people to help me. No one does at first. It’s nothing like in the movies. A few people stare as I carry her inside, and then they jump to life and bring a wheelchair toward me. “She’s in bad shape…” is all I manage to say.

  They take her from me immediately, her body limp and unresponsive, doctors surrounding her as they wheel her through the emergency room doors. They say nothing to me at first. Until a woman in blue scrubs approaches me. “What happened?”

  “She was… raped. I think.” I run a shaking hand through my hair, then down the front of my face, trying to clear my thoughts. “I don’t know for sure. We were at a party together. I left and then I came back and couldn’t find her. I went searching and found her in the woods.”

  She scans my face, the blood, my face… all of it like she’s doing inventory. Sizing me up like I did this. She thinks I’m lying to her.

  “I didn’t do this,” I bark, anger lighting my face.

  Her lips press together. “Sit over there. I’ll come get you soon.” She points at my face. “Do not leave the hospital. The police will be notified.”

  The police? Fuck. If they call my dad… or worse, the NCAA finds out, then what? Is my football career over because I did the right thing? I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans and stare at the emergency room doors, my heart pounding in my ears, searching for an answer. Someone raped her. It’s obvious. The word, the meaning, it tears at me. It fucks me up in more ways than I can comprehend. Pain and adrenaline punch my stomach, it sits, finds a resting point, making me nauseous with each thought.

  In my head, I picture everyone at the party. Xander. Roman. There’s no way Roman would do this to her. But, fuck, I don’t know a goddamn thing about Roman and his friends anymore. I let my face fall into my hands and slide my fingers back into my hair. I pull until it hurts.

  I hunch over, my hands on my knees for support. I breathe in as fully as possible.

  And then release it.

  I do it again, but it provides no relief. I lean into the wall again. A nurse asks me if I’m okay. I can’t answer. I’m spinning out of control, the room with it, enclosing around me. My stomach burns and my throat feels like it’s on fire. Images of Barrette’s body lying in the woods rush through my mind so quickly I can’t see them, but they’re there. It’s flashes, and each one makes me sicker than the next.

  I find a garbage can and throw up, and then realize I’m sobbing and curled up on the floor. I lay there, I don’t know for how long, but the next thing I know, there’s a nurse rubbing my back.

  “Asa?”

  I lift my head, unable to focus on anything other than the stark white floor.

  “She’s asking for you.”

  I stand, move as if my body is doing things my mind can’t quite comprehend. Maybe I’m in shock. I swallow excessively, trying to clear the lump in my throat. It’s fire, and nothing soothes the pain. I run my hand through my hair. “Is she okay?”

  No answer. At least not to that question. The nurse with wide brown eyes blinks and helps me up. “I’ll take you back to where she is.”

  With shaky knees, I stand and follow her. Through the doors, they lead me to a room in the back corner with glass doors. A curtain is up, shielding her from the sight of others on the ER floor. The nurse looks back at me, then slowly opens the curtain. “She’s a little out of it at the moment. The last of the Rohypnol is slowly coming out.”

  I tip my head, and squint, unable to focus. My eyes burn so badly in the harsh fluorescent lighting. “The what?”

  “We ran some blood work. Her blood alcohol content is .32 and we found Rohypnol in her system. It’s commonly referred to as the date rape drug.”

  Someone drugged her? Nodding, I don’t say anything. Inside, my heart beats harder, my body tensing. I can barely keep from falling to the floor.

  My eyes land on Barrette, a thick white blanket covering her from the chest down. Bite marks cover her shoulders and neck. Deep ones that leave blood and bruises. With each pass over her body, my hands shake, hell, my heart fucking shakes. It’s the worst imaginable pain I’ve ever felt. It’s worse than watching your mother die slowly because at least with that, I knew eventually she’d find comfort in death.

  Seeing Barrette like this… nothing is taking this pain away. These wounds are forever. I can’t imagine what this is going to do to her.

  “You can sit with her, but the police are going to want your story.” She motions behind her where two cops stand outside her room, watching me.

  Sitting in the chair next to her bed, I stare at Barrette. The bruises, the marks, it’s too much. “I found her, that’s all,” I cry, tears rolling down my cheeks before I can stop them. “I have no idea who did this.”

  Removing the gloves she had on while checking Barrette’s vitals, she nods slowly. “Where are her parents?”

  “I don’t know…. I can call them….” I stop speaking because… I don’t know, seems irrelevant. I don’t know her parents’ number, or even if they’re still around. I don’t know anything anymore.

  She hesitates, like she doesn’t know whether or not to believe me. “We’ll take care of it. A doctor will be in shortly.”

  And then she leaves me alone with her.

  “You’re okay,” I whisper, brushing my lips across her temple. Clearly she’s not okay, but I said the same thing to my mom hours before she died. I didn’t want her to suffer and I thought if I said she was fine, she would be.

  For two hours, I sit beside her. I call my dad and explain where I am. Another hour goes by and Barrette’s parents haven’t shown up, but from what I can remember of them, they were never very involved in her life.

  They give me a shirt to wear since I used mine to cover Barrette up, and it smells like medicine. It reminds me of the nights spent in the hospital with my mom, begging for a cure that wouldn’t come.

  A sexual assault nurse comes in and tells me I need to give them a blood sample. I do without question. I have nothing to hide. The police question me, twice. I don’t think they believe me, but it’s up to Barrette to give her side, if she can.

  And then I sit and recalculate the night, try to decipher the looks she got from the guys at the party. I try hard to pinpoint who it could have been and come up with nothing because I don’t know any of them anymore. Four years can change a lot. And then I think to myself, I don’t know anything about Barrette either. I have no idea if she was a virgin. Not that it matters, but it crossed my mind many times in those two hours.

  I watch her, surveying the marks, the bruises, it’s different under the harsh lighting of the hospital room. Reality sinks in, and I begin to understand whoever did this was angry with her. They had to be to inflict this kind of pain on her.

  It’s another hour later before Barrette comes around. She looks at me and says nothing. She doesn’t ask what happened, she doesn’t ask why I’m sitting beside her… nothing. No words. Tears flow down her cheeks and she reaches for my hand.

  I hold hers, breathing out slowly. I won’t talk until she’s ready.

  The doctor comes in and sits next to her. Her eyes drift to his. “Barrette, you’re safe here. Nobody is going to do a
nything you don’t want them to, but I need to know if you want him in the room while we discuss this?”

  I look to Barrette for her reaction. She reaches for my hand and holds it.

  I swallow and lift my eyes to hers. I don’t know how to react.

  The doctor goes on to explain that she was drugged, and though her wounds are nasty, nothing is life threatening. Her cheekbone was crushed by what they think is a rock given the jagged edge and dirt, and numerous cuts will require stitches. He stares at her, watching every reaction as if it’s another clue for him. “Do you know why you were brought in?”

  She nods.

  “Do you remember how you got here and who you were with?”

  This time she answers with a shake of her head, no words.

  I swallow before I speak, because I don’t know if my voice will shake, or if the words will crack and break the rest of the resolve I’m holding onto. “Was she raped?” My question comes out in a whisper, afraid she’ll hear me. She does, but there’s no reaction.

  Deep concern is embedded in his features. Maybe because he thinks it’s me. “Her injuries indicate she was.” He presses his lips together and darts his eyes to Barrette. “We will need to perform a rape kit examination, if she agrees.”

  I nod slowly, still staring down at the stark white floor with drops of her blood. I suck in a rush of air and lift my eyes to Barrette. I wait for her answer, but it doesn’t come.

  There’s a noise, a bang in the distance where a surgical tray hits the ground with a ping. Barrette jumps at the noise. I notice her eyes aren’t focusing on anything. They’re moving around the room and then to me, searching for truth. Any truth. I know by the way she’s looking at me that she has no idea what this means.

  Her life will never be the same again.

  Mine won’t.