Saving Barrette

by Shey Stahl

  “I love you,” I tell him.

  A shudder runs through him, his movements quick, and harder than before and it’s everything I need and want in this moment. I claw at Asa’s shoulders, his back, anywhere I can get a grip on him and it only seems to drive him forward. It’s almost too much and I sense the emotion working its way through me. It starts with the breathing, my heart thumping, the flashes in my head, but I can’t make sense of any of them. It’s just images, ones I’ve never seen before. Dark hair matted to a face I don’t recognize. A purple Rams football hat. It’s from North Thurston High School, where I graduated from.

  I stare at the ceiling and squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want these memories. I shake my head and push against Asa’s shoulders.

  A moment later, a rumble leaves his heaving chest, and he throws his head back as his second orgasm rocks through him. I hold on, refusing to let my mind ruin this, but I’m counting the seconds before I know it’s happening. Before it’s too late and I burst into tears.

  Asa must sense the change because he lifts up and pushes away from me. He’s not looking at me. His hands move to his knees and he pants. His lashes flutter, a quick peek at me and then he pulls away completely.

  And then it happens. I push away from him toward the wall and burst into tears. I curl into myself, holding my pillow. My chest feels like there’s someone on top of me, but he’s not. He’s not even touching me.

  Asa moves and swings his legs around the side of the bed, my shirt crumbled around his waist. “Christ, I knew we shouldn’t have,” he says through gritted teeth. His head twists and he looks out the corner of his eyes at my body. He’s shaking with anger and annoyance. “We shouldn’t even be having sex, Barrette. You and I both know it’s not what you need.”

  “It’s not you….” I shake my head, tears rolling down my cheeks. “It’s me. It’s always me.” I want to tell him it’s not all me. It’s Roman. It’s Eva. It’s all the reminders that he deserves so much better and I can’t give him that.

  Asa turns his head and stares at me, tears in his eyes. His chin shakes when he breathes out the words, “We’re destroying each other.”

  I nod, knowing it’s the truth. It hurts. It burns. It festers inside us and we’d be stupid not to admit the truth. There’s no way around it. I push, he gives in, and it’s not what he needs. “You should let go.”

  Twisting toward me, his fingertips find my lips. “I can’t,” he whispers, his eyes heavy on mine. “I won’t. Not ever.”

  He moves closer to hold me and I let him. We might be destroying each other, but the need to be with him is too consuming.

  An hour later, when I watch him leave this time, my heart pounds furiously against my ribcage. He thinks I’m sleeping. Normally I can’t bear to see him leave, but this time, I torture myself with seeing him disappear.

  I get in the shower after he leaves, letting the warm water wash over my skin. I feel my ribs and the bones in my hip protrude. It’s gross, but food doesn’t hold any appeal to me anymore. I’m lucky if I can get in one meal a day.

  I think back to an hour ago and the way those memories hit me while we were having sex. Somehow the nightmares I’ve been having turned into a flashback montage and fragments of a scene from that night.

  How though? Why when I was having sex? I remember in my neuro class where the professor talked about traumatic events in your brain being encoded and you store significant details about them. Whether they get retrieved that’s unknown. We sometimes chose to block them out until a memory triggers it and your brain uses its code to look it up, so to speak.

  My brain looked up one detail I had never seen until now. My attacker, at least one of them, had been on the football team with North Thurston.

  “WHAT’S THE NAME of this class again?” Roman asks, nudging my shoulder. “I’ve been looking for my book for a like a fucking week.”

  I snap out of my trance and realize I don’t remember coming to class or sitting here. I don’t remember getting the coffee in my hand or putting on the clothes I’m wearing. Time fades with each day and I simply, don’t remember.

  I point to the board where the name is written in black dry erase marker.

  Roman laughs. “Oh… right.”

  I look down because I’m no better. Roman glances at my textbook for my photography class. “Clearly you didn’t remember either.”

  “At least I brought a book. I can pretend I know what I’m doing.” I turn in my chair so he can’t see my book. “You’re gonna look like you forgot.”

  He studies my face. He sees the dark circles and the weight loss. He sees the way I only ever wear hoodies or long sleeve shirts and jeans to hide how much my body isn’t my own any longer.

  “Are you okay?”

  I roll my eyes and fight through the need to move away from him. “I’m fine.”

  He shifts in his chair and leans toward me, our shoulders touching as he slouches. “You don’t look fine.”

  I’m not, but there’s no way I’m telling Roman that. There are two girls in front of us who are giggling, and they have the laughter that makes me scream inside. High pitched and rich.

  “Who is that?” I ask Roman, pointing to the one who keeps saying Asa loud enough for me to hear. I know who it is, but today, I’m not sure. She looks different from the last time I saw her. Lighter hair maybe. She freaking dyed it blonde like mine.

  We may not make public appearances, but it’s known around this school that Asa and I are together. Most girls know that he’s taken, though he doesn’t clarify what this is that we have. I don’t think we need to. What business is it of theirs?

  Roman looks confused for a half a second, like he can’t remember and then says, “Eva?”

  He’s not positive either.

  I’m not quiet when I speak, but I’m not exactly loud when I say, “If she doesn’t shut up about Asa, I’m going to rip out her hair.”

  “Go ahead,” Roman snorts, seeming bored as he twirls a pencil around in his hand. “It’s fake.”

  Eva turns around, her red flush could have been endearing if she wasn’t so fake. “I can hear you, Barrette.”

  I’m surprised she knows my name. “Well, good.” I lean forward over the table so she can hear me a little better. “I wanted you to.”

  “Why are you such a bitch? You’re just jealous that Asa confides in me?”

  Confides in her? Doubtful. “Are you jealous that he fucks me and not you?” Oh my God, did I really just say that out loud? I want to slap my hand over my mouth. Who have I become?

  Look at her. The wide eyes and the parted lips. I caught her off guard. “I’m surprised he does.” She turns. “Do you even remember it? Or do you block it out in fear you’ll have a breakdown.”

  There’s a brief moment when I’m caught off guard by her words, unable to reply. It’s not a secret around here that I was raped. I wish it was, but word gets out. And I’m sure someone has been there to witness the bad days when I hide under a hoodie with dark circles under sleepy eyes. With her words, I want to break down and cry. I could. I might, but I won’t let her have that kind of satisfaction over me. Not this girl. She doesn’t deserve it.

  “Fuck you,” I snap, the anger rising inside me to the point I’m shaking.

  I will not cry.

  I will not cry over her.

  I will not cry over this.

  I leave. I don’t go to any of my classes the rest of the day, but I don’t cry. Not this time.

  Do you know the definition of insanity? It’s doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

  I guess if you look at it that way, I would be considered insane.

  My head pounds as I stare up at the stadium lights and chew on the corner of my mouthpiece. I contemplate and go over what she said the other night even when I should be concentrating on the game. You should let go.

  Doesn’t she know I can’t? Ever. It’s not an option for me.

  Terr
ell bumps me. “All or nothing, A. Bring it.”

  I nod, knowing that’s his nudge to get me out of my own head and in the game.

  Go hard. You never know which play will be your last.

  There’s something about the crowd here at Husky Stadium. It’s loud to the point you can’t even hear at times. It makes it hard to call plays on the line, but the fact that these fans showed up here is all that matters to me. We open our scoring in the game against Stanford when I find an opening through to the end zone and run the ball for a 57-yard touchdown. It kicks the game off and leaves us all hungry for more.

  All game long, number forty-eight on the defense keeps cheap shotting Roman, and I’m sick of it. Roman might be an asshole, but he’s on our team, and being the captain of the team, I stand up for our players. It’s loyalty and something a lot of young player’s lack. Something Roman lacks most days too, but it’s part of who I am, and no one is going to change that.

  We fight for every yard and score again right before the half. I walk over to number forty-eight and lay my helmet into his. “Next time you take a bullshit shot on my team”—I fist his jersey in my hands—“I’ll lay your motherfucking ass out myself.”

  “Screw you, asshole.” He shoves me back. Terrell’s there as well as Roman to catch me.

  Terrell smiles, winking at me. “Pick on players your own size, A.”

  I shove him off me as we head into the locker room. I’m called on taunting and a penalty, but it doesn’t matter. It was worth it. Nothing gets me more fired up than guys never getting called on penalties when it was clear he has clotheslined Roman more than once after a play.

  Inside the locker room, Coach is going over the first half when Roman looks up at me and nods. It’s his thank you.

  I do the same.

  In the locker room, Codey stands beside me.

  I glance in the mirror, the man staring back at me isn’t someone I know.

  “Who fucked you up?” Codey asks, amused with himself.

  I turn my head toward him, raising an eyebrow. As I grind my jaw, I can barely keep myself from knocking his fucking teeth. I don’t know why, but when I look at him, I see the face of her attackers and it makes me sick. Probably because he seems like the kind of sick bastard who is capable of that type of disregard for another person.

  Codey finally gets the message I’m not going to answer him and turns around and looks back at his locker.

  I throw my pads around and reach for my Gatorade. After finishing the last of it, I toss the container in the garbage and sit down on the bench, staring at my hands with my elbows resting on my knees. Roman stops before me. I see the question dancing in his eyes. He wants to ask me something, but he doesn’t have the fucking balls to do it.

  Instead, he walks away.

  I finish getting my uniform back on and head into the dark tunnel with the music blaring around us for the second half. I slap my hand against the Win The Day sign as we exit the tunnel, and I’m greeted by nearly seventy-thousand screaming fans awaiting the toughest match-up they’ll see all season long. Finally, my mind fades a little. The one place I can get her out of my mind even if it is just for one play at a time is on the field.

  The game is too fucking close, and it isn’t until almost halfway through the second half when we finally get our heads out of our asses. Our turnovers are ridiculous, so I make the call to run the ball. I get 21 yards and the safety comes up on me, hesitating, knowing who I am and then goes for my feet. He makes a good solid tackle, and I can’t fault him for that.

  Fourth quarter with two minutes left on the clock, Roman is held up off the line of scrimmage, so I lob it in the air where I think he’ll be. He catches it in his lap for the touchdown. He stands and tosses the ball to the ref, no reaction at all as the guys pat his back.

  With twenty-nine seconds to play, we make one final drive with a final 12-yard pass to Roman in the end zone to win 36-35.

  It was a bad throw and Roman deserves credit for that one. Even I have to admit that. If it had been any other player on the team, I doubt they would have snagged it. He scores every touchdown that game for us other than the one I ran in. Best performance I’ve seen out of him all year. After the game, the team and fans rush the field.

  I walk off.

  Everyone is celebrating as we change, as they should be. Standing at my locker, I want to be happy. I should be. That win got us a possible chance at the bowl game.

  Only I’m not happy. I’m anything but that. I text Barrette and make sure she’s doing all right tonight. I wonder if she watched the game, and then my thoughts shift back to the other night with her and the breakdown.

  The guys are talking about the game, living it up on the high on the win, and I’m annoyed. At everything. Not only at the game but how everything around me seems to be spiraling out of control. We won, but there was a point when I didn’t think we would, and my mind isn’t in this room. It’s with the one I can’t seem to shake.

  Beside me, Roman’s mood shifts the moment the NCAA enters the locker room.

  He must sense my stare on him because he looks over at me but doesn’t smile. “Good game. Best throw you made all year.”

  What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

  “Winslow? You’re up,” a rep from the NCAA says, looking at Roman.

  I smile because I know where this is going. They test all of us after the last game and after a bowl game as well. Random testing can happen at any time through the season. Roman knew that heading into the game. It isn’t like this shit is a surprise. “Looks like you won’t be playing.”

  Roman glares, his eyes on the cup. “She’s fucked up, you know. And you’re not doing anything to help her.”

  I rip gear away, slamming shit in my locker. We just won. I should be happy. I keep telling myself that. Over and over again. I should be fucking stoked, but I’m none of that right now. I’m fucking none of that when he mentions her. “Barrette is none of your business.” I’m not in the mood for this shit. I put my pads in my locker and hang up my knee pads on the cooler and push the shelve up out of my way before I knock my head on it like I do every other time when I reach for my shoes.

  “You’re fucking her, aren’t you?” Roman laughs.

  I drop my shoes on the floor and turn around to face him. “Listen to me, motherfucker!” I slam him up against the wall. “Barrette is none of your fucking business. Keep your fucking mouth shut!”

  “She is my business. I was her friend when you weren’t. Just because you were there that night, doesn’t mean you’re good for her. You were just in the right place at the right time to pick up the pieces.”

  Pick up the pieces? I hang on those words. You mean save her life? I can’t take it. It feels like my chest just broke wide open. I pummel his ass right then and there with as much force as I can muster. Our bodies slam against the lockers. Guys start breaking us apart and I’m so pissed that I can’t even think straight. I want to kill him for saying that. I don’t like the implication. The meaning. The tone… none of it.

  “It’s not even about you just being an all-around dick anymore,” I say, watching his reaction to my every word. “It’s about you having a fucking drug problem and acting like nothing can touch you. You’re cocky and you have no right to be.” I shove him back into Coach Benning. “You and I both know you’re going to fail that drug test and you not only let me down, you’re let the whole fucking team down, you piece of shit!”

  “That’s enough!” Coach shouts, standing in between us.

  “Oh yeah? You’re so fucking perfect, Asa? You don’t think you let her down?” Roman smiles vindictively. “Not even a little bit?”

  Of course he brings her back into it. I lean into Coach and glare. I don’t even see him. I look straight through him to Roman. “You sure you want to do this right now, Roman?” I ask, despite us being pulled apart by teammates. “You sure you want to have this conversation, here, right now?”

  “Yes.”


  And I can’t believe it. He laughs like I’m joking with him, but I’m not and he knows that too. He knows I’m about to say shit to him he’s not going to want to hear. It’s like he’s playing chicken with me, so I’ll be the first to say it.

  Fuck that. I won’t. I push past Coach and I shove Roman roughly against the wall.

  His arms catch himself against the lockers, metal rattling as he eyes me carefully. Coach Benning breaks it up quickly and threatens suspension, so I walk away. I walk away because I know myself and given the chance, I can destroy my future with one punch.

  BACK IN MY dorm, I find the bottle of Red Label I know Terrell keeps under his bed for special occasions. It’s a special occasion. It’s a “fuck you” day.

  I drink the entire bottle, or what’s left of it, knowing damn well I shouldn’t. I put my phone on vibrate because I know seeing Barrette in this condition will only lead to trouble. At some point, I pass out.

  I sleep all of Sunday. I don’t remember anything from that day other than my face against the bathroom floor a few times.

  When I wake up Monday morning, Terrell is hovering over me shaking his head. “Dude….” He kicks me in the stomach. Not hard, but enough that I’m sitting up. “You puked on my bed last night.”

  I steady myself against the wall when I sit up, my hands in my hair as I try to regain some sort of composure. “Sorry, man.”

  Terrell looks at my face. I bet I don’t look like a star football player or someone who maintains a solid GPA all year long. I look like a goddamn train wreck. He glances at me, sighs, and then walks out the door. After the other night, I can honestly say I gotta give props to Terrell for still talking to me. I remember bits and pieces of it, and I did puke on his bed. While he was in it.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? What am I doing to myself?

  I’m running late to class this morning and word on campus is my fight with Roman in the locker room. I should have known it would be all over the place. No punches were even thrown, but that’s college for you. Everyone talks.