Worth It

by Nicki DeStasi

  I begin to regain consciousness because something is on me. I’m dizzy, and my mouth tastes of vomit. Whatever woke me up is still pushing hard on my stomach. Fuck, I didn’t think I drank that much. Where the fuck am I? I’m barely lucid, but I manage to half open one eye. I’m waking up a little more when I realize a guy is on me. Oh my god! It’s that guy—the one who said he’d help me. I can’t see his face, but I’m sure it’s him.

  I’m going to be sick.

  I’m going to die of shame.

  Memories come back to me. I went to my first college party, and I was having fun and drinking, but I don’t remember drinking that much.

  I moan and roll my head. “Sthop! Wahda ya doin?” I slur. I try to lift my hands to slap at him, but I’m numb, and my arms feel like limp noodles. Then, the numbness in my body starts to fade, and my body starts to throb. “Ged offa me.” I make an unsuccessful attempt to swat him off me again.

  “Shut up,” he whispers. “I’m almost done.”

  There’s a horrible ache between my legs, and the more awake I become, the more intense the pain gets. “Plleeaasse sllopp,” I slur.

  Two more grunts, and he pulls out, spilling himself on my leg. He huffs a few big breaths as he sits up and adjusts himself back into his pants. Then, he throws a rag at my face. “Clean yourself up, slut.”

  I jerk straight up in bed, panting and shaking.

  “Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream,” I chant to myself. I haven’t had this one in a while, and now, I just had a repeat in one night.

  I was so damn mortified and ashamed when I woke up a couple of hours ago, and I realized that Jed had just witnessed my dream—no, my memory. I rub my face, frustrated with myself. I can’t believe I bolted like that. All I’m missing is the damn straightjacket. Blowing out a deep breath, I flop back on the bed. I was so fucking panic-stricken that I didn’t know what to do or say, so I didn’t say anything before I just bolted. The panic clawing up my throat and threatening strangulation was too much. The panic from the dream, panic that Jed knew what had happened to me, panic at his judgment, panic from the overwhelming disgust I feel whenever I think about what happened. Part of me, a big part, wanted to spill the beans. I wanted to see if he really could be there for me like he said he wanted to be. The fear is what stopped me, what shut me down.

  I don’t know how other people handle rape. I’ve heard that some victims are terrified to be touched intimately. Maybe it’s just me and my life experiences, but I don’t feel like that. I feel like trash. After all, I was used and tossed aside. When I allow myself to think about it, I can’t see past the revulsion that churns my gut and breaks my soul. I get so low that it’s difficult to pull out of the canyon I’ve fallen into.

  My stomach is a mess, and I need the pain crushing my heart to go away. Glancing at my nightstand, I consider grabbing the box cutter. Ease my pain. I shake my head to clear the thought, and think about that girl with crazy eyes and blood dripping down her arm from two years ago. That image helps clear the urge. I will not become her again.

  Now that I’m a little calmer, I turn on my side and close my eyes. Even if I’ve lost Jed, which is likely, I appreciate the time I had with him. He’s helped to show me a glimmer of what can be. I’m devastated that I might have ruined the great thing we had going, but I can just barely see through the murkiness of desolation. As I begin to drift back to sleep, I realize that even though I just ripped out my own heart, I might be able to be happy—someday.

  I wake up groggy. I’m in a horrible mood. My barely hopeful thoughts after my repeat nightmare last night have seemed to vanish in a puff of smoke. Maybe it’s the light of day, but reality of what I did is crashing in. After fleeing like some scared cat, I feel myself sinking further. Fuck! Where the fuck did my protective barrier go? I hate wallowing. I’m sick of it, but I can’t seem to put the brakes on it.

  I’m a reject.

  Ugh! Stop this. This isn’t helpful. I can’t focus on the past. I need to focus on the future. Keep moving. Just put one foot in front of the other.

  I think about the dream again, and I feel the bile rise in my throat. I’m nearly positive I was drugged that night, and I still don’t know who he was. I was so out of it that I can’t picture him in my mind. He’s faceless.

  With a growl, I rise out of bed. This thinking shit isn’t working. It never works. What the fuck does thinking of the past do, huh? What can I possibly gain by reminiscing about the way I was used and discarded?

  I grab my things and make my way to the shower. With the hot water beating on my face, I think of Jed. I don’t even know what to do about what happened last night. I’m sure I fucked that whole relationship up, and for the first time ever while in the midst of my spiraling, I think that I might need some help. Throwing away such a great thing with Jed makes me see that I can’t be happy with life if I’m not happy with myself. With the shit I’ve been handed, I should have seriously considered therapy a long time ago, but I’ve always thought that would make me weak. So many people go through so much worse—death of parents or children for example—and they handle it, so why can’t I?

  I’d like to think that I’m strong or at least resilient, but I’m in such a chaos of emotions right now, and there is no control in sight. I feel like I should just maybe get some help with putting these emotions in order. The idea makes me sick to my stomach and break out in a cold sweat. On top of being weak, if I sought help, I’d have to say what happened to me out loud and I’m not sure I can do that with a stranger. I was beginning to think I could talk with Jed because he is beginning to mean so much to me.

  Then, why didn’t I say anything last night?

  I glance at the clock and see I have half an hour left until I’m done with work. The dinner rush is over, and now, I’m cleaning and then stocking up. It keeps my hands busy, but unfortunately, not my mind, and I’m beginning to think.

  I haven’t heard from Jed all day. My stomach is in knots and my shoulders are tense. Things were going so well with him. It was so good to be myself, and he was still interested in me. Then, I went and acted like a psycho, and all but donkey-punched him away from me. Any hope I had that last night wasn’t the end is slowly wilting away. My thoughts and emotions are all over the place, and try as I might, I can’t suppress them.

  I’ve been able to push down my self-hatred and the memories, so I can get through the day. The memories and feelings are like mud that I’m trying to tread through. The more I acknowledge the mud, the higher and thicker it becomes, making it harder to walk through, to move forward.

  I glance at the clock to see that I still have twenty-five more minutes.

  I’m so disappointed in myself that I let it all hang out like that. I know I had nightmares when I was living with Sam, but he never noticed or cared. I never had to explain the reasons behind them, so when Jed confronted me about it, I freaked. I swallow my frustration. If I don’t think about it, it won’t drag me down.

  Twenty minutes.

  I really need to find a way to bury these emotions and stop them from rising like zombies. The memory of Jed laughing at me as I ran away from the zombie ambush makes me smile, and then it fades when I remember I probably lost him.

  Fifteen minutes.

  What if I told him? I could just go over to his place tonight and talk to him. I don’t have to tell him everything about my past, just what happened in the dream. As horrible as it is, I know I’m not the only one who’s been raped. So, as dirty as I feel about it, maybe Jed would understand. I shake my head. Maybe if I had told him before I slept with him, he’d understand. Now, he’d probably be pissed that I didn’t tell him beforehand. I don’t have an STD, but still. Do people want to know about that before they have sex? I don’t really know. Would he feel appalled that he’s been with someone who was raped? Or is that my warped mind’s way of thinking?

  Ten minutes.

  My palms start sweating at the thought of approaching him. He might not even wa
nt to talk to me, and if he does, the reality that he’d be repulsed with me is too much to handle. I can’t risk that level of rejection. He probably doesn’t want anything to do with me anyway, so I guess the what-ifs don’t really matter. I’m holding on to the slim possibility that he will call again. I know it’s stupid to hold out hope. I’ve learned that lesson too many times. If I hold out hope for someone, I only give them power to disappoint.

  Five minutes.

  I finish wiping down the last table and head out back to the kitchen to put away the cleaning supplies.

  “Hey! You do dishes,” fucktard Alex demands.

  “Alex, I leave in five minutes. I don’t have time to do the dishes,” I say, irritated, not bothering to look at him.

  “I no do them. I man. Only women do dishes.”

  I roll my eyes before looking over at the scrawny prick. He’s only five-five or so and probably a hundred and forty pounds. He’s in desperate need of shampoo. His face fits him. He looks like a weasel.

  “Alex, I’m leaving. You’re going to have to learn how to wash the dishes because I don’t have time. I’ve already stocked the soda cooler, wiped down the tables, and filled all the food. All you have left to do is the dishes and the floors, and you have two hours until you close. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

  He sneers at me. “You no back talk me! I tell Christos, and he fire you!”

  I snort a laugh. Right—like I can’t find another job. There’s only a bazillion pizza places around, including ones that don’t have twatwaffle brothers. “Do what you have to do, Alex.” I take off my apron, grab my purse and coat, and then walk out the door without another word or glance.

  I’m digging in my purse for my keys. I’m only a few feet from my car when I find them, and I look up and stop in my tracks. My heart starts beating a mile a minute, but the rest of my body is frozen to the spot.

  Jed’s truck is parked next to mine, and he’s leaning against it with his hands tucked into his coat pocket, looking solemn but still devastatingly handsome.

  I’ve lost the ability to breathe. He’s here. I can’t believe he’s here. I know there’s a very real possibility that he’s going to tell me I’m psychotic and he’s done, but I can’t stop the hope welling inside me that we can work it out. Maybe he can forgive my freak-out, and we can continue on the good path we were on.

  “Can we talk? I didn’t want to do this over the phone,” Jed begins quietly.

  The disillusionment crushes the breath from my lungs, splintering my heart, and I want to punch myself in the face. Haven’t I learned my lesson? Haven’t I learned that hope is an evil bitch, and I should never give her the time of day? The disappointment from realizing that I’ve definitely lost him is overwhelming. To go from such a high to such a low is so shattering that I burst into tears, but I clench my teeth in an effort to stem their flow as I make my way to my car. I absolutely hate that I’m crying right now. Take deep breaths. Put one foot in front of the other. Keep my emotions in check. This is not the end of the world, not even close.

  As I brush by him, I say in a quiet voice, “It’s okay, Jed. I understand. You don’t need to let me down easy. I appreciate it, but it’s fine.” I open my door and slide inside my car.

  Before I can close the door, Jed grabs it. “What?” He’s irritated.

  I close my eyes and force myself to stop crying. After a few seconds, I’m successful, and I open my eyes to stare at the steering wheel. “I appreciate you trying to officially end things in person, but it’s okay, really. I get it.”

  I chance a peek over at him. His eyebrows are raised and his jaw has dropped.

  “Who said I wanted to end things? I just wanted to talk to you and apologize for pushing last night. That wasn’t right of me. I hope you’ll open up eventually, but I know you have to be ready to do that. I’m sorry I pushed.” He squats down to my level, reaches over to cup my face, and he brushes his thumb across my cheekbone. “Can you forgive me?”

  My eyes grow wide, and tears once again threaten to spill over. Hope, that pesky bitch, is rearing her ugly head again. I feel like I’ll pass out from my emotions going up and down. “What?” I squeak out.

  “Can you forgive me for pushing? I think it would be healthier for you to let it out, but I want to respect your boundaries. Can you forgive me, please?” he asks, pleading as he looks into my eyes.

  My jaw drops slightly for a moment before I throw my arms around him and hug him fiercely. I’m so fucking relieved that it’s not even funny. “I thought you were breaking up with me because of my freak-out,” I whisper hoarsely into his neck.

  He pulls back slightly, just enough so that he can press his lips quickly but passionately against mine, and then he rests his forehead on mine. “Anna, we all freak out sometimes. Whatever your dream was about was obviously upsetting. I’m so sorry that you’ve been through something that hurts.” He closes his eyes tight and takes a deep breath, clearly struggling with his emotions. “I hate it,” he whispers. “I hate knowing that you’ve been hurt in some way, and there is nothing I can do about it.”

  This is my second chance to show him that I can trust him, that I can let him be there for me. It would be a huge fucking leap off the top of Mount Everest to do this. I’ve never told a soul, but I feel like I should tell him. I want to tell him to relieve the tension in his face because he might be imagining something so much worse, but I’m terrified he’ll be so sickened with me that he’ll shun me. This is a turning point though. Sink or swim, right?

  “Can we go to your place, Jed?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Of course. You’ll follow me over?” he asks hopefully.

  “Sure.”

  He places a chaste kiss on my lips. “See you soon,” he murmurs before standing.

  I smile up at him, and he smiles back before striding to his truck. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. With shaky confidence that talking to him is the right thing to do, I start my car. I put it in gear, and follow Jed to his apartment.

  I can do this. I need to tell him. I need to. The thought fills me with dread, but it also makes me feel lighter. After four years of keeping this clump of black sludge in my heart, I can almost taste the relief from letting it out. That shocks the shiznit out of me, but it also gives me hope.

  I pull into the parking lot of his apartment building and park next to Jed. I breathe deeply, willing the extra air to give me the courage to do this, and then I turn off my car and step out.

  Jed meets me at the end of the car, and he slings his arm over my shoulders. He dips his head to whisper in my ear, “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the zombies.”

  The laughter busts out of me. I turn my head and look up at him to see him smiling down at me. For the first time all day, I can breathe, but then the thought of what I’m going to do invades my head, sending an icy shiver down my spine, and my smile falters. Can I really do this?

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned, as we approach the door.

  I smile weakly up at him. “Nothing. Everything’s great.”

  He pulls the corner of his bottom lip into his mouth, and his eyes roam over my face, making me feel like he can see right through me. I need to talk to him.

  I sigh. “Can we talk about it once we’re inside? It’s freezing out here,” I plead.

  He still has a studious expression, but I can see the relief there, too.

  “Sure, baby,” he says. Then, he reaches in his pocket for his keys.

  Once we enter the apartment, I remove my coat, sling it over the chair, and plop my purse down. I’m worrying my bottom lip. I feel like I’m nearing the top of the world’s largest roller coaster. I don’t like roller coasters. In fact, I hate them almost as much as I hate zombies. I mean, seriously, who wants to be strapped to a giant car, only to be thrown and then twisted around on a giant track? Hasn’t anyone seen Final Destination 3?

  “Can I grab you a beer?” he asks cautiously, like I might bolt at any second.
r />   I hate that my behavior has put that look on his perfectly chiseled face.

  “Sure.” I give him a weak smile.

  He heads to the kitchen, and I walk to the couch. Perching on the edge, I begin to chew on my thumbnail. It’s a horrible habit, I know, but I bite my nails and cuticles all the time. I should get a chew toy. I could be a bitch. I giggle inwardly at my nervous inner rambling.

  “Here you go.” He hands me my beer and takes a seat next to me. He drapes his arm over the couch.

  He’s giving me his full attention, but he’s also offering me space, and I guess I’m thankful for it. With the way he affects me, I wouldn’t be able to think straight, and I definitely need a clear head right now.

  I slip off my shoes and tuck my feet underneath me. I clear my throat and steel myself for what I’m about to do. I look down at my sweaty palms. “I want to tell you about my dream last night.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

  He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, and then he turns his head, so he’s facing me. I glance at him, and he peers at me, frowning slightly.

  “Anna, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. When you’re ready, I’ll listen, but I don’t want to force it out of you.”

  There’s my out. He’s giving me an escape off this roller coaster before I take the plunge. Instead of relief from not confiding, I feel that tar settling back into my heart, and I shake my head slightly.

  “No, Jed, I think it’s best if I tell you now. That way…” I pause, not knowing how to phrase this. “I don’t know. I guess we can either move forward or not. I show you that I appreciate everything you’ve given me. You’ve made me feel more confident in myself than I ever have been before, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I’ve never talked to anyone about it, but I want to talk to you.”