by Harlow Hayes
Then there was Destiny Sprankle, your average thirty-something-year-old married woman. Most likely she was bored with her life. She worked at an insurance agency somewhere in Wrigleyville and was eight weeks pregnant. Carla Lamott was older, probably in her late forties or early fifties. She was slim, with long dark hair, but she looked like she did all of her shopping at Forever 21, which made her look older. My guess: midlife crisis. She was a Realtor.
Then there was Zoey. She was in her early twenties and looked like she lived on the L, but she didn’t smell like it. I stopped wearing perfume after my accident, but I still loved the way it smelled, and if my memory was right she was wearing Flowerbomb. Pricey. I took a deep breath and hoped it would linger in my nose. My conclusion: rich kid with an identity crisis, possible addiction to drugs. Then, at last, it was me.
“I’m Mara. Occupation student.” I waved and looked over at Dr. Moore.
“All right, I think that is everyone for this week,” Dr. Moore said, smiling as she looked down at the notepad that sat in her lap. “Well, ladies, I just wanted to get us introduced and welcome you to this group. We are here because all of you are survivors of sexual abuse or sexual assault, and this is a place where you can be heard and supported as we work together through the difficulties of the abuse.”
My mind had drifted off, but the words sexual assault awakened me with a jolt. I sat up straight in my chair and raised my hand. “Excuse me, did you say sexual assault group? I think that there’s been some mistake…” I looked at her as she looked at me, perplexed.
“What do you mean, Mara?”
Everyone stared at me. I sunk back into my chair.
“Never mind.”
“Was this not what you were expecting, Mara? You seem a little disappointed.”
“I don’t know what I was expecting. I guess I knew it was a therapy group but it just didn’t register that it was that kind of therapy group.”
“Oh…” Dr. Moore said. “Well, Mara, I’m sorry that it wasn’t clear, but hopefully we’ll get an opportunity to hear your story and you the opportunity to hear others’ and hopefully learn and grow.”
I nodded my head in agreement, but it felt like I had swallowed a rock. My chest tightened and my mouth went dry. I stood up and grabbed my bag.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I walked toward the door and never stopped to look back.
I stepped outside and the cool rain hit my face, giving me a much-needed surge of energy. The farther away I was from that building, the better. I was tired. I was tired of rehashing this story privately and I had no interest in doing it publicly. Besides, I didn’t want to hear their stories, either. I didn’t care about these people, I just wanted to move on. If it was any other problem I could handle it but not this, not rape. Just hearing the word in my head brought back the memory and made me sick. In my anger, it felt like the world was collapsing, with debris falling all around me, and I couldn’t dodge any of it. There was barely any light in my life anymore, only the dark place and fading memories of me and the person I was before. The good memories came and went like déjà vu, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t hold on to them. As they slipped away from me, so did my sanity.
I needed to see Frankie.
Chapter 5
I called him, but for some odd reason the phone number wasn’t in service. Frankie lived further into the city and that meant I had to take another train, which aggravated me even more. His apartment building was infested with people whose cars cost more than my undergraduate education, and I didn’t understand how we were friends, considering I’ve never been close to being in his tax bracket. He had a condo that overlooked the lake with one of the most beautiful views of the Chicago sky I had ever seen.
Frankie had been my friend all of my adult life, and at times he was more, but more than friends was not where we were at the moment. I let myself in with the key that he gave me and was overwhelmed by the scent of citrus floor cleaner. My Chucks and socks were soaked from the rain, so I took them off and left them at the door so I wouldn’t get scolded. The marble-like floor was heated and the warmth coursed through my feet, which always seemed cold. His place was designed to perfection, laid out just like any other swanky bachelor pad. Black leather furniture was arranged in the living room in front of a big screen TV, and the kitchen was open to the living space, pristine but industrial in its design.
Overall the apartment was clean and crisp; white, gray, and black were the only colors in sight. I had tried once to bring in a little color with some paintings, but he wasn’t having it. I walked inside and set my bag on the kitchen counter. My stomach growled, so I walked to the fridge to get a snack, but all that was in there was some old cheese and beer. I shook my head at the sight, grabbed a beer, and leaned against the counter as I drank. His bedroom door was shut, but I didn’t bother to go knock on it. I had seen the stilettos at the door when I walked in, so I already knew what was going on.
In a matter of seconds, the bedroom door opened and a tall, lean, big-chested woman walked out, her shirt missing. She jumped at the sight of me and covered her cleavage with her hands. Frankie came out behind her wearing a pair of black basketball shorts and a white T-shirt.
She walked into the living room towards the couch to grab her shirt, staring at me the whole time. I guess she didn’t know how to speak.
“Hello,” I said, still staring at her.
She pulled her shirt on and turned to Frankie, waiting for him to explain.
“Who—” she said as she pointed her long spidery fingers at me.
“Um… Um….” he said, trying to formulate his words. “This is my cleaning lady, Mara.”
“Cleaning lad—” I raised up off the counter.
“I’m just kidding.” Frankie raised his arms up in defense and laughed. “Just wanted to break the tension up a bit. Mara, this is…”
He had already forgotten her name. I chuckled.
“Erica,” he said. He extended his arm towards me. “This is my friend, Mara. Mara, this is Erica.”
He said it with such enthusiasm, too, proud of his ability to formulate the name of the woman he had just taken to bed.
“Oh.” She rolled her eyes.
She turned toward Frankie to kiss him goodbye. “I had a great time. Give me a call next week?”
“Of course,” he said as he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door.
I walked to the edge of the kitchen so I could watch her leave.
I rolled my eyes in disgust. She was an idiot if she thought she was special. She was one of many.
Frankie opened the door and she stepped into her shoes, then out and into the hall.
“Bye,” she said with a half-crooked smile looking at me.
“Bye. See you never again,” I said, then Frankie shut the door in her face.
He walked towards the kitchen and leaned on the counter opposite of me.
“Fuck, that was close.” He rubbed his face with his hands, relieved that she was gone. “I could not remember her name to save my life.”
“Wow,” I said, shaking my head. “Unbelievable. Where did you find super twat, anyway?”
“Found her today at a business lunch.” He pushed my bag out of his way.
“Well, aren’t you productive. And by the way, I can smell the tequila seeping from your pores. Is that what got her up here? The tequila?”
“You know what they say, tequila makes the clothes come off.” He grabbed my beer from my hand and began to drink, guzzling it down like water after a workout.
“You’re gross,” I said.
“I try,” he said, handing me back my bottle.
“No, you keep it.” I opened the fridge to get another bottle. “What’s wrong with your phone? I tried calling.”
“Had to get a new number. I was getting some unwanted calls,” he said, scratching his head.
I didn’t even bother to ask. “Well, I need it,” I said.
“I’ll give it
to you in a minute, but let me clean up first.” He raised up from the counter.
“Speaking of cleaning up, what was up with the maid crack, jackass?” I asked.
Frankie laughed.
“That wasn’t funny,” I said.
“God, Mara, calm down. I was just kidding. You know it was at least a little funny. You look like a dust bunny right now.” He flicked my hood with his finger. “When are you going to retire these sweats?”
“When I’m ready to, that’s when, asshole.”
Frankie shook his head and walked toward the bedroom. I followed.
I always liked to watch Frankie walk; he had the perfect stride with the right amount of sway. The first time I laid eyes on Frankie they stuck to him like a magnet to metal. I remember being nineteen, sitting in Psych 101, barely able to focus on what the professor was saying because I was too busy staring at him. He was tall with an athletic body, dark brown hair, and blue eyes that looked like the sea. He should have been on a runway somewhere or in a fashion magazine selling cologne. If you had asked me eight years ago whether or not I was in love with Frankie, the answer would have been yes, without a doubt. He was my first love, my closest friend, and knew me better than anyone, but I also knew Frankie.
He walked over to the bed and began to strip the sheets, and I plopped down on the big, plush leather chaise that sat on the other side of the room.
“I went to the group today,” I said, instantly regretting saying anything at all.
“Yeah, how was it?” he asked, removing the pillowcases from the pillows.
“I don’t know. I walked out.” I felt like I should have felt bad, but I didn’t.
“What?” He tossed a pillowcase to the floor and looked at me.
“I walked out. It wasn’t what I thought it was,” I said.
“What are you talking about? You just can’t walk out, it’s part of your probation requirement, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but…” I didn’t have a good defense.
“But, what? Your ass will be up the river before you know it. You don’t fuck with the state, Mara. God damn, look at all the stuff we had to deal with when Thomas went—”
“God, Frankie! It was a group for abused women, okay? Victims of sexual assault. Victims of rape.”
“Really, Mara?” he asked, frustrated. “Why are you so shocked? You keep running away from it. What did you expect? That you could just bury it and it wouldn’t resurface?”
Yes, that was exactly what I had hoped, but I didn’t need him lecturing me about this right now. I felt tension in my muscles with each word he spoke.
“It was going to catch up with you sooner or later. You need—”
“What I need is for everyone to quit telling what I need. It didn’t happen to you. Do you know what it feels like?”
Frankie was still, silent. I guess he was going to actually listen this time.
“The only thing I need to be doing is what I am doing, and that’s trying to figure it out on my own, and not listening to people who don’t know shit about it.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his tone less condescending. He walked into the bathroom where the closet was to get some clean sheets, then came back.
I waited for him to say something else. Frankie had been pushing me for months, and it always ended with an argument.
“Can you switch it?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, picking at a hangnail. “It’s probably more hurdles to jump over, and I just can’t right now.”
“Try not to be so disappointed, maybe? It’s not what you want, but it sounds like the best out. It certainly beats you going to jail.”
“I know, but—”
“There is no but, MJ, probation always beats jail,” he said, unfolding the sheets.
He was right, and I hated to admit it. It was only on rare occasions that Frankie was the voice of reason, but today he was on it, on me.
“Can you just stop talking now?” I quipped.
He looked at me, shaking his head. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and grab the other end of this sheet, tuck it in on your side.”
I got up and walked over to my side of the bed, glaring at him out of the corner of my eye. He was annoying me, so I yanked the fitted sheet, pulling his neatly tucked side off.
“Really, Mara? Are we five?” he asked. “I’m not playing these games with you today.”
He reached across the bed to grab the end of the sheet that I pulled away, but before he got a chance to grasp it I crumpled in as much of the fitted sheet as I could into my corner and left it. He could make it himself. I walked back over to the chaise, but it was only two steps before I noticed that something was stuck to my foot.
“Frankie!” I jumped up and down on one foot, spastically shaking my leg. “Get it off! Get it off!”
“What? What’s wrong with you?” He ran over to my side of the bed, and when he saw what it was he erupted in laughter.
His dirty condom was stuck to the ball of my foot.
“Comeuppance is a bitch,” he said. “I swore I took care of that.” He had one hand on his hip, the other scratching his head. “Man, I shouldn’t have left that there.”
“Well, no shit, Sherlock. Get it off my foot,” I scolded.
“I’m not touching it.” He resumed his task of making the bed.
“Are you kidding me?”
He ignored me and continued with his task jovially, knowing that I was upset.
“So you’re just going to ignore me?” I asked.
He started to whistle.
“I guess we are five, then, you dick.” I hobbled off to the bathroom. I wanted to strangle him.
I went to spray the condom off my foot with the shower head, but while there I got a better idea. I moved over to the sink and grabbed his toothbrush.
“I got it off,” I yelled, reaching behind the toilet to grab a wet wipe for my foot.
“Great, trash it, would you?” he asked, but I had no intention of doing him any favors.
I walked back into the bedroom as he was finishing up with the bed. He was too engrossed with his task to look up until I was behind him. Feeling my presence, he turned to face me.
“Did you—”
“Did I what? Trash it?”
The scowl on his face was priceless. In my hand was his toothbrush and the condom stretched perfectly across the bristles.
“You are such a fucking child.”
I dropped the brush on the floor in front of him.
I turned away and walked back to the bathroom, shut the door, and hopped into the shower. When I got out I grabbed some of his sweat pants and my designated T-shirt and threw myself on the bed. Frankie had gotten out of the shower after me and ordered a pizza and I was more than ready when he came in the bedroom with my portion and more beer.
“What are we watching tonight?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but don’t get pizza grease and crumbs in my bed.”
I waved him off.
“The usual, I guess,” he said. “Something old. Something really old.”
The one thing that Frankie and I did have in common was our love for old movies. He was the only guy I ever knew that would watch them with me with equal excitement.
“How about To Have and Have Not? That’s pretty old,” he said.
“I don’t think I’ve seen that one.”
“It’s good, the leading lady reminds me of you, the black Lauren Bacall.”
“The black Lauren Bacall,” I repeated. “Okay.”
I stared up at the ceiling, then back at Frankie. He was propped up on his elbows, searching through the TV menu. So many times I had been in that bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about us and what it was we were doing. That bedroom, that bed, that ceiling. If the walls could talk, they could have told so much. The passion-filled fights, the passion-fueled make-ups, and a whole lot of nothing in between. My mind lingered on the make-ups. We always knew how to make up, and like an
imals we took advantage of every opportunity and acted on every urge and impulse.
Even though the frequency had diminished over the years, the intensity was still strong, still powerful, still thrilling. In truth, it was passion-filled mania; it terrified me and left me uneasy, but I kept coming back, addicted to it, addicted to him. Unable to think straight and quick to succumb to the pleasure without question. If it were left up to my parents I would still be a virgin, pledging to keep myself pure for my future husband, but Frankie destroyed that dream for them, and they hated him for it. My mother could at least tolerate him, but my father was another story. In his eyes, Frankie had soiled me, and though he claimed that he’d forgiven me, he’d never looked at me the same again.
Frankie muted the TV, and I could hear Chris’s TV still going through the wall. The apartments were nice, but the walls were thin and Frankie’s bedroom and Chris’s living room shared a wall. There were certainly nights where Frankie and I were entertained, and I’m sure at some point we had entertained him as well. Frankie turned over to face me, silent as he admired my face.
“What?” I asked, wanting to know what he wanted.
He leaned in and kissed me on my lips, just a soft peck, then he pulled away.
My eyes widened in surprise, and I turned over to my side. He had a smile across his face as he came in for another kiss. I could feel the heat rush from my lips to the rest of my body. His lips were soft as they pressed against mine. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I laid there taking it all in, not sure if I wanted to stop it. It was only kissing, and kissing I could handle, but when I felt his hand brush my navel and wiggle past the elastic band in the sweats, my body clenched and I pulled away.
“I can’t.”
It seemed so unnatural for me to say. This was the first time he had tried anything since my incident, and this was the first time I had turned him down.