“You’re so oblivious sometimes,” Grace gave Simone an exasperated look.
“Why are you always pushing guys on Simone anyway?” Claire pressed Grace. “All men are just out to get laid.”
“I totally get why you think that, Claire. Actually though, there are plenty of good guys. You just have to get to know them.”
Simone jumped in. “Grace is right. Some men are caring, smart, and nonabusive, and women can start or stop dating any of them at any time.”
“Thanks for the pep talk about men,” Claire rolled her eyes. “But I know what I know.”
Truth be told, part of the reason Simone went out with guys was to show the girls that she could stop dating them without fear that they would hurt her. She wanted them to understand that a woman could spend time with a man simply because she enjoyed his company. That’s what she told them at least.
The reality of it, though, was that for Simone, breaking up with men was less about whether she liked them and more about the fact that getting up at 4:00 a.m. most mornings left her thoroughly exhausted by 9:00 p.m., which made getting through a movie, a Giants baseball game, or some other fun evening event a bit difficult no matter how charming her date was.
But for now, Simone didn’t worry about her love life anyway; she would let “later” take care of itself. Helping these beautiful wounded women held her focus for now. Her thoughts turned to them. At the moment, they were housing three women: Claire, Suda, and Hailey.
Her mind fixed on Hailey as her hand continued to furiously whisk the eggs she had cracked into the bowl. Hailey was a difficult case. She had been a regular, well-adjusted suburban teenager, who had the bad fortune to encounter a handsome young man when she was shopping at a mall. She had confided in Simone with the exact story, and the knowledge that Hailey’s story was like so many other girls’ chilled her to the bone.
The young man’s vivid blue eyes and chiseled cheeks were what had caught Hailey’s eye first. He was older, lean, and lanky in a way she liked—which was a refreshing change from the jock-types she usually hung out with at school.
“What do you think of this shirt?” He’d approached her, holding up a flannel shirt in a soft teal and light blue plaid. She had already noticed him across the store but was surprised to have him not only suddenly beside her but also talking to her. She furtively looked over her shoulder to make sure he was directing his question to her.
“Um … I like it.” She said, immediately feeling young and inarticulate for not having something more witty at the ready.
“It would look good on you, too.” He held it up, just under her chin and looked into her eyes. “Gorgeous eyes,” he said, which was true. Hailey’s eyes were large and chocolate brown below striking slashes of very dark eyebrows that matched her equally deep brown hair. She was suddenly aware that she hadn’t washed it this morning because she hadn’t been up to anything special that Saturday afternoon. She now regretted it, thinking her long hair probably looked lank but hoping fervently that he found it tousled and sexy instead.
“Thanks,” she faltered and looked down at the shirt so she didn’t have to keep up the strong eye contact.
He smiled and moved away, continuing his shopping, but she noticed him surreptitiously keeping tabs on where she was in the store, while she did the same with him. When she walked outside, he was once again beside her.
“I’m about to go for a latte,” he said. “Want to join me?”
She bit her lip, took out her phone, and checked the time. “Sure,” she said with nervous relief, seeing that she had a half hour before she had to head home anyway.
“Thank God,” he said, as if he’d been holding his breath. “C’mon.” He pointed to the mall’s Starbucks with his chin. “I’ve been dying to talk to you since I saw you, and I couldn’t stand the thought of you leaving before I had my chance.” He gave her a shy smile. “What’s your name anyway?”
“Hailey,” she said, her stomach lurching. She had always been second-tier popular, but somehow that had never seemed like enough to catch the attention of a guy like this.
“What’s your name?” she asked, trying to appear casual, as if she went for coffee with older guys all the time.
“Dante,” he told her and steered her toward the line to order.
“Is that Italian?” she took in his appearance, which didn’t make sense based on what she visualized when she thought of Italian coloring.
“Yes, but northern Italian. Hence the piercing blue eyes and blond curls,” he said in a joking, self-effacing tone as if he was making fun of himself.
“Hey, have you seen a French film? I saw an amazing one when I was in the city recently,” he paused. “Called Lolo.”
Hailey looked up from her coffee. Her cheeks flushed.
“Um … I’m embarrassed to say I’ve never seen a foreign film. None of my friends want to watch anything with subtitles.”
Later she’d told Simone, “At the time, I thought he was so sophisticated.” She remembered the exact feeling she’d had when he’d asked her about the French film. Even the recollection that he called it a “film” instead of a “movie” had made him seem like someone she wanted to be with. That day, she’d bitten her lip, sure he would think she was a loser. But if he had, he’d covered it well, and she had fallen right for it.
“We’ll have to watch one sometime,” he raised his eyebrows at her.
Her heart lurched, and she nodded. “That would be great.”
By the time they sat with their lattes, they had already entered their phone numbers into each other’s phones. He put her at ease, which none of the guys she’d dated from school had ever managed to do.
“I was desperate to be as cool as he was,” she confided to Simone later, admitting how easily she had been lured.
Before they parted ways that day, when he suggested they keep their relationship quiet, just something for the two of them, it seemed right. An exciting secret. They began to see each other, ignoring the fact that she was seventeen and he was twenty-five.
She was nervous the first time he took her to his apartment, but when she walked in and saw it, she immediately relaxed. The furniture was spare—brown leather couch, tatty coffee table with an empty used coffee mug sitting on it. It had a tidy-but-lived-in feel that she liked. It fit her vision of him: neat but still a guy’s guy.
The window in the living room was large and had wooden panes that were in need of a fresh coat of white paint, but their tattered appearance didn’t matter because it looked onto the tree-lined street, which drew the eye away from the battered trim to the outdoors. It was raining lightly but did not dim the trees’ brightly-colored orange autumn leaves. Their color created a golden light that streamed in the window. She loved it. She felt as if they were playing house. It had been easy for him to convince Hailey that he loved her. A few weeks passed, and she felt a sense of euphoria. Love was exactly what she thought it would be like. She was happy, giddy, elated. She felt like half of the perfect couple. They spent long afternoons sitting on his couch, her feet up on his lap, drinking craft beer out of glasses instead of Coors Light out of cans, talking for hours about their hopes for their futures instead of which football team would be winning the big game. The boys at her school seemed stupid to her now.
The day he talked her into trying a little blue pill, she thought it would be fine. They had been cocooned inside while wind and sheeting rain howled outdoors.
“It’s nothing scary, babe,” he’d said. “Nothing to worry about. Just some extra fun.” She loved the sense of well-being that flooded her system after she took the pill. No worries about tests, homework, whether it would be ridiculous to ask him to come with her to homecoming, or whether he would want to finally meet her friends.
“Mmmmm,” she said after a while. She felt such a sense of contentment. And having sex with him seemed right. The
y loved each other, she was sure of it.
One afternoon not long before Thanksgiving, he gave her a different-colored pill, but she trusted him. She assumed they’d spend time together in their bubble of happiness as usual. Instead she woke up hours later in a strange room, in a strange bed, with a camera focused on her.
“What’s going on?” She sat up in bed, naked and gingerly placed her pounding head into her hands.
“We had a little extra fun,” he said, unclicked the camera from the tripod, and began to rewind the recording. He showed her what had happened, and she was horrified. She hadn’t been with only him; there’d been another man, too. But she had absolutely no memory of it.
“Why?” she cried. “Oh, my God, Dante, why did you do that? What happened?” She immediately burst into tears, humiliated and horrified.
She suddenly felt dirty and disgusting.
He laughed.
“Babe, you loved it,” he’d told her. “Look at yourself.” He began to replay one section of the video. “You were so into it.”
“I had no idea what I was doing!” She screamed and then had a realization. “The pill,” tears and mascara were streaming down her face. “What did you give me?”
“Nothing you didn’t want. Remember? You took it willingly.”
“I trusted you. I thought it would be like the other pill you gave me.”
“It was even better, babe.”
“Stop calling me ‘babe’!” she cried. “I’m calling the police,” she looked frantically around for her clothes. She remembered her cell phone had been in her jeans pocket.
He laughed again, as if she were hilarious. “Your clothes are in the other room, but calling the police isn’t an option. Don’t you get it? You did everything willingly. You took drugs. You begged for it. Are you going to show them the video?”
“I wasn’t in my right mind. You drugged me!”
“You think they care about little girls who pick up men at malls? Girls who pop pills? Think again,” he told her.
Her hands shook, and she felt nauseated. The thought of having her parents or strangers see the video was the worst thing she could imagine and that’s exactly what she knew would happen if the police got involved. She pictured her father’s beaming face at every flute concert she had ever played in. She would never be able to look him in the face again.
She grabbed for the camera, intending to smash it to pieces, but he beat her to it.
“Not so fast.” He held the camera above his head, his lanky arm kept it out of her reach. “I love this video. You’re never going to get it from me. Besides,” he paused, “this is my insurance policy. You and I are going to be a team now.”
“What are you talking about? We’re not a team. I don’t ever want to see you again.” Another wave of sobbing overtook her.
“We’re going to make some money.”
“Money? We’re not making any money. I’m getting out of here,” she said frantically pulling on the clothes she finally located in the adjacent room. Maybe she wouldn’t tell her parents or the police, but she suddenly knew with certainty that she had to get as far away from him as she could and as quickly as possible.
“Look,” his tone was sweet, consoling. “I’m sorry if you were confused. I thought you’d like it. But now that you’ve done it, we’re going to keep on doing it. We made good money already. See?” he peeled off two hundred dollars in twenties and handed them to her. “This is your cut.”
She slapped the money away. “I’m not a prostitute!”
“I think you’re mistaken there,” he said, calmly, with a tone of condescension. He tried to tuck a strand of hair behind her ears, but she slapped his hand away. “You are now.” He reached forward and shoved the money in her pocket.
“Take me home. I never want to see you again,” she hissed, digging the money back out of her pocket and throwing it on the floor.
“Have it your way then.” He bent, picked up the bills, and then held the door open for her.
What Hailey thought was the end of her humiliating nightmare was just the beginning. Her hope of never seeing him again and pretending the entire horrifying thing hadn’t happened was dashed when he texted her later that night.
“Leave me alone,” she texted back from the dinner table before her mother set her plate in front of her.
“No texting at the table, sweetie,” her dad reminded her, and she clicked off her phone and slapped it, face down, on the table.
“Gentle,” her mom said, sitting across from her.
“Sorry,” Hailey picked up her fork and began rearranging sautéed green beans on her plate, putting one in her mouth just frequently enough to keep her parents from noticing she wasn’t eating much.
“Is everything all right?” her dad asked, looking between Hailey and her mom. “How was your day? Didn’t you have that big trigonometry test today?” he asked, missing the sweet chatter from when his daughter was younger.
“It was fine,” she said tightly, an image of waking up earlier and learning she had been with a strange man skidded across her vision. She couldn’t even look at her parents. She had slipped in the back door, raced up the stairs, and gone straight into the shower, where she’d scrubbed herself until her skin was tender to the touch.
Her mom looked at Hailey and took in the red eyes and blotched skin.
“Have you been crying?” she asked, concerned.
“No, Mom,” Hailey tried to brush her off. “I worked out with some friends after school and just got overly hot. I’m fine. I showered. It’s nothing,” she said, stuffed some of the pork chop her mom had made into her mouth, grabbed her phone, and escaped back upstairs to her bedroom as soon as humanly possible.
Her fury and hurt were profound, but her fear of being exposed was even more compelling. He threatened to send portions of the video, edited for maximum effect, to her parents and attached one example to make sure she realized how graphic it would be.
She bowed her head and cradled it in her hands, eyes closed. Helpless. He had her. She sat on her bed, rocking back and forth, panic gripping her chest. How had this happened? And how could she get out of it?
“Once more and then I’m out,” she texted back. “Then you have to promise to leave me alone.”
His empty promise turned into one more, then one more, then one more—over and over again.
Hailey thought back and shuddered at the memory of the day she opened her front door, and it all fell apart.
When she swung the door open that day, she saw not just her mother but also her father home and waiting for her in the middle of the afternoon. Her eyes darted to the pill bottle sitting between them on the coffee table, and her heart squeezed in her chest. She was addicted to the pills he’d been giving her, and now her parents had found them. The white pill gave her a sense of contentment, and the blue pill made her forget. She had sex with whomever he wanted in exchange for his silence.
“How did you know about the pills?” was all she asked, not even trying to deny that they were hers.
“How could we not know?” Her mother’s voice was full of concern rather than anger, which might have been easier for Hailey to bear. Hailey burst into tears.
“I need help,” she whispered, the relief of her parents knowing temporarily outweighing the horror of her situation.
“Talk to us, sweetheart,” her dad urged her. “What’s happening?” He looked at his daughter who no longer smiled, had greasy hair, and was edgy all the time and implored her to tell them the truth.
The story poured out of her. She tried to hold back some of the most sordid details, but they understood the gist of what had been happening once she was finished talking. Seeing her parents’ faces almost killed her but also brought freedom from being alone with the dark secret.
Her father closed his eyes, his face temporarily ashe
n, and then he got up from his chair and began to pace. He stopped, clenching his jaw, and Hailey watched—pained—as she saw the internal struggle play out on his face. She could tell her usually calm father wanted nothing more than to kill Dante.
She looked at her usually lighthearted mother’s face as she too processed what could be done to punish her daughter’s tormentor. She sat next to Hailey on the couch, holding her hand. She might be angry with her daughter later, when she had more time to contemplate how secretive she’d been, but for now she was strictly in protection mode.
They contacted the police.
“Don’t think you’re getting away from me,” came a text from an unknown number and then he posted a clip of her on social media. Nothing too horrifying, but it was enough for her to know that he was going to make good on his threat if she didn’t come back.
They shut down all of Hailey’s social media.
“You’re mine, babe,” came another one.
They changed her phone number, but he always managed to find her.
“You can’t go to school,” her mother wrapped her protectively in a hug—the thought of that man getting a hold of her daughter chilled her to her core.
“I know,” Hailey pressed her face into her mom’s shoulder. “I’m so …” she paused. “I’m just so …” she searched her mind for words. “I wish I could die.”
“Don’t say that,” her mother whispered. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but this will end. We will get past this.”
“It’s not over, though. He won’t let me go.”
“The police are on it, sweetheart.”
“Mom,” Hailey said. “There’s nothing they can do. He’s going to humiliate me in front of everyone. He’s going to post a video of me. I know it. It’s just a matter of time.”
“As long as you’re safe here with us. That’s what counts.”
“To you maybe, but you don’t understand,” she sobbed. “My life is ruined. When I think about everyone seeing. It’s horrifying! And,” she paused and looked down, whispering, “I can’t see a way out. When I think about my life, I just can’t see a future anymore.”
Across the Deep Page 9