Mistrust

by Margaret McHeyzer

  “Mr. C freaks me out. Haven’t you noticed he’s always around and staring. I’ve got a really bad feeling about him, Sam.” My hand flies to my stomach and I can feel the panic etched deeply inside me. “Please, just trust me.”

  “Of course I trust you, but if there’s really something wrong, you need to tell Mom and Dad.”

  “No! Jesus, Sam, what do I say, ‘Hey Mom and Dad, a teacher at school freaks me out, but I have nothing to go on except he seems creepy’? Yeah, good one.”

  “Then you have to tell Mr. Preston, the principal.”

  “You’re not listening, I can’t tell anyone. There’s nothing but a feeling in my gut that screams at me that Mr. C isn’t who he says he is. Something’s really off about him.”

  I have Sam on edge now, because she keeps looking from me to the entrance of Target as though measuring the distance. I shouldn’t scare her like this, but she needs to be vigilant because I don’t want for her to be hurt like I was. “Okay, Dakota. We won’t tell anyone, but if anything happens, you have to promise me you’ll tell Mom and Dad.”

  “’Kay. I promise.” We’re interrupted by Sam’s ringing phone, and it’s Mom to say she’s waiting for us. “Listen to me; we make our way out to the car, and don’t stop no matter if we see Mr. Collins or not.”

  “Alright, alright.”

  We head straight out of Target and speed walk to where Mom’s waiting for us. When we get in the car, Mom starts talking to us about school. Sam replies to everything Mom’s asking. She’s an absolute star, talking to Mom normally as if I haven’t completely spooked the crap out of her.

  Mom pulls out of the parking area and I keep an eye on everyone around us. I half expect to see Mr. Collins somewhere, staring at us.

  Instead I lock eyes with Levi as he’s leaning against an outside wall talking to Reece and a few others from school. He holds my gaze as we drive past him, and keeps holding my stare until we’re out of sight.

  “Hey, Sophie,” I say when I go to the library at lunch to return a book I’ve borrowed. “You’re in here today?” She’s sitting at a table, quietly eating a sandwich while flicking through a book.

  “Hi, Dakota,” she whispers and then looks around her.

  I pull out the chair opposite her, and slide in. She looks at me and squints her eyes. “What?” I ask.

  “Truthfully, I thought you wouldn’t bother with me again. I thought yesterday was ‘let’s pretend to like the girl with no friends’ day, and by today you’d have gotten over it.”

  Man that hurts. Like an arrow piercing my heart, and it also shatters my own perception of how I used to be. “Was I really that bad?”

  Sophie lifts her shoulders and looks away. It’s enough to tell me that’s exactly how I was. “Anyway, what are you doing here?” She takes another bite of her lunch and waits for me to answer.

  “Had to check a book in, and I saw you. Thought I’d come over.” I offer her a smile, and pray she sees it’s genuine.

  “Cool.” She looks back down at her book.

  I have a feeling she thinks I’m being fake, that I don’t care about her. “Whatcha’ reading?”

  Sophie raises her eyes without lifting her head. A smirk pulls on the corner of her mouth and her left eyebrow arches with derision. It takes her a few moments before she holds the book up for me to see the cover.

  “To Kill a Mockingbird? Harper Lee? I read somewhere that until recently everyone thought this was her only book. It wasn’t until recently they discovered she’d written a sequel called Go Set a Watchman.”

  Sophie looks at me in wonder, her eyebrows high on her forehead with her mouth partly open. “How do you know that?”

  “I remember reading To Kill a Mockingbird a few years ago. And I liked it. I haven’t read Go Set a Watchman, though. Life gets in the way, you know.”

  “Who knew?” Sophie says. I tilt my head to the side, silently questioning her remark. “Who knew you’re kinda cool?”

  I can’t help but laugh aloud. “Apparently I’m cool.”

  “Yeah, who knew? Up until this conversation I thought you were one of those girls who drank diet soda and ate two peas so as not to put weight on. Now, I think you’re okay.”

  “Ate two peas? Really?”

  “You know what I mean. One of them.”

  “No, who is ‘them’?”

  “The girls who don’t see anyone except whoever is in their clique. Have the latest of everything, and don’t talk to anyone unless they’re one of the popular kids.”

  “Is that how you see us? Or worse, how you see me?”

  Sophie lifts her right shoulder. “It’s hard not to when I walk past, say hello, and I barely get acknowledged and never spoken to.”

  Slumping in my seat I can’t help but look away, embarrassed. “Sorry, we’re like that. I never realized. If I knew I would’ve . . .”

  “Well you know now, so let’s move on. Anyway, shouldn’t you be at cheerleading practice?”

  “I didn’t feel like going. I told the girls I wasn’t feeling well. There’s only a couple of weeks of school left so it doesn’t make that much of a difference.” If it does, they’ll probably give me a warning before telling me they no longer want me on the cheerleader squad. But in all honesty, I don’t think I care anymore.

  “Whoa, we got a rebel on our hands.”

  “Something like that.” I half-heartedly smirk.

  “Hey, what are you doing here? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Why aren’t you down in the cafeteria?” Levi says as he leans against the table Sophie and I are sitting at. He looks over to Sophie, scans her dismissively then looks back to me.

  “Levi, this is Sophie, Sophie this is Levi.”

  “I know who she is,” he says flatly, quite rudely.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Sophie adds with a fake smile.

  “Whatever. C’mon, babe, let’s go ‘cause I wanna talk to you.”

  Taking a deep breath, I stand and push my chair in under the desk. “I’ll catch you later, Sophie.”

  “Yeah, I’ll see you around,” she says while giving Levi a look I can only describe as a ‘stink eye.’

  When Levi and I leave the library he turns to me and asks, “What’s her problem? And why the hell are you hanging out with her and not at our table? Don’t you know Slutty Sophie has a reputation? You don’t want people to associate you with her.”

  “What?” I look up at him as we walk down the stairs toward the cafeteria. “That’s a horrible name, why would you call her that?”

  “That’s the name the guys call her because she got so drunk at a party one night, she was letting guys do whatever they wanted to her.”

  “What?” I question as we keep walking. “That’s not the girl I know.”

  “And you know her real good, do you?” He snarls at me over his shoulder, his face morphing into disgust. “What the hell’s happened to my girlfriend? What happened to you, Dakota?”

  “What?” My fingers begin to tingle as I become hyperaware of my reaction to Levi and his statement. I can’t let him know about Saturday night. “I’m still me,” I say with a shaky tone. You can do better, Dakota.

  “Look.” He stops walking and takes a step closer to me. We’re in the isolated hallway leading up to the cafeteria. Dehydration hits my mouth instantly and I try to keep swallowing through the dryness. Levi leans into me, and I take a step back. He keeps coming toward me, and I keep moving back. My back hits the exposed wall, and my thin t-shirt does nothing to shield me from the cold bricks. My body shivers as Levi cages me against the wall by bringing both his arms up to lean against the wall on either side of my head.

  I start to breathe heavily and my heart is hammering, desperate to rip through my chest wall. Oh God, what is happening? “What are you doing?” I manage to whimper. Even to me, I sound pathetic; as if I’m frantically trying to hold onto the sane part of me.

  Levi gets within an inch of my face. His breath touches the tip of my nose
, his wild eyes looking straight through me. Please don’t let him see. Closing my eyes, I move my head to the side. “I knew it,” he says, still really close to me. “I fucking knew it.” His tone changes as he almost spits the words out. “You were never going to have sex with me, were you, Dakota?”

  My eyes spring open and I turn to look at him. “That’s not true. Honestly, I was going to, but I got so nervous and I couldn’t because it didn’t feel right.” Levi is shaking his head, while his face and angry eyes scream at me without using any words. He pushes off the wall and starts pacing in front of me. “I’m sorry, Levi. I’m not ready.” And now I’m not sure I ever will be.

  “So that’s it? I just have to wait? We’ve been going out for months, seven of them to be exact, and you’re still ‘not ready’? I’ve never once pressured you, I’ve never once given you an ultimatum, have I?” he spits toward me.

  “No, you haven’t,” I whisper and look down at my feet. Regret washes all the way through me. “Maybe, if you can give me more time . . .” I offer, although I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. Not after what’s happened.

  “More time?” He stops pacing and turns to look at me. Of course, my head is still lowered, but I can see his Nikes in front of me. “You want more time? Everyone else is having sex with girls who’ve been going out with them for far less time than you and I have. What makes you so special that I have to wait?”

  Anger slowly rises through me, and I can’t help but notice how he’s now trying to pressure me. “You know what, Levi?” I lift my head, pull my shoulders back and take a step off the wall. “I’m not ready and I’m not sure when I will be. If you want to wait, wait. But if you don’t, then find someone else, because I’m not having sex with you until I’m ready.”

  Levi’s shoulders sag slightly, as he takes a step back from me. “Maybe I will,” he says in a way that is intended to make me quiver. “How do you like that, Dakota?” he spits toward me.

  “Fine, then. Go. Enjoy yourself,” I say sarcastically. “Have fun, and remember to wrap it up or it’ll fall off.” I step away from him and go toward the cafeteria.

  “We’re over. You hear? We. Are. OVER!” he yells toward my retreating back.

  I shake my head and go straight toward the cafeteria, but make a pit stop in the bathroom. Locking myself in one of the cubicles I do the only thing I can.

  I cry.

  “Hey, I heard Levi broke up with you today?” Sam says as she leans against my open bedroom door.

  “Something like that.” I sit up in bed, pat the covers for Sam to come and sit down with me. “I was going to tell you.”

  “Yeah, I don’t like really hearing things about you second hand from others. Makes me think we’re not friends.” She scrunches up her mouth and looks down at her knotted hands. “We are friends, aren’t we?” She looks up at me, and I see her eyes are brimming with tears.

  “We’re more than friends. We’re best friends, Sammy” I say as I move to engulf her in a hug.

  “Then why can’t you tell me what’s going on?” Her words hurt me. They tear me apart, and I can’t look at her. I’m filled with so much shame, and so much remorse that I just can’t tell her what happened.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say with no conviction whatsoever. We both know, by my tone, I’m holding something back from her. The words I should tell her are stuck. They’re firmly wedged in the back of my throat because telling her I was . . . assaulted brings so much shame. I can’t even bring myself to think about saying the ‘R’ word. There’s a stigma to it, and an even worse one attached to the knowledge that it happened to someone you know.

  “One day, Dakota, I hope you can trust me enough to tell me.” She stands from my bed, gives me a weak, hurt smile and leaves closing the door quietly behind her.

  There’s only one emotion dominating me right now—sadness. I’m completely heartbroken to be pushing away the one person who had always had my back.

  I should tell her, get it out there and let her know what happened to me, so she knows what to do. But if I tell her, she’ll act differently around me, as if I’m wounded . . . broken. No, I can’t tell her. I need to keep her from knowing. Once she knows, it’ll be a huge responsibility on her shoulders. And what if she tells Mom and Dad? She’d never betray me on purpose, but knowing your sister has been assaulted? That’s a whole different burden.

  Pulling the covers over my head I close my eyes and pray. Pray for the world to disappear forever. But that’s being selfish. I can’t wish that on everyone else, all I can do is wish these things for myself.

  Maybe if a sinkhole formed under my bedroom I could disappear and never have to look anyone in the eye. Shame would never surface again, and neither would the emptiness and self-loathing that hasn’t left me since I woke on Sunday morning.

  I’m still trying to hold on to any part of the old me, but it’s all been ripped away. Taken, stomped on, and tossed aside as if I was never really worth anything to begin with.

  My Mom often says to Sam and me, “The sun will rise and the sun will set.” Up until today, I never really knew what she meant by it. Of course the sun will rise and set; it’s inevitable. No matter what happens in the world, there’s always going to be a tomorrow. I can’t help but wonder if I should let this go and get on with my life as if nothing happened.

  Or should I trust in myself, in my family, my friends, and the law and tell them all what happened Saturday night?

  Is it too late?

  Of course it is.

  I should’ve said something earlier; I shouldn’t have waited. If I tell them now, they’ll think I had a willing part in it, that I was asking for it, they’ll think I’m trying to lay blame elsewhere, when the blame lies with me. They’ll think I’d been drinking, and because of that, I was definitely asking for trouble. But I hadn’t been drinking. I can’t remember having anything but soda. All I remember was dancing, feeling weird, then waking up outside near the bleachers.

  Dear God, please help me. Help me remember or help me forget. Just please, help me.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper to myself. “I just can’t.”

  “Dakota!” Sammy bursts into my room as if a nationwide crisis is unfolding.

  “What?” I snap while pulling myself up into a sitting position. I try to wipe the stray tears from my cheeks before she sees them.

  “Are you crying?” she asks coming further into my room.

  “It doesn’t matter.” I notice her phone in her right hand, the screen bright. She’s obviously come in to show me something. “What is it?” I move my eyes to her phone then back to look her in the eye.

  Sammy looks out my bedroom door, then closes it quietly. “Is there something you want to tell me?” She’s holding her phone and my body stiffens at the way she’s holding it. There’s something on there she doesn’t want me to see, but she’s not telling me what it is.

  “No,” I mumble. But what I want to do is scream, at the top of my lungs. To yell and shout and cry. I want to tell her, but I can’t.

  “Dakota.” Her shoulders slump, and her face falls.

  Oh no, she knows.

  Instantly I lower my head, and don’t let Sam see the truth behind my lying eyes. “No,” I repeat. My voice is strangled and no actual sound comes out, just a muffled groan.

  “Dakota.” She sits next to me on the bed. Reaching out, she places her hand on my leg and gently squeezes. “I know.”

  Those two words cause an avalanche of emotions to erupt. They have the power to rip a person’s soul apart, or to put them together again.

  I purse my lips tight, fearing if I open my mouth nothing but a pained cry of raw hurt will escape. Tears are dripping down and I use my hair to cover my face, a veil protecting me from the disgust I’m sure is etched deep on my sister’s face.

  “Dakota,” she softly whispers.

  I shake my head and don’t say anything. I don’t want her to know. I hate that
she does. I hate knowing she’ll look at me like I’m less than nothing. I hate it. Hate everything. Hate myself. Hate my life. Hate this happened to me.

  Throwing my covers back, I spring out of bed, and run. I run out of my bedroom, out the front door and down the street. I keep running, completely unaffected by the fact I’m running with no shoes. My hair is swinging from side to side and, as the cool night air smacks me in the face. The cold asphalt is coarse against the soles of my feet, and I have no doubt that soon, my feet will be bleeding.

  But, I don’t care. I need to get away from Sam. From her knowing.

  Hot tears stream down my cheeks. From the outside I must look like a girl jogging, on the inside, though, I’m a broken girl trying to get away from herself.

  My breath rasps in my throat as my feet take me far away from where I once thought I belonged. The streets are dark, isolated and though it is early evening the night sky is blacker than normal.

  My legs take me to a park a few blocks over, and when I get to its secluded green gardens I fall to my knees. Bringing my hands up to cradle my face I do the only thing I can do. I cry. A storm of emotions keeps building, a whirlpool of rage and hurt mix together.

  My tears cease and I look up to the full moon in the dark sky. “ARGHHHH!” I yell. The scream so deep, the sound so forceful my ribs vibrate against my chest. I keep screaming. My throat dries out, and my chest heaves as I gasp for air. With every part of me exhausted, I collapse to the ground. My body is spent. My rage has been consumed by so many other emotions, and I curl into a protective ball.

  Shame.

  Self-hatred.

  Embarrassment.

  Fear.

  Laying on the grass, the heaviness that was so prominent earlier lifts from my body, replaced by a warm body whose arms tighten around me.

  “I love you, Dakota,” the girl whispers. The girl, of course is Sam. “I’m so sorry.” She kisses my forehead while her arms tighten around me.

  We lay on the grass, with our arms wrapped around one another. No words are spoken. No promises are made; no lies are told. We just are.