I grab a towel and wrap it around my body, and Sam does the same thing.
Dad’s standing incredibly still, his face is furious and everything inside of me is saying he’s angry at me. I must’ve done something to make him this mad.
“What’s going on, Owen?” Mom asks, her voice dropping.
“Go and dry off, then get your asses into the family room.”
“Owen, why are you being so rough with the kids?”
As I walk past Dad, his eyes narrow further and his brows draw in together. “We need to talk,” Dad says to me.
My stomach flips and drops. His tone screams, ‘I know.’
I take myself to my bedroom, close the door and lose every ounce of control I have.
Changing out of my one-piece, I put on a pair of jeans and long sleeved, light sweater. Shudders of ice tear through me, cooling my body . . . terrifying me.
Opening my door slowly, I try and listen to the hushed whispers coming from the family room. I can’t hear anything definitive, only small murmurs. I stick my head out of my door and see Sam’s leaning against the hallway wall, listening intently.
“What’s going on?” I mouth to her and lift my shoulders in question.
“I don’t know,” she mouths back. Then she puts a finger to her mouth and shushes me.
Stealthily, I move to stand beside Sam, hoping to get some insight as to why Dad’s home early, why he threw everyone out and why he wants to talk to me specifically.
My stomach drops.
Deep down inside, I know why. But I’m hoping it’s not that, it’s humiliating enough that it happened, it’s vulgar for my parents to know. A shudder rips through me at the thought.
“Girls, get in here,” Dad calls. My shoulders stiffen and I’m abruptly hit with the inability to respond or move. My legs feel like a ton of concrete has been poured over them, making them immobile.
“Let’s face this together.” Sam links our fingers encouragingly.
But I can’t move. Fear is rising rapidly inside me, causing all of my senses to shut down. I can’t hear anything, it’s all muffled and strained. Black spots float in front of my eyes. I can’t do this. I can’t look into their eyes and lie any more. “I can’t, Sam,” I whisper and squeeze her hand tighter.
“We have to. I’ll be with you. I promise, I won’t leave.” Her words should ease the guilt and shame pounding in my veins, but all they do is reinforce the severity of what’s about to happen.
“Girls,” Dad calls again, his tone is deadly low and holds an air of command.
Sam stands in front of me, looking me square in the eyes. “You can do this,” she says. “I’ll be there with you.”
I nod my head, and slowly shuffle in to the family room, with Sam beside me. Mom and Dad are sitting on the sofa next to each other, and Dad has his cell phone out on the table in front of him. I look at Mom, who’s been crying. Her face is pink and splotchy, her eyes are red-rimmed and she’s clutching a tissue in her hand. The tissue box has been moved, and sits beside her on the sofa. Crap.
Sam and I head for the opposite sofa, and sit, huddled together. In this explosive moment, she’s my rock, my strength. There’s nothing I’ll ever do in my life that will even come close to repaying her for everything she’s done for me.
Dad’s eyes focus on us. He takes in exactly how close we’re sitting, and how we’re holding onto each other. He takes a deep breath and looks down to his phone. Picking it up, he silently swipes at the screen, and brings something up. He places it on the small wooden table between us. He pushes it over to me, his eyes glued to the phone’s screen.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I regroup and take a deep, pained breath, gathering all my courage to pick the phone up and look at whatever is on the screen.
Deep down, though, I know. A picture has gotten back to him.
Mom’s sob makes me open my eyes and stare at the innocent phone waiting for me to pick it up. Opening my mouth I take a deep breath in, hold it for a few seconds before releasing it. Untangling from Sam, I lean over and pick up Dad’s phone. The picture on it is the one Sam received shortly after that night.
“Care to explain?” Dad asks in a tone I’ve never heard him use before. There’s definite anger, heavily tinged with disappointment, possibly even shame.
“I can’t,” I croak with the scratchiest voice. The words I speak are tiny, almost breathless.
Looking over at Mom, her chin quivers as she holds in a cry.
“Then care to explain how they ended up on social media this morning?” I place the phone back on the table, and don’t look at the sickening photo taunting me . . . haunting me.
He said, they. I look to Sam and she lifts her shoulders to me, silently telling me she has no idea what on earth is going on.
“They?” my voice breaks.
“Yes, they.” Mom hasn’t moved, but Dad takes the phone and brings up another offensive image before placing it back on the table. Both are sitting, waiting for me to explain.
I hesitantly reach out to take the phone, my fingers are icy cold and trembling from dread as I reach for the phone again. My anxiety level is sky high while my chest hurts from the way my heart is wildly beating against it. I retract my hand quickly and grab onto Sam’s hand.
It’s so quiet in here. Other than Mom’s small wail, nothing else can be heard. “I can’t,” I repeat, terrified and ashamed.
“You need to start talking.” Dad pushes the phone in my direction.
My eyes land on the screen, and I take in another large breath. It’s a picture of me, at prom, but not one I’ve seen before. It’s explicit and revolting. I look up at Dad, and don’t dare look at Mom. Dad’s eyes show a new level of disgust.
“It’s not what you think,” I say.
“Dad,” Sam starts saying. But the moment Dad shoots her a ‘don’t you dare’ look, she doesn’t say anything else.
This is on me, not her. She shouldn’t have to fight my battle.
Dad’s intense stare comes straight back to me. I have to be brave. I have to tell my parents what happened, regardless of the consequences.
They won’t believe me, not now. It’s been too long, far too long.
“You better start talking, Dakota.”
I swallow, and try to get everything sorted in my head. A part of me knew this day would come, I just never thought it would be here so quickly. Maybe twenty years, not weeks. “It happened at prom,” I begin.
“Oh God,” Mom sighs and clasps her hand to her mouth.
“Why didn’t you tell us, or at the very least your mother, that you were considering having sex? And why on earth would you let someone take photos of you while you were having sex? Have you learned nothing about social media? Don’t you know the dangers and risks involved in letting someone have pictures like these of you?” Dad says. His voice is eerily calm, however the tension in his tone is enough to tell me he’s hanging on to his control by the thinnest thread.
Vomit quickly rises and my body shudders from the hell breaking out inside my body. They think I willingly did this, which makes it even worse.
“It’s not what you think,” I yell, losing all my control. I abruptly stand and move away from the sofa, pacing back and forth. I bring my hands up to my hair, and tug on the ends in frustration and angst.
“If it’s not what we think, then explain it to me,” Dad counters, standing as well and following my pace from in between the facing sofas.
“Help us understand, darling. We won’t judge you,” Mom sweetly says.
Judging is exactly what they’re doing.
“Dad, if I can say something,” Sam interrupts.
“No, Samantha, you cannot say anything. You’re here because you’re part of this family, so just sit and listen.”
Sam winces away at Dad’s angry words, and she looks at me sympathetically. I shake my head at her and smile, telling her without words how it’s okay and not to feel hurt with Dad.
“Dad,
” I start saying. Tears sting my eyes while my heart shatters into millions of tiny pieces. Once the words are out, I know I’ll be unloved, I know they’ll look at me with nothing but disgust and contempt.
“Tell me it wasn’t Levi? Did he create the group on social media and upload all these photos of you, like this?” He spits the last words out, repulsed.
“What?! No! I don’t know who did this.” I point to the phone. “I don’t know who took the photos.” I let more tears slip as I huddle into myself. “I don’t even know what happened,” I finally admit.
Dad takes a stumbling step back.
“What are you saying, Dakota?” Mom whispers.
“She’s saying she was raped,” Sam announces as she too stands and holds me tight.
Oh my God. My heart is beyond repair now, I can’t believe Sam told them. They shouldn’t know, they’re going to hate me. I already hate me, and knowing they’ll despise me too, makes me sick.
“What did you say, Sam?” Dad whispers in a small broken voice.
I look over to our parents and Mom is sitting with her mouth open, tears now freely running down her face. Dad’s collapsed back to the sofa, his body is stiff and rigid.
“She had her drink spiked, and she was raped.”
“Jesus, Sam! What the hell?” I yell at her. Her face drops because I’ve yelled at her. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Dakota, sit down,” Dad instructs. He leans forward on the sofa and balances his elbows on his knees. Sam and I go and sit. Dad looks to us both, his jaw tight and his shoulders squared back. I won’t look at Mom. I can hear her crying and I don’t want to see the absolute humiliation on her face because I’ve disappointed her.
Dad runs his hand through his hair and lands his palm on the back of his neck. There’s a vein that protrudes from Dad’s temple whenever he’s really angry, and right now it’s throbbing.
He regains himself, and looks straight at me.
“You were raped,” he says flatly.
I nod my head.
“At your prom?”
I nod again.
“Your drink was spiked?”
I look down at my feet, but nod.
“Tell me exactly what happened. And don’t leave a single thing out.”
Tears fall from my eyes, landing on the floor boards. There’s a tiny puddle of tears quickly growing. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and pull my shoulders back.
I’m strong, I can do this. I can tell them.
Looking up at Mom and Dad, I open my mouth and tell them everything that’s been happening, from the night of the prom until now.
Mom and Dad sit opposite me, quietly listening. The more I tell them the more their shoulders drop and the more I see the shame flitter across their faces.
But I have to do this. It’s toxic to hold something so monumental inside. It was bound to kill me, to send me over the edge of reality and straight into the depths of hell.
I can do this. I can be strong. I will be strong.
It takes me no less than an hour to relay everything that’s happened. I don’t hold back on anything. Nothing. As I finish talking, I notice a huge sense of relief flood me. It’s as if a giant load has been lifted off my shoulders, and now, although I still need to deal with the aftermath of what’s happened, I can finally move on with my head held high.
Mom and Dad sit opposite us, processing everything I’ve told them. They blink slowly, look at each other, and back to me.
“We need to get the police involved,” Dad says breaking the tense air in the family room.
“I’m going to find you a counselor, Dakota. We need help dealing with this. Neither your father or I are educated in helping you through this.” Mom stands and makes her way to me, she sits beside me and wraps her arms around me. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I didn’t know. I’m sorry I didn’t see it. I thought you were just going through normal teenage stuff, not this. I’m so sorry,” she keeps repeating. She brings me into her body, hugging me tightly and kissing my temple.
“You believe me?” I ask, stunned. I look at Sam who gives me a warm smile.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Dad adds.
“I just thought . . .”
“No, Dakota. Don’t ever think we won’t believe or trust you,” Dad says. “For now, go have a shower and clean up. I’m going to make a couple of phone calls, one of which will be to the police.”
I break out of Mom’s tight hug. Shaking my head, I look at Dad. “No, you can’t. What if it gets out and everyone knows?”
Dad picks his phone up and shakes it at me. “That ship has sailed. These pictures have been uploaded to a group and hundreds of people were added to it. Everyone is going to know, regardless of whether you want them to or not. The next step is getting the police involved. Quietly though, because we don’t want everyone knowing they’re involved. It might compromise any investigation they conduct.”
“I can’t, Dad.”
Mom squeezes me harder, and Dad moves to crouch before me, his hands embracing mine. “You have to. This is the only way we can move forward. The. Only. Way.”
It feels like an eternity passes, but I know it’s only been a few seconds when I finally realize, this is the natural progression of healing. Of moving forward and standing tall. I didn’t choose this. He, whoever he is, did this to me. “Okay,” I whisper. I’m stronger today than I was yesterday, because I’m no longer burying a horrible secret so far down it has the potential to turn septic.
“Go have a shower, and lie down for a little while. But no one, and I repeat no one is to be told about the police. I want them to catch this bastard and put him behind bars, and if the rapist knows the police are involved and gets wind of it, then he may destroy any evidence he has. We need to be smart.” Dad points to me, then Sam.
“I promise, Dad I won’t say a thing.” Sam crosses her heart for extra measure. “Because I want him caught more than anything.”
“I promise, I won’t say a word.”
“Okay, both of you, go. Your mother and I need to talk.”
Sam and I stand and head into our rooms.
She whispers as we walk down the hall, “How do you feel?”
“Truthfully, I’m relieved, but this is only the start. I think this is going to get much worse before it gets better.”
“Mom and Dad won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“I know,” I say, ashamed of myself for thinking they’d see me differently because of the assault.
Sam stops walking when we reach my room. She hugs me and says, “I’ll always be here for you. No matter how tough things get.”
“I love you,” I tell her.
“I love you too.”
She lets go of me and walks to her room at the end of the hall. “Sammy,” I call.
She turns around with a huge smile on her face. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that since, that night.”
Huh, so it is. “Thank you for being my sister.”
She smiles wide again, and goes to her room. I head into mine, and wait for whatever is about to happen.
Something’s bubbling away, the calm before the storm. It’s not yet turbulent, but soon I’m about to weather the worst storm of my life.
Regardless of what lies ahead, I smile, because I have the support and love of my family.
The numbness inside me eases.
Finally.
I’ve been lying on my bed, listening to music and trying to relax. I heard the front door open about ten minutes ago, then Mom and Dad and some other voices, talking. I assume they called the police and they came to the house to interview me.
Although I know this has to happen, it doesn’t make it any easier on me. My nerves are thrumming and my heart’s been beating at a constant fast speed. I haven’t been able to stop shaking either. I’ve got blankets piled high on me but I can’t stop shivering.
“Dakota,” I hear Dad’s gruff voice beckon.
I take a few deep b
reaths before throwing all the covers off and heading out to the family room, where everyone is congregated.
I round the wall, and come in to see Detectives Miller and Young standing in the family room, talking with Mom and Dad.
“Hello, Dakota,” Detective Young says to me. “I’m Detective Tracey Young, and this is Detective Andrea Miller.” She holds her hand out to shake. I take it and smile.
“You both came to my school. You two and Detective Garcia talked to us about vacation, and the possibility of things going wrong. Including statistics on sexual assault and what we should look out for.”
“Yes, we did. We were trying to educate as many students as we could on the potential dangers you could be faced with. I’m glad you remember us. Is it okay if we sit?” she asks me.
I look to Mom and Dad, seeking their approval.
“Don’t look at your parents, focus on me and Andrea, okay?” she asks gently.
“Sure,” I say casting my eyes downward. I try to flick them to the side to look at Mom and Dad surreptitiously, but I can’t see them.
“Your mom and dad have told us a few things, but if it’s okay, we’d like to hear from you?”
“Um.” Oh God, embarrassment floods me. Having to tell a complete stranger.
Andrea can see the hesitation in me, she can tell I’m ambivalent about tell them anything. “Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, can you get us a drink please?”
“Of course,” Dad answers.
They leave the room, and I look at both police officers. “Shouldn’t they be here?” I ask pointing my thumb in the direction of the kitchen.
“They can be, if it makes you more comfortable. We’ve already talked, and they’ve said they’ll do whatever you need them to. But how about we talk for now, maybe you can tell me what happened, and if it’s okay with you, we’ll record it so we don’t forget anything. Is that okay, Dakota?” Andrea is so gentle and sweet. She’s not talking at me, or trying to force me to say anything at all. She’s simply waiting for me to open up to them.
“I can do that.”
She takes a small recorder out of her pocket and shows it to me. I squint at the old thing. “I know, it’s dark ages old. But it’s still accurate.”
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