by M. R. Joseph
Mack’s head rests on the pillow beside me; he takes my hand and holds it as my unshed tears spill down my cheeks. His fingertips run over my knuckles as each memory begins to come back and the rhythm of my breathing changes with each one. The breaths become heavier.
“It’s okay, Rinny. Please, take your time.” His voice is soft and gentle, calming me.
I cover my eyes with my hand, and I clench my jaw. My teeth chatter and my legs shake. Mack stills them from on top of the blanket that covers them. Anxiety racks my body and I can’t seem to keep my limbs still.
“Oh God, Corrine. Please, just tell me. Please.”
I bite down hard on my lip and struggle to get out the memory, but I do.
“We … we went back to Mark’s room. I remember that. I remember going to the bathroom then coming back and he had a bottle of water waiting.”
I have to stop and think. I remember drinking it; I was so thirsty. I remember sitting on the bed after he patted the space next to him. It seems like forever before I speak again. Wrapping my head around the scenario is frightening. What’s even more frightening is telling Mack the rest of what I can remember. And it’s not a lot.
Within my mind nothing happened, but when I open my eyes and turn my stare towards Mack I know that I’m wrong.
“Rinny? Do you remember anything after the drink?”
I swallow and look at him. Closing my eyes, I feel the warmth of my tears running down my heated cheeks and sting my skin. Like a thousand red-hot pokers, they stream down my face, and I can feel Mack’s thumb rub them away.
“I … I drank the water. He kept telling me to take bigger sips. He said the quicker I drank, the quicker we could get to the party in room …” I stop speaking because I don’t remember what room number it was.
“The room number where the party was at was 201. Mark’s room was 206.”
His voice is strained when he tells me the room number.
“Room 201 … that’s right.” I mumble out.
“Then what, Rinny?”
I point to the drink on my bedside table, and Mack reaches for it and lets me have some water through the straw. It feels good going down but still stings. It feels like it does after I vomit. Rough and raw. That’s when I know I must’ve thrown up last night. So I ask Mack, “Mack, did I … did I throw up last night? Did I get sick?”
He sighs painfully.
“Yes, I made you throw up. I had to lay you across my lap near the tub, and I stuck my fingers down your throat.”
I moan and bring my hand up to my throat. “No wonder it hurts.”
“I ran out when you were asleep and got your favorite popsicles. You want me to get you one?”
I nod.
Within a flash, Mack is back with an ice pop. Lime. My favorite flavor.
He adjusts the pillows behind me and helps me sit up in bed. Mack sits on the edge of the bed at my feet after he hands me the popsicle.
My hair falls into my face as I go to eat it, and before I can remove it from my face, Mack takes care of it. He tucks the fallen strands behind each ear. My eyes wander up to his, briefly. His smile is there, but the look of worry in his eyes makes it not his usual Mack-type smile.
“Rinny, if you’re up to it, please tell me the rest of what you remember.”
I sigh and take a bite. The coldness slides down my throat, and my body feels a chill, but I’m not sure if it’s the chilly substance I’m consuming or the memory of what I remember from last night. This is so hard for me to say to Mack, and he knows everything about me. Every detail of my life, Mack is aware of. He knew when I got my period for the first time for Christ’s sake. But this—telling him what happened last night—I’m scared. I’m embarrassed.
“He gave me the bottle … I told you that. I drank it quickly, and then he got up and turned on the radio sitting on the nightstand. Then he took off his tux jacket and his tie. He went into the bathroom, and I felt dizzy. I just thought it was because I didn’t eat when I was at the prom.”
Mack finishes my words. “And you thought the hunger and being overheated was affecting you.” I shyly nod.
“Then what?”
I take another bite of the popsicle and try to get it down, but I feel nauseous. I struggle to speak because I know this next part is going to hurt.
“Then he came back to sit on the bed with me. I felt good. Loose. Like I could, I don’t know, fly I guess. We started to kiss and um …”
Mack runs his hands through his hair and looks to the ceiling. He looks frustrated, but I know it’s not because of me. I know it’s because he just wants the facts, and he knows I feel shame and embarrassment. His eyes find mine, and he places his hand on my knee.
“Rinny, do you remember that time when we went to Richmond Park on our bikes, and we got caught in that really bad storm and all we could do is hide in the tunnel until it passed? Remember the lightning, the thunder, and the wind. We couldn’t go anywhere, and I was scared. I was scared. Imagine that. But you told me it was just a passing storm and that if we stayed where we were-being scared would pass and we would be okay. Tell me you remember that.”
The corner of my mouth lifts a little.
“We were ten.” I creak out.
“Yeah, and now you’re eighteen. And you were one tough ten-year-old. So be tougher now. You being tough is all I know you to be. Don’t back down now, Rinny. Be the girl in that tunnel.”
I take in a deep breath and the words spill out quickly. The memories begin to flow back a little more.
“We lay down on the bed. Things started to get a little heavy. Mark lifted my dress and tried to take off my underwear. I didn’t want that. I mean I thought I wanted that, but my head was cloudy, and I felt tired. Then the room was spinning and I started to feel uncomfortable. I felt his fingers around my throat, but I was powerless.” My mind replays every agonizing detail I can recall, and I feel unclean and unworthy of Mack being here having to listen to this.
Weakly, I put the popsicle down in the cup of water beside the bed. I turn my head away from him as tears spill out rapidly. I sob even despite my head hurting so badly. I tuck my hand under my pillow and cry. My shoulders shake and I just want to curl up and die. I want to forget what I remember, but I know I can’t.
Mack places his hand on my shoulder. At first I flinch, yet as I feel his fingers sink a little deeper into my skin, I know it’s not to hurt me, but to reassure me that he’s here and that I’m safe.
“And then what?”
“It’s hard to remember after that. The room was spinning so much. Like I was on the tilt-a-whirl. I know my chest was bare. I could feel the air on my skin.”
“Yes. I know. I … I saw.”
I turn to look at him, and his eyes drop down to his chest.
I cover my own eyes. “Jesus, Mack.”
“Corrine, I’ve seen your boobs before. If it makes you feel any better, right before I kicked the shit out of Mark, which didn’t take long by the way, I covered you on the bed.”
I turn around, take my head off my pillow, and sit up shocked by his confession. I wipe at my face and swallow the extra tears.
“Two things. Last time you saw my boobs we were in the fourth grade, and second, you beat him up?”
Scratching at his slight amount of stubble, Mack rubs his eyes and makes a few sounds like saying his next words will be painful.
“Of course I beat the shit out of him, Rinny. He was about to … he was going to …”
I clear my throat and pull the covers up a little bit closer to my neck, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping in.
“How did you find us?”
The weight of the bed shifts and the mattress rises. Mack goes to the window of my bedroom and peers through the curtains. He stares for a few moments at his own bedroom window across the way.
“I was in the party room. They needed some ice. I offered to go. I walked down the hall and saw a bunch of guys I didn’t know—I think from another school
or something—hanging outside a door. I heard them laughing, and I heard crying. I didn’t know it was you at first.”
The whole time he talks, he looks out the window. He rests his forehead against one of the panes. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his shorts. I watch him breathe on the glass, making it fog up. Mack takes out his hand and draws on the window with his finger, tracing the moisture on the glass. The pause between him continuing is uncomfortable and frustrating, but I know he needs to finish.
“I glanced over one of the guys shoulders. I was curious about what was so funny and I saw you. I busted through the onlookers, pushed Mark off of you and covered you up. When I knew you were covered, I turned around and punched him in the face.”
“Then what, Mack?”
Turning away from the window he pins me with an odd look.
“Rinny, why Mark? I knew he was no good. I tried to warn you that I didn’t trust him.”
“I don’t need a lecture right now, Mack. Because he paid attention to me,” I tell him through my trembling tears.
“Christ, Corrine. I’m not trying to give you a lecture, but my God, when I think of what he could have done to you if I didn’t step in. And the spectators … what they saw. I hate they saw what they saw. I hate that they saw you half-naked in the condition you were in. I hated that they were laughing and cheering Mark on. I hate that it was happening to you.”
I feel my heart drop into my stomach and a feeling of relief washes over me. I know now Mark didn’t reach his goal. I know just from the way I feel between my legs that I didn’t have sex.
I also know Mack saved me. Mack is always saving me.
Mack goes back to my window. The sun is setting and the rays come through the glass. They stream onto Mack’s profile. His blank stare is blinded by the sun. He shuts his eyes, shielding them from the brightness. His features are bathed in the light. He looks so solemn.
“Mack …”
He interrupts, looking towards me on my bed. “I have no idea what I would have done if he hurt you even more than he did. I think I could have killed him, Rinny. That scares me. Knowing what I could have done to him scares me.”
I cry again, and I’m surprised that I still have tears left. Crying is for the weak, the needy, and the breakable.
So I wipe those tears away. My skin stings from the salt.
“I promised myself a long time ago that I would protect you. That was my job. I almost failed my job, Rinny. I could never forgive myself. But you, you need to think before you act. I’m not trying to give you a lecture, but sometimes you act before you think. Growing up, you’ve always done that. I wish you’d stop doing it.”
I pat the bed in front of me when I see Mack struggling with the thoughts of what could have happened.
He walks towards my bed. His hands are in his pockets again. He kicks the foot of my bed and begrudgingly he sits once I pat the bed again.
I adjust the way I sit. I tuck my legs underneath me and Mack mimics my actions. We sit toe to toe. Just like we did as kids.
Words sometimes aren’t meant to be said. Actions take the place of things we are supposed to say and what we are supposed to feel. Consequences are outcomes of actions; you can’t put yourself in front of them. This is where Mack and I have our understanding.
My hand reaches up and, like I have been doing for the past ten years or so, I rub his scar.
I’m sorry and he knows it. I’m so sorry for not being careful and not thinking before I speak. As he closes his eyes, the heaviness of his head floats into my touch and he knows I’m sorry.
“Dear God, how am I going to cover up these marks on my neck, Mack? They’re purple.”
Mack comes up behind me in the bathroom mirror as I look at the bruises Mark kindly left on my neck. He looks at them with me as I turn my head from side to side, inspecting.
“They’re not as bad as you think. Your hair is long enough to cover up your neck for a few days.”
I look away, frustrated, and puff out air and sit on the lid of the toilet.
“No, Mack, they’re bad. My parents are going to know, especially Mae. She’ll catch on that I’m not wearing my hair in a ponytail. You know her, Mack.”
He smiles and tilts his head to the side, motioning that he agrees with me.
“Yeah, she does follow your every move, but really, Rinny, I think you’ll be okay. Wear a baseball cap and have your hair hang down. Tell her it’s a new look.” I look at him like he can’t be serious. My mother is like some sort of detective. She should have become one instead of staying home to raise me.
I rest my head in my hands. A sick feeling comes over me with the thoughts of how the marks got there in the first place. I feel some bile rise up and, in my weakened state, I manage to launch myself up from the lid and lift it, emptying the contents of the few popsicles I consumed over the last few hours. I feel Mack’s hand on my back and he circles his hand there. I instantly feel more relaxed. I peer up through my watered eyes and see Mack sitting on the edge of the tub. His hand is still on my back.
“Mack, how am I going to cover this up?”
“I told you, Rinny. Wear a baseball cap and your hair down.”
I shake my head along with my trembling body. “No, Mack. How I am going to cover up what happened last night? So many people saw. Everyone knows what he did and what you did to him. It’s going to get back to my parents. You know that, Mack. People talk on this island.” Mack removes his hand from my back. I watch him grab a washcloth and wet it in the sink. I feel Mack kneel beside me as I hang onto the porcelain throne. I feel his hand go to the back of my neck, and then the washcloth hits my forehead. He tilts me back and I rest my butt on my heels. I close my eyes and welcome the coolness of the cloth.
Mack sighs. “You’re not going to have to cover anything up. We’re in this together. I don’t care that I beat the shit out of him. He probably didn’t report me to the cops because there were so many witnesses, and the chicken shit is scared. I even doubt he went to the hospital after I beat him.”
I take his hand away from my face and look at him in disbelief.
“Hospital? Mack, what did you do to him?” I’m afraid of the answer but also curious.
“Rinny, he tried to rape you. You think he looked like the Prom King when I got through with him? I felt his nose break as soon as I punched it, and I had to have broken a few ribs of his. Maybe a stitch or two in other places. Who knows? I carried you out of there, grabbed a cab and came straight here.”
He’s so casual about it, and I want to throw up again. I squeeze my eyes tightly and slam down the lid to the toilet.
“Damn it, Mack. You think beating the shit out of him was going to make everything better? I guarantee it made it worse. I’ll be looked at as a whore, or the opposite. The girl who doesn’t put out.” Mack throws the washcloth across the bathroom and stands up.
“What the fuck, Corrine! Why do you care if you’re the girl who doesn’t put out? So what. Who cares? If I were you, I’d rather be cast as the girl who isn’t some slut that sleeps with any guy with a social security number. What’s worse, Rinny?” His voice booms in anger, and even though I’ve heard him yell at me for stupid stuff, the tone takes on a different meaning. “Answer me because I’m here with you—because of you. So I need you to tell me what the big deal is about your virginity. Who cares if you’re going into college and you haven’t done it yet? Save it for someone you give a shit about, Rinny. Save it for someone who gives a shit about you. Not someone like Mark. Please.”
I sit back and lean my back against the tub, raising my knees to my chest.
I have to try to explain this to him as best as I can. Why it’s not all about losing my virginity. It’s about love and being in love. I want him to know why it’s important to me. The whole thing. He may not understand it, but I have to tell him. He’s my brother, my best friend, and if I can’t tell him, then whom can I tell.
“You have to just listen to me, Mack, an
d understand. All my life I watched my parents just exist with each other. I’m sure they love each other and at least respect each other. I mean my dad usually falls asleep on the couch most nights and stays there, they don’t kiss or hug or show any kind of affection towards each other. They never go out on dates alone. They never go away alone. Not like your parents. They went out on dates alone a lot and your dad always bought your mom flowers and shit. He showed her how much he loved her in so many ways.” His face drops. No doubt I hit a sore spot because he remembers the way his parents were towards one another before his dad died.
I rub my head again. “I’m sorry, Mack.” He shrugs.
“It’s okay. Go on.”
“I need to feel a connection to someone. I want what they don’t have. I know I’m young, but I need it. I crave it. The affection, the intimacy, Mack. I want that. I can’t explain why I want that part of it so much, but I do. I’m a woman. I’ve kissed guys and gone down on guys …” He groans.
“Sorry. I know. Too much info.” Even the truth unsettles him but he has to realize I’m being real here. I have needs and feelings.
Mack settles down beside me against the tub and stretches his long legs in front of him—almost touching the cabinetry of the sink in front of us. He takes in a long breath and appears to hold it like doing that will help him think of some kind of physiological thing to say.
I sneak a sideways glance at him and nudge him with my shoulder.
“Mack, I know you won’t understand. You’ve had countless girlfriends who you’ve slept with. Didn’t you feel any sort of connection to them? Didn’t you feel anything for them?”
He answers truthfully as always and I’m not surprised.
“No, not really and I don’t think I was supposed to either. Let me lay it out there for you. For a guy, you see a girl and she’s pretty and that’s what your think at first. Then you automatically think with your dick. It’s nature, it’s natural, it’s just the way guys are. First time I got laid—” He stops for a brief second and pauses and looks to me for permission to continue.