6 Seconds of Life

by Tonya F Fitzharris

  This is not real. This is not real.

  A sloppy, inebriated guy, his flushed face sucking the neck of some girl against the brick wall behind a club. There are tons on onlookers in the background, laughing and pointing as this idiotic girl lets him feel her up in front of the line waiting to get in. His hands go up to her shoulders and tug on her hair. Then they make their way down the length of her body and grab her ass. And she does nothing to stop it.

  ‘Chris,’ she moans.

  I feel my hands shaking in my lap, but I can’t do anything to stop them. There’s a choking sensation in my throat that’s smothering my breath, shortening it to the point of non-existence.

  I’m going to die right here. This is it. My panic is finally going to just shut my heart down. I can’t fight the voracious tiger off anymore.

  He grabs her face and pulls her in for a kiss, but she freezes, wanting to back away. He just dives in. And she lets him. She lets him do whatever he wants with her, like a lifeless puppet.

  A few of the guys in the audience with me cheer for him. And laugh. They’re fucking entertained by it all.

  These are my last breaths. I hope these soul-sucking sisters already called an ambulance to carry out my corpse.

  “Let me walk you home?” the guy whispers. The stupid whore of a girl agrees, nodding her head and letting him lead her away to God knows where without question.

  I snap my eyes shut. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be here anymore. I’m begging for my heart to just finally detonate.

  “Maura, is that you?” whispers a voice from over my right shoulder. It’s Sarah, one of the kind-hearted, religious girls from my pledge class—a self-proclaimed virgin who isn’t ashamed to share this fact with anyone who asks. I can’t bring myself to acknowledge her question.

  ‘Maura, is that you?’ ‘Maura, is that you?’

  It just keeps ricocheting in my brain like a stray bullet.

  My memory is blurred, like someone smudged the wet paint that made it up. Pinks and blues and yellows all blending together. Nothing is decipherable anymore. Is that really me up there on screen, stumbling away from Darby’s leering camera, my high heels getting caught in the sidewalk cracks, causing my drunken body to stumble right into Chris’?

  ‘Maura, is that you?’

  “Slut,” mutters a male voice, making a half-hearted attempt to cover it with a cough. A few female giggles erupt, and I can feel glances and whispers being exchanged all around me. But it all sounds subdued and metallic, like a radio station that can’t quite get enough reception to be fully audible. I feel my body heaving up and down, my gasps for air heavy and deliberate.

  Yes, it’s me on screen.

  “Brothers of Alpha Pi, we are here to let you know that we do not support this so-called sister in her decision,” says the vice president from behind the podium. The video has stopped now and the lights are back on. I look down at my hands and realize they’ve lost all of their color. “This video is to show not only all of you that she is just a confused, promiscuous girl who is dying to get some of the spotlight for herself.”

  My vision is distorted but I do my best to paw around for my belongings. I feel my fingers wrap around my Sociology book and I clasp it to my chest. I wave my other arm around until it brushes on my backpack.

  “I don’t know about any of you, but if I were truly ‘raped,’ I surely would not be making out with random guys just weeks later and letting them walk me home. Would any of you girls?” she asks the crowd. But I can feel her eyes burning right through me. I wrap my arms around my belongings and close my eyes. I’m not here. I’m not here. I’m outside, walking through the park and enjoying this rare break from the snow. The wind gusts and picks up dandelion dust, surrounding me like confetti. I’m happy. I’m relaxed. I’m free.

  “You shouldn’t have fucked with the sisterhood, you whore.”

  I look up and a sister I’ve never seen before is towering over me, arms on her hips and eyes full of contempt. I force my comatose limbs to unhinge themselves from the chair and let my ragged body bump into her as I speed walk to the exit. My legs are on autopilot. All I can hear is my heartbeat screaming in my ears.

  I push through a set of doors, then another, then another. I can’t manage to figure out how the hell to get out of this building. I can’t breathe anymore so I let myself collapse against the wall, pulling my legs up as tightly as I can against my chest. My knees dig into my heart and my quaking fingers grasp onto my jeans so tightly that I swear I feel them fall to pieces.

  I hear the door I just came through open and close. I know who it is without even having to look up at her revolting face. I push my hands into my mouth, trying so anxiously to just hold it all inside.

  “You…you made that video?” I say, intending for my voice to sound angry and forceful. Instead it sounds cracked.

  Darby sighs and leans against the wall. Her faded butterfly tattoo stares back at me from her right ankle, twitching as she flexes her foot. It’s fucking hideous.

  “I tried to warn you, Maura.”

  She pulls out a pack of cigarettes and rips them open. She holds the pack out to me first, as if offering me the first one from her pack will make me call some sort of truce with her. I feel a mind-boggling rage surging through my fingertips and I want nothing more than to smack that fucking pack of cigarettes out of her hand. I sink my top teeth into my bottom lip to prevent myself from completely losing all control of my body.

  “I told you not to mess with the sisters,” she says, leaning down to look at my face. Her smile is razor sharp with victory. My skin crawls. “It’s out of my hands now.”

  I pinch my eyes closed but the burning tears just can’t stay in. I want to screech in her face but I bring my hand to my face and cover my mouth again. It hurts so damn much to keep my voice in that I let out what I intend to be a scream but comes out more like an unconvincing snort. I gasp for air and try to breathe, even though I really don’t care if I ever breathe again. I hear high heels clicking in the distance. I let my left eye peek open and watch as Darby stalks away and links arms with a group of sisters. They let out their trademark giggles—everything’s back to being just fabulous in their world now.

  She’s gone forever.

  I might as well be too.

  The muscles in my neck grow unbelievably tense, and it takes all of my willpower to raise my head up from my crouched position. I wipe my mascara-stained face with the sleeve of my hoodie and lower my hands to the ground to push myself upwards. I need to get out of here. Now.

  But before I can get up, I feel a hot breath in my ear. “We need to talk,” it says so low that I feel it tingling on the sensitive skin around my ear.

  Doyle.

  I pop up and try to run. I burst through the doors and weave through the crowds of people walking slower than molasses through the student union. But I can feel the voice and the footsteps getting too close for comfort.

  “MAURA! Wait a second!”

  Suddenly I’m stuck behind a group of chatty girls, and the pathway out of the union is completely blocked. I can see Doyle encroaching on me out of the corner of my eye, so I dart into the nearest doorway I can find. It’s a long, dim hallway lined with closed doors. Before I can catch my breath and plan my next move, I hear the door open behind me.

  “So what’s that all about? Huh?”

  “I don’t know, Doyle,” I blubber. I feel my hands get sweaty and I rub them on my jeans to try and dry them off. I now feel more panicked than I did that night in the hotel room, because it’s become real. The whole situation is out there now. And I put it out there. I opened my big fucking mouth when I should have just kept it closed. I should have kept it hidden away in my brain where it could just sit there and haunt me forever like all of my other regrets. Stupid fucking me for making that mistake. I truly do deserve all of this for letting my own judgment get so muddled by this sorority world.

  “What do you mean you don’t know? Did you tell
anyone that…that I RAPED you? Because it’s a pretty hard thing to forget telling someone.”

  “I’m just really confused right now, about everything in my life...” I say, letting myself peek up at him. His face is twisted in anguish—wounded and pale.

  “About what? Is that what you think happened? Rape?”

  My head is throbbing now. It hurts so bad that I swear I’m dreaming all of this. I have to just wake up eventually. All of this trauma and embarrassment simply cannot be my reality.

  “I don’t know,” my dream-self says.

  “How could you not know? I mean, I thought you were a cool girl, Maura. And we were having fun that night. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it sure as hell wasn’t a crime!”

  I start hyperventilating. None of that shit happened between Doyle and I. That was still dream Maura.

  Wake up. Wake up!

  “YOU kissed ME first when we were in that bedroom. There were very heavy signals going on all night at the dance. Hell, for the past two months! In that room we were both having a good time. God, it’s not like I attacked you or ripped your clothes off or anything!” he yells, his voice panicked and broken. I swear tears are choking his words.

  I’m stunned into silence.

  He’s right.

  “Are you going to report this?” he asks after a few silent moments. His voice is hushed now, as if trying to prevent the crowd outside from hearing any of his words. “If you do I’m expelled. I hope you know that. So make damn sure that your memories are correct before you open your mouth to anyone else.”

  I don’t know what to tell him. The University counseling office knows because of my asshole mother. And I have no clue what they’re going to do about it. I shouldn’t have told her. That was by far one of the most idiotic things I’ve done. Of course I couldn’t trust my mother to just keep a secret. To just listen. She’s completely incapable of such a thing. I feel tears falling from my eyes now. I don’t even try to stop them. My mind has become so weak through all of this; I can literally feel myself crumbling into nothing.

  Doyle looks at me with a mix of anger and concern. Maybe he feels bad that I’m breaking down right in front of his eyes. Maybe he’s happy that my stupid whore ass finally got what was coming. I don’t know. He plops down in a plastic chair like he weighs 500 pounds, making the thin metal legs flex out and struggle to remain intact. He rests his elbows on his knees and lets his head fall down into his hands. I can hear him breathing calmly, then panicky—as if he is about to start crying himself. Do I comfort him? I take a step towards him, but when his right leg begins jiggling with an angry persistence and a growl escapes his mouth, I take a step back.

  “Maura,” he says, in between sniffles, “I know that I can be a jerk, and that maybe I didn’t always think of your feelings in certain situations. Many different girls have called me an asshole in the past, and I know I’ve deserved it. I’m selfish most of the time, and I’ve just never felt the desire to really commit myself to anyone. Not at this time in my life. But you have to understand that I didn’t rape you. I’m not like that.”

  He bashes his foot into the ground, begging for the pain to somehow blend with the anger and balance everything out. “Are you doing all this because I didn’t want to date you?”

  “Doyle, I know that you aren’t the dating type,” I say, lying through my teeth.

  “So what, you’re doing this now to get back at me? Because I don’t want to be your boyfriend?”

  I lean my back against the wall behind me and let my body slide down to the ground with a thud. Even though deep down I knew this whole time Doyle wasn’t looking for a relationship, part of me was hoping that I could change his mind. That I could be great enough to turn the philandering fraternity boy into a true blue dedicated boyfriend. The kind of boyfriend that would take me out to romantic dinners, meet me at the library to study together in a private reserved room (when, in actuality, we just make out instead). The kind of boyfriend I would take home to meet my parents. And the kind of boyfriend that would make plans for our post-college lives. Where we would live together. When we planned on getting engaged. And which members of our respective Greek organizations would be members of our wedding party.

  The kind of boyfriend that I could never get Owen to be.

  I make an effort to wipe the tears from my eyes and slow down the air-gasping cries that I’m now letting slip out.

  It’s over. All of it.

  I fucking hate myself for letting my brain get washed up in such a ridiculous fantasy. Of course he didn’t want to date me. No one will probably ever want to date me again.

  “No, Doyle. I don’t know what we are. Or what you want from me. But I do know that I told you I didn’t want to have sex with you that night,” I say, feeling a sense of frustration rising up from my aching stomach. It doesn’t even sound like my voice anymore.

  “Yeah, if you did say that, you sure didn’t carry through with it, did you? You may have said no at first, but you didn’t try to stop it, did you Maura? I know you’re a freshman and you’re incredibly naïve, but you can’t be stupid enough to think that letting things get that far isn’t going to lead to sex. This is college. I’m a guy. It’s just what happens.”

  He stares at me, waiting for a response. I open my mouth to try and give him one, but I can’t formulate any words right now.

  “And you obviously weren’t that bothered by it if you let some other random asshole feel you up outside a club and take you home just weeks later. Is he next on your list, Maura? Give me his number, maybe I should call and let him know what’s coming.”

  The tears come now. More tears that I think I’ve ever cried.

  Doyle is visually frustrated with my lack of response. He jumps out of the chair and lets it smack to the ground. He scoops up his books with one hand and stomps his foot on a pencil that rolls out from the stack. It shatters under the weight of his enraged body.

  “I have to get to class. And I don’t know what else to say to you.”

  I offer him no solace for his state of confusion—just mouse-like trembles.

  “I just ask that you think about this before you do anything. You could ruin my fucking life.”

  He lets the glass door slam behind him as he leaves me standing alone in the dusty hallway. I can see my reflection in the door now, staring back at me. Tear stained and deplorable. It takes all of my willpower to stop myself from vomiting at the sight.

  It’s just not worth it anymore.

  00:00:01.748

  When I first moved to Philadelphia, I could never sleep. I was so anxious all of the time, worried that I was going to fail miserably at this new life I was working so desperately for. I snaked through the streets for hours, peeking into boutique windows and watching groups of friends dance and have fun in bars. I even figured out how to sneak into one of the tallest apartment buildings in the city. If I just waved to the security guard and asked him how his evening was going, he didn’t ask a damn thing.

  I spent so many nights at the top of that building, sitting on the roof and watching the city. It was always so alive—you could see at least a few lights on in the surrounding buildings. And sometimes I could catch a glimpse of a man cooking dinner, or a couple slow dancing alone in the confines of their home, or a girl dancing by herself while her parents were out to dinner. I loved these nights. I literally felt on top of the world, like I could convince myself that everything would work out the way I wanted.

  I always wanted to fly away like a bird.

  Just a second longer now, and I’ll be free.

  00:00:01.423

  The last hope

  “Owen, please I need to talk to you!”

  My knuckles hurt from bashing them into his door so much. I bring them to my mouth and try to suck the searing pain out of them—but I can’t stop. I know he’s in there. And I can’t leave until I talk to him. He’s the absolute only person left in the world.

  “Please. Please. Please,”
I gasp, pleading with everything I have left inside of me. “I NEED YOU.”

  A few of his floor mates walk by and mumble something to each other. I grip the doorframe with my bloody hands to hide my wet face. ‘Are you okay?’ one of them calls over his shoulder as he watches my body heave up and down. I hear their footsteps stop and they’re probably going to turn around and make sure I’m not going to fall over and die right now. I NEED YOU OWEN. When I let out an animalistic moan, they realize that I’m most likely rabid and turn their faces back fast, as if accidental eye contact could be deadly. Maura, get a hold of yourself. Dry your eyes. Catch your fucking breath. This is the absolute last chance you have to turn everything around. Just don’t let him see how fucking crazy you really are.

  “Just open the door,” I whisper only to myself.

  Open the door Owen. I need you to hold me. I need you to tell me everything’s going to be okay.

  “What the are you doing here, Maura?”

  I spin around and see him, wrapped in a tattered blue towel and gripping his shower caddy like it’s something alive. His once green eyes are red with anger and his black hair is flat against his skull like a helmet.

  “I…I…”

  “Two guys just ran in the bathroom and announced to everyone that some mentally insane girl was throwing herself at my door and screaming. Do you have any idea how fucking embarrassing that was?”

  “I need a drink. Do you have anything to drink?” I beg, grinding the words between my teeth. My chest is caving in on itself as my eyes dart all over the room, desperate to find any sort of alcohol. He has to have something in here—a flask at least.

  “Maura,” he says, reaching for my hand. But I push right past him and into his room. I don’t see anything. I throw open the closet door and dig like a feverish animal through his dirty clothes pile, tossing t-shirts and jeans and dirty towels all around me. Maybe he has it hidden. In case the RA comes in or something.