Shadow Eyes

by Dusty Crabtree

  “Wait!” he demanded, lifting up my head by my chin so he could peer into my eyes. “Iris, what did Patrick do to you?”

  I tried to remove my head from his grasp, but his hand was way too strong for my weak muscles. How could I explain to him that somehow I knew Patrick didn’t really want to take advantage of me, and that although he drugged me, Josh shouldn’t try to fight him because he was torturing himself enough as it was. Even in my head I sounded like a weak, enabling, battered wife.

  “Josh, I-I can’t…” I didn’t have a chance to say any more because my slurred speech was all Josh needed to convince him of what he already suspected. My jaw fell slack in horror as the already-present but small shadow over Josh’s head grew rapidly into a massive, whirling, black cloud of revenge. He pivoted sharply to Patrick’s limp form, defenseless on the ground.

  “Now would be a good time to pick up your feet,” Kyra muttered, practically dragging me out the door. As we stumbled down the hallway, the sound of feet shuffling on the wood floor escaped from the bedroom until it was cut short by something slamming into a wall.

  The green-lit front room was the same as I had left it a short time ago with Patrick. Most of the same people still lounged on the couches and chairs with their drinks. The same fog of shadows and more-defined dark figures remained at their posts, except for the creepy one eyeing me earlier. Hard rock music still vibrated the walls in the front room while scary music and screams traveled from the living room. Loud chatter and laughter fought to overpower the noise. The whole mood was still lighthearted and carefree. It was so strange and downright frustrating to me that nothing in the room had really changed despite the fact that my life had just been turned upside down.

  It wasn’t enough I was in such a heavy trance that my surroundings seemed to be far away and separated from me by a thick sheet of warped glass, yet also twisting and closing in around me. I also had to deal with the fact that the incredible, caring, and intriguing guy I had undeniably fallen for had just attempted to date rape me. I wanted to puke.

  “I left my purse in the kitchen where I first looked for you, Iris. I have to go get it, but I’ll be right back. I’ll get our coats too. Just lean against the wall if you need to.”

  Kyra spun around and walked briskly to the kitchen while my remorse and guilt set in. Up until then, I hadn’t stopped to think about how lucky I was that Kyra had showed up or how lucky I was just to have Kyra as my friend in general. I had been such a jerk to not tell her where we were going. As it turns out, I should’ve listened to her and not come anyway.

  What would I have done if she hadn’t coincidentally barged in right then? What would have happened to me? I shuddered at the thought and lost my balance, falling to my side and hitting my shoulder against the wall with a loud thump. A few people paused their gossip and flirting to glance my way. After seeing I was still in one piece and probably assuming I was just drunk, they quickly returned to their meaningless chitchat.

  I leaned heavily on the wall by the staircase where she had left me, feeling dizzy but trying to focus on my thoughts instead of my wavering vision. If it had been the other way around, would I have gone through all the trouble to find and “rescue” my friends from a bad situation they were blind to? I sunk my head in shame. That was my life almost every day, and I had never been brave enough to rescue anybody.

  I didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity for long, however, because another loud thump originating from the second floor and echoing down the staircase made me jump and then cringe. My stomach flip-flopped, and again I wanted to throw up. Patrick deserved to get the snot kicked out of him for what he had tried to do to me. But the fact that he was so regretful and tormented about it somehow made me want to yell at Josh (if I even could) to stop.

  I glanced up just as Kyra exited the kitchen with her purse. I tried to stand straight while she grabbed our coats from the coat rack. She seemed agitated and angry, as though she were ready to pick a fight, and as she closed the distance between the kitchen and me, she came across a massive, dark shadow extending out into her path. She then astounded me with four swift, fluid motions that made her appear as smooth and fast as any ninja or warrior. In a matter of seconds, she swerved around the shadow, reached into her purse, pulled out something long, bright, and reflective like glass, and swung her hand sideways and backward through the over-sized shadow in a slashing motion. To my surprise, the shadow dissipated like mist.

  I was too sedated to look stunned, but on the inside, my mind was reeling with déjà vu back to the night at the coffee shop when she smacked a shadow upside the head with the glass door.

  After first putting on her coat, she swiftly helped me put on mine and grabbed my hand, dragging me behind her as I staggered toward the exit. Her other hand still clutched the long, pointed, prism-shaped object.

  Just before we reached the front door, Kyra screeched to a halt and stood motionless as if she were listening intently to something. From the look on her face, I gathered it didn’t please her.

  I strained to hear whatever it was that made her pause, and over the loud clamor in the room, I eventually made out two male voices to our right discussing their plans of stealing a new Honda Civic parked down the road. In a poor effort at subtlety, I jerked my head around to sneak a peek at the hooligans but didn’t recognize either of them. They were old enough to be college-age, but judging by their careless attitude and moronic choice of activities, I made an educated guess they weren’t attending anywhere.

  If they did attend college, I couldn’t imagine being the one who got stuck sitting behind one of them in class. There’s no way I’d be able to focus on the professor with the evil, murky shadows, currently looming over both their heads, blocking my view.

  “The black one two blocks from here?”

  “Yeah man, there’s no alarm on it or anything. We’ll totally get away with it.”

  Kyra took a deep breath and finally twisted her head to them with slow deliberation. Her expression was intensely calm, as though she were trying hard to contain her outrage under a lid, but was about ready to boil over and sizzle furiously on the stove any second.

  She glared straight at them, or perhaps just slightly above them, and spoke through her teeth in a controlled yet clearly enraged voice as a fire-like glow exploded from her skin. “No…you won’t.”

  The two guys just stared at her blankly. They were probably unsure what she had heard and confused at why she was talking to them in the first place, but the two massive shadows above them both flinched. After taking one look at Kyra’s fiery aura and bright, reflective “weapon,” they anxiously slithered away.

  Kyra grabbed my hand once again, and I stumbled to the door right behind her. She yanked on the handle, letting a freezing blast of cold air rush into the house, and hand in hand, we trekked out into the frigid snow.

  It would have been better if she had yelled at me. All she had to do was scream, “Why did you make such an irresponsible decision in coming here!” I could have cried and apologized and been done with it. But Kyra didn’t give me that easy out. She was quiet almost the entire way home and I wasn’t about to break the silence with my slurred stupidity.

  Kyra’s silence wasn’t just the normal agonizing silent treatment, though. It was worse because of who she symbolized to me. Kyra wasn’t just my best friend that was always there to support and encourage me. She was the ideal I longed to be but never thought I was worthy enough to even imitate. My failing her meant I had failed myself. The consequence was losing any scrap of hope I had left of one day becoming virtuous and honorable like her.

  Despite my guilty conscience, the one time I risked flopping my head to my left shoulder to glance at Kyra, her stormy, meditative expression revealed that something else was occupying her mind besides her disappointment in me. As she sat contemplating, her glowing aura flickered around her, like the wavering flame of a fire when you flick water on it but don’t quite put it out.

  I
wondered what was going on inside her mind to cause such a reaction and soon remembered her words to Patrick earlier: “You know it doesn’t have to be this way.” She was implying he didn’t have to take advantage of me, but the way she had said it so compassionately made me guess there was a deeper meaning. I attempted to remember the rest of their short conversation, which was difficult since my mind wasn’t much clearer then. I vaguely remembered the phrase, “You always have a choice.” But those words meant nothing to me and hardly helped me figure out the situation or what was going on between Kyra and Patrick.

  Their awkward and mysterious tension had confused me since the day I first brought Patrick to our lunch table. This encounter just magnified my confusion.

  I glanced at Kyra again as we turned onto Maple Street, about halfway home, and noticed her aura had faded. She was staring straight ahead with pained concentration as though she were either focusing nervously on the snow-packed street or deliberating about an unpleasant decision. She must have sensed my gaze, because her eyes darted my way momentarily before returning to the road ahead of her. Her expression didn’t change. I assumed she wasn’t planning on speaking to me in the near future.

  So, as I sat in the suffocating silence of her car with nothing else to occupy my weary but restless mind, I was stuck dealing with my conflicting emotions about the evening.

  One obvious question in particular kept nagging me. Why hadn’t I seen it coming? Patrick was always overly flirtatious with me, but I’d never thought he had any bad intentions with it. Foreboding shadows barely came near him, much less surrounded or whispered to him like they had with Josh. Had I possibly provoked or tempted him in some way? The logical part of me said that my clothing was in no way revealing, much less sexy and that my behavior around him was hardly provocative, but the shame-ridden victim in me said I was somehow responsible.

  Intensifying that sentiment was the fact that, for some reason, I wasn’t completely horrified and disgusted by Patrick. After all, he had lied to me, drugged me, and essentially tried to date rape me. That definitely merited hating someone for life and not wanting to see or talk to them ever again. So why did I continue to feel something else for him? Was it pity or affection? Both, perhaps? What did that say about me? Surely there was something wrong with me for still having positive feelings toward someone like that.

  The sensation and memory of how I had longed for and craved his muscular frame on top of mine before realizing what he was planning on doing and what he had already done to my body repeated in my mind over and over—a short, embarrassing video set on replay. Sitting next to Kyra, the one who had caught me in the act, simply added to my embarrassment. Guilt pulsated through my veins and seeped into my lungs until I could hardly breathe.

  I felt inferior and pathetic, like the unpopular girl that gets picked last because no one can stand her and because she’s a liability to the team. I was already different because of my cursed eyes, but now my entire body was a violet neon sign that screamed, “Freak!”

  Kyra pulled her car in my driveway and shoved it into park. I hadn’t even noticed her turning on my street. Sighing, she stared at her lap as if she wanted to speak but wasn’t sure how to proceed.

  She eventually raised her head to look me straight in the eyes for the first time since Patrick’s house. “It’s not your fault Iris.” She made this declaration so slowly and calmly and with such certainty that I nearly believed her.

  My eyes started to burn and my bottom lip trembled, but I forced down the lump in my throat that threatened to crumble what little composure I thought I had left.

  “What he did to you…there was no way you could have…” She paused and studied her lap again.

  “No way I could have seen it coming? Or no way I could have stopped him?” I asked meekly.

  “Both.”

  I leaned the back of my head against the headrest and bit my lip, trying hard to believe her excuse for my disgraceful behavior.

  The problem was, if I did believe her, I would be forced to blame the only other person left to blame: Patrick. I wasn’t sure I was willing to do that yet. Of course, he was partially to blame. After all, he was the one who put the drug in my drink, led me upstairs, and started the whole ordeal. But I couldn’t get out of my head the image of his grief-stricken form collapsed pathetically on the floor, clearly remorseful of what he had done. He had even told Kyra he had no choice. I didn’t know what that meant, but I was curious if Kyra believed him enough to feel the same way I did.

  “If I’m not to blame,” I began slowly, pivoting to focus on her reaction, “then who is?”

  She jerked her head to me and scoffed as though I were foolish to ask such an obvious question. But when she saw the serious look on my face that exposed my unwillingness to completely blame Patrick, her eyes softened. She gave me a half-smile of understanding and sighed with what sounded like relief. “Iris…Patrick had a choice. Despite what he said. And he chose the wrong way. None of that is your fault.”

  She continued to gaze at me as she furrowed her eyebrows. “Still…” She opened her mouth, but then shut it and gazed downward in a frown. She seemed torn by some decision. Finally, her head still bent, she spoke with a timid, unsure voice that sounded foreign coming from her lips. “Even so…I kind of think he’s given himself enough punishment for what he’s done.”

  She hadn’t said it, but I could tell she was hoping I wouldn’t turn Patrick in or report him to the police. After all the harassment she had put Patrick through, this surprised me, though I should have predicted it when she avoided telling Josh anything upstairs. I had already decided I didn’t want to purposefully get Patrick in trouble, but her agreeing with that decision made me feel much more confident and less like a freak for protecting him.

  I smiled feebly. “I know.” Neither of us was specific, but the tension in her eyes relaxed. We understood each other.

  “Do you think you’ll be okay tonight by yourself?” she asked cautiously. “I’m going to go back for Lexi, and I’ll try to get Nicole too, but…well, I can’t promise anything.”

  I had already become painfully aware of Nicole drifting further and further away from us and closer and closer to her boyfriend. “Yeah, I know,” I whispered. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” I did feel better after talking to her, but I think the word “fine” might have been a bit of an overstatement.

  “Okay.” She nodded. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  After grabbing my purse, I glanced at Kyra with one last forced smile and then opened the car door.

  It only took me a minute to get from Kyra’s car to my front door, but finding the right key and managing to get it in the keyhole properly took longer than normal. By the time I got the door opened, my fingers were half-frozen and numb.

  I didn’t know whether or not my mother would be in the living room, so I took a deep breath and tried to walk gracefully into my house, which was nice and toasty compared to outside. My mother was not in the living room. I exhaled heavily with relief.

  The familiar surroundings of my living room made me relax some, but it was not the time to get comfortable and lounge around out in the open. I had told my mother I was staying the night at Lexi’s and she wasn’t expecting me home. Assuming she was in her bedroom, I attempted to be stealthy and not draw attention to myself by pivoting and tip-toeing to my room.

  I had only taken two fumbling steps, however, when a loud cry came from her bedroom, sounding like the choked burst of a sob. Despite the fact that I’d been set on avoiding my mother, I was drawn to her bedroom door with extreme temptation to pry it open and discover the source of her intense sorrow.

  As I approached, my mother’s sobbing grew louder and I could hear it with more clarity. The fiery pain that provoked her cries must have been fierce as her anguished wailing even burned deep into my own soul. She was also shouting something that was difficult to distinguish. I had already dealt with too much for one night, but I strained through the
agony of hearing my mother scream in order to decipher her sob-tangled words.

  “Why?” she howled. “I wasn’t even over Jenny’s miscarriage. Now this?” Her broken words and tone were harsh, and her voice was hoarse. She must have been at it for a while and was just punishing herself by continuing. “How could he do this to me? How? How could he tear my heart into pieces like this?”

  I furrowed my eyebrows as she wailed some more. Could she be talking about her boyfriend, Tom? My eyes narrowed and my entire body arched and stood on end like a cat on the defense.

  “A wife!” she choked out, as if the word caught in her throat, causing her to gag. “How did I not see it coming?”

  I could almost hear my insides boiling. I was infuriated. My mother was in pain, and my instinct wanted me to burst through the door and come to her rescue. But reality crashed down on me before I had a chance, crushing me with the weight of its truth…someone so desperately needing to be rescued herself had no business rescuing someone else. I would be of no more help to her than a mentally ill person would be giving psychiatric advice. Shame shrouded me again, wrapping itself around me and squeezing until it smothered me to the point of dizziness.

  Besides, what explanation would I give her of my drugged behavior? She didn’t need to deal with my problems as well as hers. I had no other option but to leave her alone and hope she could work it out by herself.

  My eyes burned with tears of despair, not only for my mom, but also in remembrance of my own hopeless situation. I withdrew from the door and slowly turned around to sulk back to my room, when the loudest scream ever to come from my mother’s throat shot through my ears, shattered my eardrums, and reverberated down my spine. I halted so abruptly I had to brace myself against the walls with both hands outstretched to keep from falling over.

  I should have just gone back to my room, but some driving force within me had to make sure she was all right. I circled back and crept to her bedroom, feeling like the stupid victim in a horror movie that was drawn toward the eerie noise behind the door while everyone watching yelled at her to run. I went anyway.