Savage Lane

by Jason Starr

  “Come here,” he said, grabbing her waist and trying to pull her toward him.

  Resisting, Deb said, “Don’t.”

  But he didn’t listen; instead, he grabbed her harder, saying, “Come on, what’s—” and Deb had to push him away from her. He wasn’t grinning anymore.

  “Why’d you do that?” he asked.

  Outside lightning flashed and Deb thought, Who is this kid? Kid, because that was how he looked—like a child, a baby. In this dim light he could be fifteen years old, younger than when they’d met, and there was nothing sexy about him, and he didn’t even seem particularly attractive. He was wiry, awkward looking. His ears stuck out too far, and he had oddly shaped arched eyebrows. For the first time, she realized, she was seeing him the way Riley, and probably everybody else saw him—there was definitely something off about him. He hadn’t gone to college and was living with his parents and was working at a temporary, dead-end job. Worse, he had no real interests or ambition and there was nothing particularly interesting about his personality. He wasn’t funny or smart or a very good conversationalist. From her new perspective, as a separated woman, she realized there wasn’t anything even intriguing about him. Though they’d had good sex, now it was hard to fathom why exactly she had been so attracted to him. Thoughts of his bony, hairless child’s body seemed repulsive—she couldn’t even stand the way he smelled, with his nauseating Axe cologne. This wasn’t close to the suave, sophisticated Italian man she’d been fantasizing about meeting. Now it seemed absurd, completely insane that she’d been involved with him at all, and she just wanted, no, needed to get away.

  “This was a mistake,” she said.

  She reached for the door handle, but he grabbed her waist. There was another, brighter flash of lightning, as if someone had snapped a photo of the two of them, and then they were back in near darkness.

  “Get your hands off me,” Deb said.

  “What’s wrong?” He wouldn’t let go. “Why’re you freaking again?”

  “I have to get home now.”

  “Come on, talk to me, baby.”

  His hand on her waist was like a claw. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, like she wasn’t in a car, she was in a coffin.

  “Let go of me,” she said during a blast of thunder and she wasn’t sure he’d heard her.

  “This is bullshit,” he said. “Why won’t you just chill? What did I do? What did I do?”

  Who was this guy? She didn’t even recognize his voice.

  “We’re over,” she said. “This is over.”

  His leg was on her now—how had that happened?—and with the hand that wasn’t clawing her thigh he was reaching under her shirt.

  “I get it.” He was smiling again. “So this is how you want it tonight, huh?”

  “Let go,” she said as lightning illuminated his crazed face.

  “Like that time last year in the woods,” he said.

  She knew what he meant—last summer, the time they met at Katonah Memorial Park. They’d met there a few times last summer, but she knew exactly what time he was talking about. She’d told him she wanted to pretend they were strangers, that she was walking in the woods alone and that he was following her, stalking her. The fantasy had been hers, not his, but now it seemed like no one’s. It seemed as if the images in her head weren’t memories of herself, they were scenes from a movie she’d once seen, or a story she’d once heard, and weren’t connected to her at all.

  “This isn’t a fantasy,” she said. “I want you to stop.”

  He kissed her with his slimy lips. Disgusted, she spit back at him.

  “I like that,” he said. “Just like you spit at Karen today. Do that some more.”

  His hand was lower now, fingers extended, digging under her panties. She tried to get to the car door but now, with the full weight of his body holding her down, he was able to remove the hand from her waist and grab her extended arm by the wrist.

  Thunder blasted, but not as loud as before.

  “Trying to get away, just like the woods,” he said. “That turns you on, huh, bitch? Come on, spit on me some more.”

  She spit right in his eyes, but it only seemed to excite him even more. He was yanking on her panties, pulling them down.

  “You want it rough?” he said. “You want it nasty?”

  She was trying to wriggle free, but he was pinning her down too tightly. Her panties were down to her thighs, and he was unzipping his jeans. She knew that within seconds he’d be inside her, and she couldn’t let that happen because this wasn’t a fantasy; now he actually was a stranger in the woods.

  So she did the only thing she could do to stop him. She lunged her head forward and bit down in the same motion onto the only part of his body she could reach—the side of his shoulder. She was pressing her teeth through his shirt, but there wasn’t much fat there—it felt as if she were biting into bone—and he was suddenly screeching in agony. He was trying to break away, but she wouldn’t let go, knowing that she had to make him feel the pain, that it was her only chance.

  “Oh, God,” he wailed. “Oh… shit… stop it!”

  He let go of her wrist, and she immediately stiff-armed his neck, pressing right against his Adam’s apple, and that made him pull his entire body back a bit, and she had to stop biting him. He was still on her lap, though, weighing her down, and she still couldn’t get out of the car. The rain had subsided, the storm passing as quickly as it had come.

  “Ow,” he groaned. “Why’d you do that?”

  He was crying—not just tears from the pain, actually crying. Now he really seemed like a child, and Deb had clarity about exactly what she’d done for the past two years. She was a filthy, horrible, disgusting, perverted person, no better than any child molester.

  “You have to let me go now,” she said. “It’s over. Do you understand me, Owen? Over.”

  Tears gushing, he said, “You aren’t supposed to actually hurt me. Isn’t that your rule?”

  Had she actually made up rules for a rape fantasy game with a teenager?

  “We aren’t doing this anymore, that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” she said. “I’m not pretending to get away from you, I really want to get away from you, not because I don’t like you, or think you’re a bad person, but because what we’re doing, what we’ve been doing, is wrong. It served its purpose, but it’s time to move on, for both of us. You have to be with someone your own age. Someone like Elana Daily.”

  “Elana Daily?” He was still crying, but he sounded angry. “Why would I want to be with Elana Daily?”

  For a moment, Deb wondered, Had Riley lied to her after all? But with Owen still on top of her, this wasn’t her major concern.

  She said, “You know what I mean. Somebody else… somebody more… appropriate.”

  “No.” Owen took a few moments to compose himself, then said, “No. I don’t want anyone else but you. You’re the most important person in my life.”

  There was desperation in his voice that she’d never heard before.

  “I understand why you’re so upset right now,” she said. “I’m upset too. This is hard for me too. But you knew this wouldn’t go on forever, right? I mean we once discussed all that.” Had they ever discussed it? She thought they had, but she wasn’t sure of anything. She continued, “Anyway, now we have to say goodbye to each other. I know you’re a smart, perceptive person. You can understand this, can’t you?”

  “Is it because of your stupid husband?” Owen asked. “Did he find out?”

  “No, no one found out,” Deb said, “and it has to stay that way. It won’t be good for either one of us if anyone finds out. But I know I can trust you about that.”

  Actually, Deb didn’t know if she could trust him. Actually, she was terrified.

  Then he was kissing her, his tongue part way into her mouth.

  She turned her head and said, “Stop it, Owen,” the way she would discipline a child.

  Owen, getting that she was serious
about this, shook his head a couple of times, then said, “No… No, this isn’t happening. I… I’m not losing you... I can’t lose you.”

  “Don’t think of it that way,” Deb said. “We’re ending, but I’m not ending. I could always be in your life. We can be friends.”

  She had no intention of maintaining a friendship—that was the last thing she needed. She figured she’d email with him a couple of times, maybe exchange a few texts, then gradually distance herself. Hopefully by then he’d meet somebody else, forget about her.

  “I’m not your fucking friend,” Owen said.

  “Okay,” Deb said, trying to calm him. “Friend was a bad word. We’re more than friends, we just can’t be…” She was going to say “lovers,” but went with, “…like we’ve been. We just need to take a break from all this, but everything will be okay. I promise you that.”

  He was crying again. She didn’t feel like she was getting through to him at all.

  “You have no idea,” he said. “You don’t know. You just don’t.”

  The rain had completely stopped. She just wanted to be in her car, driving, hitting the gas.

  “Yes, I do know,” Deb said, touching his hand in a sweet way.

  “No, you fucking don’t.” Owen swatted her hand away. “Raymond makes my life hell.”

  “I understand,” Deb said, “but it’ll get better. You’re young, your future’s bright.”

  “Bullshit,” Owen said. “Raymond’s a fuckin’ asshole.”

  Owen had told Deb about his abusive stepfather. Deb used to feel sorry for him, wanted to help, but now she couldn’t get in touch with those feelings. She just didn’t want to be here, in a parking lot in the dark, counseling a teenager.

  “You can move out,” Deb said. “You can get help. You have options, Owen.”

  “You don’t get it,” he said. “He doesn’t just hit me. He does more, a lot more.” He sobbed, seemed out of control, on the edge of a breakdown. Then he said, “It started when I was a kid, like, ten years old. I was just a kid and didn’t know what was going on and sometimes Raymond, he’d come into my room when my mom was sleeping and… and he’d…”

  Owen was so upset he couldn’t continue. As he cried, holding his hands over his face, he shifted off her a bit, and Deb thought if she reached for the door handle and moved fast enough, then she could get out, and if Owen came after her, she could slam the door, maybe giving her enough time to get to her car, start it, drive away. She wasn’t sure she could make it, but if she had a chance she had to take it. Later, she could call him, text him, calm him down, which would be better than trying to calm him down here.

  Then Owen said, “…he’d get in bed with me. I’d feel his big, hairy, disgusting body next to me, and he told me if I told my mother, if I told anybody, he’d kill me. So I did what he said, I never told anybody, except you, right now.”

  He was looking at her, eyes widened, not saying anything. She knew he was waiting for some kind of response, but, thinking about the door, she wasn’t sure what to say.

  When she felt too much time was going by, she had to say something, so she said, “I’m so sorry that happened, Owen. Maybe you should talk to someone about it.”

  He was still staring at her. He looked angrier, unless she was just imagining it.

  Then he said, “I am talking to someone about it. I’m talking to you.”

  “No, I mean maybe you should get professional help,” Deb said. “You know, from a psychologist.”

  “Why can’t you help me?”

  “I have to go now, Owen.”

  “No. You can’t.”

  Deb knew she wasn’t imagining it—his eyes had narrowed, and she could see his jaw shift as his teeth grinded. Worse, he’d shifted his weight back onto her, and he’d grabbed her shoulder, pinning her back again.

  “Say you need me,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Say you need me. Say it.”

  “You need help, Owen.”

  “Say it, you old fucking bitch.”

  He was looking at her, but he wasn’t there anymore. It was like she was looking at the eyes of a dead person. Her instincts screamed: run! She glanced at the door handle, wishing she’d reached for it ten seconds ago, and then she couldn’t breathe.

  “Say it,” he said. “Say it.”

  It took a few seconds before she realized why trying to gasp was useless, but she still didn’t understand what was actually happening because, even as full blown panic set in and she was staring at Owen’s crazed face, trying to kick and flail her arms, do anything to get free, she kept telling herself that this was just a fantasy, a game, like the games they always played, and the game would end soon and everything would be fine, because everything was always fine, but then she got weaker and dizzier and could hardly move, and then, near the end, she knew it was real, all of it, and her life and the whole world had never seemed so stupid.

  WE NEED to talk

  The text Karen sent Mark when she got home from the country club.

  Following the crazy, drunken scene Deb had caused she’d wanted to call Mark immediately, but she was too upset and didn’t want to say something that she’d end up regretting. Despite how furious and humiliated she was, she knew it was always best to let things settle and think before responding in these sorts of situations.

  She went into the kitchen where Elana was standing, leaning against the breakfast bar, FaceTiming, saying to whomever, “Wait, can you hold on?” and then going past Karen, toward the stairs.

  “Hello to you too,” Karen said to her back.

  “Hello,” she said and went upstairs, saying, “Sorry, it was just my mom.”

  While Karen didn’t appreciate Elana’s sassiness, she figured she’d deal with it later; one drama at a time.

  Mark hadn’t texted her back—to be expected. She knew him well and knew he liked to avoid conflict, which was probably how he’d managed to stay married to Deb for so long. As Karen flashed back to her and Deb on the floor of the restaurant, clawing at each other’s faces, she had a surreal moment, thinking, Was that really me? She was probably still in shock, she realized. She had no idea why Deb was so convinced that something was going on between her and Mark, but she needed Mark to set her straight because she couldn’t have a scene like today happen ever again. Karen worked at an elementary school, for God’s sake; she had a reputation to protect. There were several members of the country club who had kids at her school and, thank God, they hadn’t been at the club today, and Karen was glad Jill hadn’t been there either. Jill was a friend, but Karen didn’t want anyone she knew to see such an ugly side to her.

  Still no response from Mark. She imagined he was panicked, overwhelmed, trying to figure out how to deal with his out-of-control wife and appease Karen at the same time. Mark was the type of guy who liked the status quo, who wanted things to be okay, but Karen wasn’t about to feel sorry for him.

  Karen went into the living room and did some light stretching and then got into a few yoga positions—Plank, Pyramid, Mountain. This usually relaxed her, but she had too many worries, and it barely had an effect. She had her phone near her on the floor and when there was a chime indicating an incoming text, her heart raced, as she thought it was Mark but then she saw “Steven” on the display. Then she saw the message—Can we talk for a sec when you have a chance?—and she thought, great, that was all she needed now—drama with a guy she’d just broken up with. She had no idea what Steven wanted, but after she ended the relationship with him just last night she didn’t think he should be texting her the next day.

  In Downward Facing Dog, Karen contemplated the Steven situation for a while, then her anxiety drifted back to Deb—what exactly had gotten her so suspicious and paranoid lately? Karen couldn’t think of any particular conversation they’d had, but last night at the Lerners’ dinner party, Deb had definitely been acting weird.

  And then it hit—God, it was so obvious, she couldn’t belie
ve she hadn’t caught on sooner. Deb had been acting odd at the Lerners because that was where the misunderstanding had happened. During dinner, Karen had excused herself and gone to the bathroom. When she came out, Mark was there, waiting—the way he seemed to accidentally run into her lately. He seemed serious, concerned about something, and said, “Come on, I need to talk to you for a second.” Karen, a little uncomfortable, just wanted to return to the dinner table, but she wanted to make sure that he was okay. So she went with him outside to the garden and stopped and asked, “What is it?” and he’d said, “Come on.” Again she resisted her instincts and went with him toward the pool and asked, “What’s going on?” and he said, “So what do you think?” and she asked, confused, “Think about what?” and he said, “The Lerners. Are they out-of-control pretentious, or what?” Wait, so this was why he’d led her out here, to gossip? She’d said something like, “We should go inside,” or maybe, “Let’s talk about this later.” And that was when it happened. She didn’t even know what exactly was going on until a few seconds later, because she had been caught so off-guard. Then she was surprised because it was so “un-Mark.” He’d been a good friend to her for years, but he’d never held her hand, and it wasn’t just the hand holding. It was the way he was gazing at her, romantically, looking at her lips. She said, “Um, what are—” and, as if snapping out of it, he said quickly, “Sorry, sorry. I guess we should go back inside.”

  That was the end of it, and Karen hadn’t given it much thought afterward because it really hadn’t seemed like a big deal. He’d held her hand for maybe five seconds tops and, on the way in, back to the party, he’d seemed almost embarrassed about it. She figured he’d had a couple of drinks, got a little too flirty with an old friend—what was the big deal? But that was exactly when Deb’s attitude had changed, when they got back to the table. So Deb must have seen them. Maybe she’d gotten up to go to the bathroom herself, or was looking for Mark, but she must have looked out through the patio door at the moment Mark had held her hand, and that was why she’d jumped to a completely wrong, ridiculous conclusion.