Saved By The Music

by Selene Castrovilla

  “What the fuck’s up?”

  “I … I gotta go outside… . I can’t breathe in here.” I clung to him, shaking. We walked slowly. I wouldn’t let him go.

  Outside, I blinked in the harsh sunlight, but I was so grateful to see it.

  “What happened? I don’t understand.”

  “He … he had his hands over my mouth … and … had me by the throat. I … I was trying to scream.”

  “What?”

  “He … wouldn’t let me go. He had me pinned under him… .” I was coughing from the throbbing pain, plus all the tears clogging my throat.

  “He hurt you?” Axel’s face turned dark red. His eyes were fiery.

  Craig chose that moment to burst through the doorway. It probably wasn’t his best timing.

  “You son of a bitch!” Axel lowered me to the deck and moved into Craig’s face.

  “Yo, man, I dunno what she’s sayin’, but she axed for it.”

  Axel backed Craig against the wall. He leaned right into Craig, grabbed up the neck of his T-shirt. “Even if she did, she’s fifteen!”

  “So?”

  “So? That’s called statutory rape, you stupid motherfucker!”

  “Getouttahere.”

  “He … hit me,” I said. “He hit me … and … choked me and … held me down… . ”

  Axel put his hand around Craig’s throat and banged his head against the steel wall of the barge.

  “You like doing that to a helpless girl? Make you feel tough? Like a man?”

  “Yo, sw-sweartaGod, sh-she wanted it.” Craig’s voice sounded all pinched. And shaky. Then Craig told him what I’d done … what he’d made me do… .

  Axel’s hand dropped.

  Craig pushed past him and headed toward the edge of the deck to get away from him.

  I was hysterical. “I did … do that … but he forced me—my—” God, I couldn’t say it. “He forced my head down … held it down. I was gagging… . I couldn’t breathe!” I buried my face in my hands, squeezing my eyes shut to make it all go away.

  I felt arms around me. “It’s okay, Willow,” Axel said.

  I kept my eyes clamped shut. “Then he … he said … I owed him more. He said I had to … to finish him off… . ”

  “Yo, man. I didn’t even get ta do it! Ya walked in on us!”

  “So maybe I should hand her over to you right now?” Axel snarled.

  I opened my eyes. Craig looked like he was considering Axel’s offer.

  “You goddamn bastard!” Axel exploded. He jumped up and charged at Craig.

  “She fuckin’ wanted it!” Craig insisted, teetering at the edge of the deck.

  “No, Craig!” I screamed through my aching throat. “I said no!”

  “Ya said no when it was too late!” Craig yelled at me.

  “It’s never too late, you fucking prick,” Axel said. “Maybe you’ll learn to respect the word no in jail, when you try using it.”

  “Whatayamean, jail?”

  “For sexual assault.”

  “Assault?”

  “You don’t know what assault means?” Axel smashed his fist into Craig’s face, tossing him overboard. There was a huge splash. “That’s what assault means, you asshole.” He spat into the water.

  I sat curled up with my arms around my knees, rocking a little, trying to stop the shaking.

  Craig was making gurgling noises and spewing curses from the water.

  Axel came back over to me. He put one arm around me and took out his cell phone with the other.

  “Who’re you calling?”

  “The cops.”

  “No. … It was my fault.”

  “It was not your fault. I want you to remember that. That’s why I’m calling.”

  “But I agreed to meet him… . ”

  Behind us, there was still splashing and cursing as Craig swam to the dock to haul himself up.

  “I’m sure he was very persuasive.” He looked into my eyes. “Look, I knew you were lying to me yesterday, but I figured, what could I really do? You had your mind made up. Then, when I saw him on that couch, knowing you were under him, part of me wanted to rip him the fuck off of you. But I knew I couldn’t stop you from doing it some other time.” He stopped. “But he tried to force you. … There’s no way I’m gonna let him get away with that.”

  “What … what am I gonna tell my aunt?”

  “I’ll handle her. You don’t have to worry about anything. I’ll take care of you.”

  “Who’s gonna do all the work he did?”

  “I will.” He kissed my forehead.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry… . ” I started crying again.

  “It’s not your fault.” He squeezed me tight, flipping his phone open and dialing 911 with his free hand.

  “Remember, Willow. It’s not your fault.”

  17

  Stand by Me

  Everything was a big, blurred mess after that. Sirens and cops everywhere. It was like they called in the SWAT team.

  They sure didn’t need one. Craig wasn’t hard to miss. He wasn’t fleeing or hiding. He was just standing on the dock, dripping and still cursing at us like a madman when they got there.

  They hauled his soggy ass off in cuffs.

  Watching that made me feel worse. Guilty, like it was my fault he was under arrest. And scared. Will he come back after he makes bail?

  The cops wanted me to tell them what happened, but I just couldn’t. All I could do was cry and cry and cry. I’d fucked everything up so badly.

  Axel told them what I’d told him. They said they’d get my statement later. Jesus, how could I tell them? How could I tell anyone? Axel didn’t even know everything… .

  They said I had to go to the hospital. To get examined. To have pictures taken. I didn’t want anyone to touch me. And the last thing I wanted was to be photographed. But I had to go. Axel said I had to.

  He promised to stay with me.

  We were going in an ambulance, me on a stretcher like I was in an accident or something. I was the accident. A freak.

  The paramedics tried to strap a blanket over me. I completely flipped. I could not be confined like that—there was just no way. They said I had to be strapped for safety, that I couldn’t be transported without it.

  Axel calmed me down and had them do the strap real loose. He showed me that I could unbuckle it myself.

  Axel was so good to me. Too good to me.

  He told them he was my brother. That way, they’d let him stay with me.

  Axel had an argument with the driver, because he didn’t want them to take me to the hospital a few blocks away. He said the building looked like it was going to cave in from the outside and he could only imagine the conditions on the inside.

  Then he said they couldn’t take me to any hospital in Queens or Brooklyn. He insisted they take me to a hospital in Manhattan. The driver said no way, because that was forty minutes away, at least. Axel told him that the elitist snob in him was rearing its ugly head and no one was taking his little sister anywhere but Manhattan.

  Then he took out a hundred-dollar bill and gave it to the driver. He said the ambulance company could bill him for the transportation—the hundred was for the driver and the other paramedic.

  They took me to midtown. NYU Medical Center. Axel held my hand the whole way.

  All that time, the only thing running through my head was What would Axel think when he found out the whole truth?

  * * *

  Axel filled out all the papers for me. Again, he claimed to be my brother.

  They asked how they could contact our mother.

  Axel took one look at me, then said that our mom was dead.

  What about our father?

  He was dead, too.

  He put Aunt Agatha down as my guardian, but he explained that she couldn’t be reached for a couple of hours. It was true, she was probably in the middle of driving or performing or something.

  God, I couldn’t face her.
<
br />   But what about the insurance forms? What kind did we have? Who would be authorizing payment to the hospital?

  Axel tossed his platinum American Express card on the counter.

  Since my “brother” was eighteen, he was allowed to consent to my treatment.

  * * *

  I wouldn’t get examined without Axel there holding my hand. I knew it was a lot to ask, but I was beyond scared.

  The nurse said, “Don’t worry; it’s just like going to the gynecologist.” But I’d never been to the gynecologist.

  I burst into more tears, and Axel asked to please be allowed in. Finally, she agreed. Since he was my brother.

  I went behind a screen and changed into the blue gown with the ties in the back that they gave me. When I came out, Axel stared at me in the stark white light that showed off all my bruises.

  “That bastard nailed you good.” He had. I’d looked in the full-length mirror. My mouth, cheek, neck, and arms were all blotched with purple. So were my thighs, although Axel couldn’t see them.

  Holding onto my gown, I climbed onto the examining table with the crinkly white paper pulled over it and the metal things sticking up on either side. It was slanted, so I wound up half sitting, half lying—which added to my total humiliation.

  I reached for Axel’s hand again. He was the only reason I could even stand doing this, the only reason I didn’t just collapse onto the floor into a ball of shame.

  Oh my God, oh my God.

  “It’s okay, Willow. I’ll help you through this. Please stop crying,” Axel said, wiping at my tears. Talk about asking the impossible.

  A girl came in. She was probably in her twenties. She introduced herself as a rape crisis counselor. She said she was there to talk and that she’d stay and explain what the doctor was doing to me. I told her to go away.

  She looked all right, nice and everything, not drippy or syrupy. But I didn’t want to talk to anyone but Axel. She said I could call her anytime. I said I wouldn’t. Axel took her card and thanked her.

  The doctor finally came in, a sour-looking old man who unrolled his metal tools onto his little work table without so much as a hello.

  He told me to put my legs on the metal things—he called them stirrups. There I was, spread open again. God, why couldn’t everyone just leave me alone?

  My gown slipped a little.

  “Jesus, that fucking piece of shit,” Axel said, staring at the exposed bruises on my thighs.

  The doctor snapped on rubber gloves. Then he draped what looked and felt like a huge thick napkin with a plastic coating over my legs. He put a glob of petroleum jelly on his gloved finger and disappeared behind the napkin.

  It hurt to have my legs spread like that. I mean, my whole body ached, anyway. I just thanked God I couldn’t see what he was doing down there. It was so damned uncomfortable, though, with him poking around. And mortifying.

  I kept squirming; the paper kept crinkling.

  “Hold still, please,” the doctor said in a flat-liner voice.

  Then he pushed some metal thing into me, and I screamed. It hurt, and it was cold, and I was shaking.

  I just wanted to crawl somewhere and die.

  Axel squeezed my hand. “It’s all right, Willow. He’ll be done soon.”

  But it wasn’t all right.

  “Why, why are you doing this to me?” I yelled at the brute behind the napkin. “He didn’t rape me.”

  The doctor wheeled his little stool around and looked directly at my face for the first time.

  “We have to check for bruising no matter what, miss, and for DNA.”

  Oh, God. DNA. They were going to find out.

  I cried even more when he grabbed the long cotton swab stick from his tray and then went back under the drape, stuck it in, and scraped around.

  “C’mon, Willow. It’s only cotton. It can’t hurt that much. Please, calm down.” Poor Axel looked so worried. But I wasn’t crying because of the pain. It was the shame. They’d all know now.

  Axel would know.

  The doctor grabbed another stick. He swabbed my mouth and throat too, which made me think of Craig telling Axel about the blow job.

  God, I just wanted to die. That was really, really all I asked.

  I didn’t even know how Axel could look at me, knowing I did that.

  Then the doctor took a bunch of pictures—of my whole body. Great. Just the thing I wanted done at that moment in my life.

  Axel turned his back to us when the doctor examined and photographed my breasts.

  Finally, the doctor said I could get dressed. But before I could even drag my ass off the table, a nurse came in. She said two police officers were waiting to talk to me. They’d driven in all the way from Rockaway. And for about the billionth time, I cried.

  Axel wrapped himself around me. “You’re almost through this, sweetheart. I promise you. Be strong. I’ll be here for you.”

  “But, but …”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  I tugged at the white paper sticking out from under me, ripped a piece off. “I … I can’t say it.”

  “You can tell me anything.”

  Rip, rip. “No … you’ll hate me… .”

  “I could never hate you. And I told you, this is not your fault.”

  I closed my eyes and listened to the beat of my feet thumping against the table. “But it is… . It … is. I let him… . I let him… . ”

  “What?”

  “Before everything … went wrong… .”

  “Will you please just tell me?”

  I sucked in a huge breath and let it out. Then I opened my eyes and tried to tell him. “Before the bl … before he got angry… he … I let him… . He went … down there. With his mouth.”

  “He went down on you.”

  I didn’t know it was called that. I nodded.

  “So?”

  “I … I … I …” I just couldn’t say it.

  “What?”

  “I … I liked it. A lot.”

  “Okay …”

  “Don’t you see? It’s my fault. I let everything get started. I let him do that … so then I owed him something.” I leaned on Axel, sobbed into his shoulder. “And now … the DNA’s gonna prove it was my fault.”

  He clutched me as I shook and cried. It seemed like there was no limit to my tears.

  He said softly, “You don’t have to feel guilty about liking it. It’s normal. Okay?”

  I nodded, but continued to cry.

  “And no matter what he gave you, no matter how good he made you feel, he did not have the right to touch you—to take any so-called payback—once you said no. Do you understand, Willow?”

  I didn’t. I wished I did, but I didn’t. I just felt wrong. Dirty.

  He moved me back from his shoulder and scrutinized my face. “This is not your fault. God, why can’t I make you see that?”

  I shrugged, looked at the floor. It was my fault. To think that I’d been so desperate … that I’d allowed, if not started the chain of events that had led to this—

  He handed me the toothbrush and mini-tube of toothpaste the nurse had given me with the gown. “Go brush your teeth. Get dressed. We’ll talk about this later. Right now, you’re gonna tell your story to the cops. And don’t worry about what anyone’s gonna think.” He hugged me again and whispered into my ear, “Just tell your story, and then we’ll go home.”

  * * *

  Axel called a car service to bring us back to Far Rockaway. We could’ve gone back with the cops, but he didn’t think the back of a patrol car was the best place for me right now.

  I still couldn’t stop trembling. We went into the gift shop while we were waiting for our ride. He bought me a big soft throw blanket with teddy bears on it. I felt kind of stupid with the teddy bears, but it was all they had and it was warm.

  It was dark already and drizzling. We stood outside the hospital under an awning. City traffic rushed down the slick street, tires swishing in the wetness
. Everyone was always in a hurry in Manhattan, even in the rain on a Sunday evening. It was like a rule or something.

  A shiny black Lincoln town car, beaded with water drops, pulled up for us. I huddled against Axel in the back seat, shivering in spite of my blanket and aching, all the way through the Midtown Tunnel, across the Long Island Expressway, down Queens Boulevard, all the way back to Rockaway.

  Everything was sore. My bruises, the insides of my mouth and throat, and my heart. I swear to God, I just wanted to fling open the car door and throw myself onto the road.

  Axel held on tight to me. It was like he knew that I might just go for it, if I had the chance. It was like he knew that I just wanted to be done.

  * * *

  Axel had to get out and unlock the chain on the boatyard fence before the driver could pull into the gravel road. Axel asked him to pull up close to the dock. He wanted to minimize my walking. He signed the credit card slip, instructed the driver to close the gate behind him and padlock it again, and then we trudged off.

  Suddenly, I was filled with panic. “What about Aunt Agatha? She didn’t know where I was all this time!”

  “I left her a note. I just said you were with me. That’s all. I… I thought she should find out what happened in person.”

  “Axel … I can’t face her. I really can’t. And I can’t lie on that couch, either. Please, can I sleep on your boat?”

  “Uh … I guess so. I don’t know what your aunt’s gonna say.”

  “Don’t make me go on the barge tonight.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll settle you in, then I’ll go talk to your aunt.”

  I gripped his hand again. “Thanks.”

  * * *

  We climbed aboard Axel’s boat and went below. I followed him into his small cabin at the front of the hold. The walls curved into a point. Axel’s cello case stood against the left wall. There was a door—probably to a closet—on the right wall. After a few feet of walking space, the rest of the cabin was all bed, reaching to the tip.

  “You sleep in here. I’ll go on one of the couches,” Axel said.

  I dropped my blanket, climbed under the sheets, and curled into a ball. Then I noticed the blue pillowcase my head was on. I sat up and pulled the case off the pillow, tossing it on the floor. I fell back down and closed my eyes.