by Gabi Moore
It had token me days to sober up. The aftermath took a while to process. Where was the ‘rape’ line, and which side did I fall? Where was the ‘consciousness’ line, and on what side of that line had I been on? In which exact parallel dimension did fuck bunny even exist?
Retrospectively, I had put the details together. One bottle of anxiety meds. More than a dozen bottles of beer. A frat party of at least fifty guys. A single carrot. An entire hellish landscape opening up to me as I showered myself the next morning and found countless finger-shaped bruises on my thighs and arms. A scratch on my lower belly. The feeling that my brain had liquefied and spilled out my ear. Dull, dirty aches in places I didn’t even want to look. My hair smelt of beer and cum. There was a bright pink, half-moon mark on my left breast. A bite mark. I had also been bitten.
I don’t know how I ever survived the days that followed. I don’t know how I didn’t literally die at my doctor’s appointment. My psychiatrist went pale and told me that it was a miracle I hadn’t killed myself. When I discovered that the video had been shared on the school bulletin board, and that most of the college had seen it and probably thousands of others too, I felt …nothing. I watched myself in jerky, dimly lit motion on the screen. I watched my loose, clumsy limbs moving over countless shoulders of men I didn’t recognize. I watched my mouth open to whatever was thrust at it. I watched my legs flop open, and my eyes roll back into my head. It was me …but it wasn’t me.
“You want this, little fuck bunny? Is this what you want?” Buck said and pulled a thumbs up at the camera.
I grinned and took my time mouthing the word yes. I paused the video and never looked at it again. But I felt calm. Something inside me had died. I had nothing left. I vaguely remember trying to think of legal action, of calling it an assault, of getting campus admin to intervene. But there I was. Fuck Bunny. And I was clearly, boldly, provocatively, asking for it.
And so I took what I asked for. All of it. I took the mountains of shame they heaped on me and the very next day I dropped out. Like giant spotlights had been shut off all at once, my world went dark and small very quickly. People snickered at me as I packed my things and left. People I thought were friends muttered “fuck bunny” under their breath as I walked past them in the dorms. I had already died. So I decided to take my ghost elsewhere. To my deceased father’s failing bakery business. Here I rolled cinnamon buns by hand until I forgot. Until the bruises faded and I no longer woke up screaming. Till even the biggest douches in town had gotten bored of leaving carrots on my mail box.
And then it was now. And I was putting on mascara for the boy that had orchestrated it all. For the boy who had not only kept his scholarship after the whole debacle, but who achieved something close to celebrity, a kind of attaboy infamy that was condoned silently by the professors and explicitly by the other frat boys. Clearly, I had gone mad. There was no other explanation.
I sighed, redid my lip gloss and made for the front door. I had grown since then. I was a successful small business owner, and that was all in the past. People had forgotten. Not only was I going to show Buck how little he had really hurt me, I was going to look good doing it.
The hilarious irony, of course, was that I wasn’t a depraved frat slut but a kind of timid, sexually inexperienced biology nerd. Before the …incident, there had only been Felix. And nobody after the incident either. In their own ways, I had written Felix off just as hard as I had written of the frat night. They both didn’t ‘count’. In some ways, I almost felt virginal. Hopelessly naïve. And I had no idea what to do with myself as I waited for Buck at the restaurant. Order a drink? Act casual? Could everyone tell I was nervous?
The first surprise was that he looked so good. I hadn’t expected him to clean up so nice, or to walk so tall. He had clearly lost some puppy fat, cleared up his youthful acne and spoke more quietly now, more seriously. The second surprise was that I started to actually enjoy myself. The whole sob story fell away for a second and almost without me noticing I slipped into a perfectly normal, maybe even fun date with a perfectly normal, maybe even fun guy.
He had the faintest crinkles around his eyes. He wore a collared shirt that fit him well, and talked about how he had landed up with the bank, and how he was gearing up to buy an investment property in Europe somewhere. It was surreal, and not in the way that I expected.
“More wine?” he asked and held up the bottle.
I smiled and lay my hand over my glass.
“For me? Now that’s not really a good idea, is it?” I scoffed.
“No? I think wine is always a good idea,” he said and poured himself another glass. I made a ‘yeah right’ face and pushed the glass aside.
“Well we all know I can’t be trusted with alcohol,” I said offhandedly. He stopped mid-pour and looked at me.
“Why? What do you mean?”
“Come on, you know exactly what I mean,” I said, blushing.
He silently placed the bottle down and gave me a serious look.
“Actually I don’t. I don’t know what you mean.”
I sighed loudly and stared down at the half-eaten lasagna on my plate.
“Oh please. I don’t know why you keep pretending you don’t remember any of it. Or maybe I keep forgetting, it was no big deal for you, right?”
It was the first tense word of the evening. We had made it an hour into this ‘date’ but I could no longer contain my resentment. He looked troubled.
“I know it was hard on you,” he said quietly, after some thought. I laughed under my breath.
“You have no idea.”
“Oh come on, Em,” he countered almost instantly. “You weren’t the only one in that video, you know.”
I pushed my plate away and shook my head.
“That’s the thing, Buck, I wasn’t. But I was the only one who was bullied afterwards, wasn’t I? I was the only one who received threats and …propositions for more than a year after it happened. I was the only one who got harassed, right?”
He frowned.
“You know, I get that you’re still hung up about all of that, Em. I honestly do. But at what point do you move on? Nobody remembers any of that stuff anymore.”
“Oh, I’ve moved on,” I blurted.
“Have you?”
I returned his frown.
“What business is it of yours anyway?”
“It’s none of my business. But you did bring it up.”
I opened my mouth to argue but realized that he was actually right.
“Look, Em, it’s cool. I’m just saying that it was hard for me too, that’s all.”
“Hard for you? What could have possibly been hard for you?”
He seemed to be getting angry.
“Are you serious? Em, it was a huge humiliation. Do you know how I had to beg them not to kick my ass off the scholarship? How much groveling I had to do?”
“Bullshit, they didn’t give a damn.”
“You really think that? Em, it took me months to get over what happened. I had to find a new place to live. I lost all my friends, I—”
“Then why did you post that video for everyone to see, then?”
He looked shocked.
“Wait, you think it was me who posted it?”
“I honestly don’t even care, Buck” I said and tried to loosen the tension in the room. “Like I said, I’m over all of that.”
“Em, I would never do that to you.”
“You’d just stick a carrot up my ass and call me fuck bunny, on camera?” I said, raising my voice. He was taken aback. The people beside us cast curious glances at our table.
“Em, please calm down… just try to imagine for a second that I regret that day as deeply as you do.”
“Regret what?” I hissed. “You got exactly what you wanted!”
“I didn’t. I fucked up. I should have protected you,” he said, his voice breaking a little. I gave him an incredulous look. This was not the Buck Johnson I knew.
“Well
, nice try, but like I said, I’m older and wiser now, if you thought you could bullshit your way into my pants again, sorry to break it to you,” I said and folded my arms.
He rubbed his temples. “You know what Em? Don’t forget that you agreed to all of it, OK? Everything. You were there. You made choices too.”
“I was drunk.”
“So were we.”
I threw my napkin down and started scanning for the waiter.
“Look, I knew this was a bad idea. Let’s just call this a night, OK? I’m not even sure why we met.”
“I don’t know either,” he said and pushed the food around his plate. “Maybe because I thought we could have a second chance or something.”
I looked at him.
“You were the single worst thing to ever happen to me, Buck,” I said coldly,
“I thought you were really cool. Long before the party.”
“You took advantage of me when I was vulnerable.”
“Then let me make it up to you. Let’s put the past to rights,” he said. I nearly laughed out loud. Was he really suggesting what I thought he was suggesting?
“Look, Buck, I don’t know what crazy ideas you have. I might have made some stupid choices back then but it doesn’t mean I’ll just sleep with anyone you know.”
“Then don’t sleep with me. Just kiss me.”
I was stunned. I struggled to respond.
“I’m …my main focus right now is the bakery, that’s it.”
“Then let me help you with the bakery,” he said, and extended his hand to take mine across the table.
I looked down as his fingers closed around mine. It sent cold chills right through my body. This was all wrong. I hated this, I hated that he had …seen me. That not only did he know about my scandal and shame, but that he had been present throughout all of it. That even though I desperately tried to avoid the thought completely, the truth was that him and I had already fucked. I didn’t really remember any of it. But clearly he did. The thought made my stomach lurch.
I pulled my hand away.
He was smiling easily now, the charm tap was now on full volume and he was shrugging, then offering me the wine again. I found it disgusting that he would try to get me drunk. Again.
“No, thank you,” I said coldly.
The check was mercifully placed on the table. He swiftly took it and threw down his credit card. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me. We walked out together in silence, his hand hovering at the small of my back but never actually touching, never actually giving me the chance to shrug him off, like an animal shrugs off a fly.
We stood outside the restaurant, the first dim ribbons of evening starting to darken the sky. I was irritated. Irritated that I had agreed to come out here at all. Irritated that he had the nerve to not only try to explain himself, but to actually make another pass at me. Most of all, I was irritated that in fact, his positioned seemed nearly reasonable. How could I be mad at him? It was highly inconvenient, to have him play the role of the bad guy so poorly.
I made some excuses about why I had to leave and pulled my jacket around my shoulders. Before I knew it, he had leaned in and pecked me on the cheek, and then all at once he was kissing me, forcefully, fully, his thick lips against mine.
I froze.
He pulled back a little, looked at me with an expression of dark pleasure in his eyes, then brushed the tops of his knuckles against my cheek.
“Don’t kiss me again without asking permission,” I said.
“Kiss you again? How many kisses do you think you’re getting?” he laughed.
I bit my lower lip, determined not to lose my cool and swear at him.
“You know I had forgotten how much of a spitfire you were,” he chuckled. “But I’ll never forget what a good kisser you are, and that’s not all you’re good at,” he breathed, now close again.
It was like a magnetic field was vibrating around his lips. Though my head was buzzing with unmistakable disdain for him and everything he represented, the rest of me was… not pulling away.
As though on an endless tape loop, all the jeers from that night raced through my head. They had called me a slut. A filthy whore. They had pulled my legs as wide open as they would go and they had taken turns with me, their laughter morphing into moans, then back into mocking laughter again. They were dumb kids, but with the bodies and appetites of grown men, and I hated them, and yet they were in my mind right now, and somehow, somehow …it was hot.
Beyond all reason, beyond all decency, it was there. Right at the front of my mind. And here was my biggest, dirtiest secret. Way more disturbing than what they had done to me with a goddam carrot. Way more upsetting than blacking out on pills and booze while more than a dozen strange men fucked you. No, what I had spent all these last years battling to repress was the simple fact that when asked, I had agreed. I had stared glassy-eyed into the camera and licked my lower lip and smiled and whispered …yes.
“Come over to my place,” he said, still stroking my hair.
It was an invitation from the devil himself. But in the still air outside the restaurant, I was struggling to come up with reasons to say no. It had been a long time since I’d been with a guy. In fact, the last time might well have been with Buck. My life had been so small since then. So quiet and chaste and secret…
I pried myself out of his grasp and shook my head.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” I said emphatically. “I should go home.”
I turned to leave.
“Hey, Emily,” he said. I turned to look at him. “You’ll probably hear from the bank soon. They’re being a bit sticky about a few things but if you come in tomorrow I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter 6 - Felix
And then we’ll just need a signature here, and your initials here,” she said curtly, and handed the forms to me.
The thing about military shrinks is that they always know how to double up as hard-nosed bureaucrats when the time is right. I scratched my name on the documents and handed them back to her. Really, the cords between me and the mission were severed right about the same time the bomb tore my kneecap tendons to hell …all of this other shit was just a formality.
“Look, Felix, I’m going to say it one more time. I know you’re tired of hearing it, but please, please don’t disappear on us. Stay in touch. Your symptoms may feel like they go away sometimes, but we should expect some flare ups. You know how to recognize the signs, how to step in before things get too hard to deal with on you own.”
I liked the physio back on Mars better. No molly coddling, a massage every session and the occasional flirty remark seemed like it would work better for me now than being treated like a little broken toy soldier who couldn’t play in the big games anymore.
They had thrown competent, careful doctors at me and they had put my shattered leg and hip back together again. And running behind the scenes, they scrambled to put things right on paper, too. It was an ‘unforeseen circumstance’. I counted the word ‘unavoidable’ thirty-nine times on the official incident report that had taken them three weeks to compile. I was compensated, nothing could be done. I had their sympathies. And so on.
The day before I had had a small ceremony where a glossy blue badge was pinned to my uniform and various stiff suited dad-figures saluted me and told me with grave faces that I was a hero, and that no words could express the sacrifice I had made in service to not only my country, but to humankind at large. Load of bullshit, in other words. I had shaken their hands, eaten the chocolate eclairs they handed me and agreed to the final counselling session where I would be released back into the wild, a little jumpier and messed up than I started, but oh well. They were done with me. And I was done with them.
Like the good big sister she was, Claire had put me up in her and her new husband’s guest room. My little nephew, himself barely skilled at walking, was mesmerized by my lumpy, purple leg. I didn’t mind. I let him touch it, and he asked questions, and Claire smiled and
tried to make things seem less depressing than they were. But they still were.
The route back to Claire’s place from the shrink’s office was surprisingly pretty. I lingered, not wanting to go ‘home’, kind of freaked out by how easy it was for me to think now of Mars as home, and Earth as the strange planet, hostile to life and hard to understand.
I took a detour, stuck my hands in my pockets and kicked up loose bits of tarmac as I walked. I’d pay later for putting this much strain on my knee, but I didn’t much care. That particular pain was the least of my problems. It was staying out here and feeling the tendons of my knee and thigh pull and twinge, or going ‘home’ and feeling like I was in Claire’s way, with nothing but my shameful stash of letters to Emily to keep me company.
No, pain was OK. I could handle pain. The nightmares were fine, too. And I didn’t mind the anxiety too much, if I’m honest. It was a step up from how I’d felt before I had my leg nearly blasted right off. I kept walking, playing with my weight as I placed it down again and again on that tender joint, wincing into it but feeling the discomfort roll over me with each step that passed under my body, curled back and lifted again, not so smooth but getting the job done.
I passed by the same old houses that I swear hadn’t changed a bit in five years. In fact, they had held up better than I had! Still, it was all an illusion. I passed people on the streets, watched them fretting over their dogs or their kids or their grocery shopping or whatever, and I was struck by how completely fragile they were. Bustling around, never realizing how blessed they were to be sheltered on all sides by a perfect atmosphere, how hard life would be if gravity didn’t cooperate with them as much as it did, or the sun overhead wasn’t so perfectly suited to all the meaningless little activities they bused themselves with.
I envied them their ignorance. Their carefreeness that felt to me like it bordered on stupidity. Their smiles. Their strong, healthy legs. I walked on, my mood darkening. Ladies and gentlemen, a ‘hero’. I turned the corner and stopped to take in the sight: the sun had already set but was still throwing out some dying colors into the hazy sky. On the horizon was Jeb’s grocer, the same one Em and I would creep off to late on exam nights to stock up on Pringles and beer to power us through the last-minute cramming.