by Annie Stone
I’ve already done some training with Shane, but this is harder than anything I’ve ever done. We learn how to defend ourselves without weapons, sometimes using everyday objects. We also learn to handle our weapons, but, once again, team-building and mental strength are top priority—recurring themes throughout our Marine training. After all, the Marines are an elite unit, and only the best make it through the training process.
I’ve trained in different martial arts styles before, but this program combines the most effective techniques of all worlds: jiu jitsu, krav maga, aikido, boxing, kick-boxing, taekwondo, and many others are combined into a highly effective fighting style that can save lives.
It takes a lot out of us, but honestly, it’s awesome fighting your buddies and rolling around in the dirt to learn all the grabs, throws, and blows. And I’m not the only one loving it.
All in all, the MCT takes twenty-nine days. After that, we’ll move on. Killian and I are still determined to join the Combatant Divers.
There’s one thing you have to get used to as a soldier. You really do. Otherwise, you’re finished. You have to get used to saying goodbye. In every part of your training, you meet new people. On every mission, you meet people you like, but you have to be able to let them go. Every single time. There’s one good thing about that: You make friends all over the world.
6
Mackenzie
“Hey, Mac,” Shane says as I walk in.
“Hey.”
“Have you heard anything from our boy?” he asks, following me into my office. Hunter and Shane have become friends, and Shane is kind of like a mentor to Hunter now. And I’m glad he has such a positive role model in his life. Not that Carter isn’t, but sometimes he can be very cold and rational, whereas Shane has a lot of love in him. Which is why he founded this center in the first place. He’s a great person, always standing up for others, especially those who can’t stand up for themselves. Having him for a friend makes me very happy. And Hunter has changed a lot in the year and a half we’ve known each other. The teenage asshole has turned into a good man. I know he’s going to follow this path he’s chosen, but it’s still a good idea for him to have male role models to remind him every now and then what being a good man truly means.
I shake my head. “Not since that weird phone call.”
“Weird?” Shane repeats.
I shrug. “I have no idea what was going on with him, Shane, really. He called me, and I had a feeling he was going to tell me how he feels again. I asked him not to, and then he asked me whether I was happy…”
Shane nods understandingly. “But you’re not.”
I raise my arms in defeat, just to drop them again immediately. “I’m happy with Carter.”
Shane crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Are you?”
I want to say yes, but I just can’t lie to him. “I don’t know.”
He nods slowly. “Leave Hunter out of the equation. Just think about you and Carter. Are you happy with him?”
This time, I shake my head.
“That’s what I thought.”
“But I want to be happy with him…”
For a long moment, Shane is quiet. Then he says, “Hunter called me yesterday.”
My gaze snaps to his. “How is he? What did he say? Is he all right?”
Shane smiles at me. “Are you sure you’re not in love with the guy?”
I’m shocked he could even think that. “Yes, I am sure, Shane. I love Carter, and you know that.” Okay, maybe I just confessed that I’m not overly happy with him, but still…
Shane cocks his head. “I know you believe you love Carter.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugs. “You have to find out for yourself.” He walks to the door.
“Shane!”
“Yes, sweet?”
“What did Hunter say?” I ask, despite knowing the smug look I was going to get.
Shane turns and sits down before giving me a broad smile. “He finished Marine Combat Training and is starting his FORECON training. He has to undergo all different types of specialist training. First, he has to train as a Reconnaissance Man, then he can join the Combatant Divers. He’s hoping to get into BUD/S.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Basic Underwater Demolition. The SEALS training program.”
“Oh my God.”
“Exactly.”
“But he’s a Marine. And the SEALs are part of the Navy.”
“Yes, but the different special units are also fed by the other military branches. To get into FORECON, you have to pass Navy Airborne School, for example. Once you’re part of a special unit, you can also enter the Army Ranger School and others. After all, we’re talking about the toughest soldiers in the world here.”
I wrap my arms around myself. “Whenever I see movies about the SEALs, half the soldiers end up dead in the water.”
Shane nods. “BUD/S is no joke. But neither is Hunter. He’ll get through it, Mac.”
“And then? They’ll make him go to Iraq or Afghanistan.”
“Probably.”
“But do they even need divers in the desert?”
His smile is full of pity. “‘Combatant Diver’ is just a special skill he’s going to have. He’ll also be trained as a paratrooper and a Reconnaissance Man. He’ll be part of an elite unit that can be dispatched anywhere.”
“What if…”
“Don’t think about it, Mac. He’ll come back, because he has a reason to.”
“What reason?”
Shane looks at me. “You.”
“But—”
“No but, Mac. We both know it. But you really need to think about whether you want him or not. Whether you’re with the right Tilman or not.”
“Why are you on his side? You like Carter,” I remind him.
Shane nods slowly. “Yes, I like Carter. He’s a good man. But I think you’re just one love in his life. But to Hunter, you’re everything.”
“That’s way too much pressure,” I whisper.
He puts his hand on my knee. “Hey, nobody said you have to decide right now. Hunter has a long way ahead of him. It’ll be a few years before he finishes his training, and who knows how many times they’ll send him to the Middle East? You have time, but…”
“I think I’m giving Hunter mixed signals,” I admit.
Shane raises his eyebrows. “Oh, really?”
“Stop it. I’m not doing it on purpose.”
Shane grins. “He kept going on and on about your kiss and your breasts.”
“Hey!” I say. “Hunter says tits.”
Shane laughs. “He does, and he is obsessed with yours.”
I blush a little, but the thought of it makes me happy. Oh, God, mixed signals… I need to work on that. “Shane?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“What if I can never love him like that? What will become of him?”
Shane leans back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Hunter’s young. Maybe he’ll find another woman he can love like that.”
He doesn’t actually sound convinced, so I ask, “Do you think that’s going to happen?”
He snorts. “No, sorry, sweetheart. No, I don’t. I think you are the love of his life.”
“So he’s going to be unhappy for the rest of his life?” I ask, hurrying to wipe away my tears.
Shane shrugs. “Not if you realize you love him, too.”
“He slept with Brittany.”
Shane gives me a surprised look. “I didn’t know that.”
“Didn’t he tell you?” I ask, feeling something like hope flutter through my chest. He told Shane he kissed me, so wouldn’t he have told him about it if he’d slept with her? God, why am I reacting like this? I love Carter! I’m sure I do. I care about Hunter, but…not like this…
“No,” Shane says firmly. “When do you think he did that?”
“On his eighteenth birthday.”
Shane squints, trying to
remember. “The only thing he told me about his birthday was that you made him a cake, he called you baby, and he got really drunk at a party before you put him to bed and checked out his dick.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe. “He knows about that?”
Shane laughs. “You can’t believe how happy the little bastard was about it!”
My cheeks are on fire. “I was hoping he hadn’t noticed.”
“Mac, seriously. If I’d told you all that about anybody else, what would you think was going on?”
“That the person was in love…”
“I rest my case.” Shane walks out, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I’m not in love with Hunter.
Or am I?
No, no. I love Carter. I most definitely do.
I’m sitting at my desk working on the speech I’m supposed to be giving in a few days’ time. This is the first step toward helping a lot more women. I’m speaking at a joint event held by several different organizations in California. There will be politicians and sponsors there, and we’re hoping to raise awareness about our cause.
To us, it’s about educating people. Showing people that girls and women must never be blamed for being raped. They aren’t “asking for it” as so many men claim. Especially men who are part of the movement they call neomasculinity. The movement is a joke. White, heterosexual men are the least discriminated group that ever existed. And, honestly, they’re just misogynists.
One of their ideas is to legalize rape in private quarters because they believe, most of the time, it is not actually rape—that women are just later embarrassed to have consented to it and therefore claim they’ve been raped. In their eyes, a man has the right to fuck a woman if she goes home with him. According to that theory, the only way not to get raped is not to be alone with a man.
They don’t even see how sexist this is against themselves, since it implies men are incapable of controlling themselves. Their urge to fuck is so strong they simply have to jump on anything they find inside their home. Seriously—have you ever heard of something called free will?
It’s disgusting how they’re denying women their rights—trying to sell people on their ideas in order to legalize rape, all the while claiming they only want to protect women with it. But the representatives of neomasculinity are not just misogynists—they’re also misandrists. So many people don’t understand his. But they completely and utterly deny men the respect of free will, denying that they have the ability to treat women properly. They’re denying men their right to make good decisions. They’re removing the whole concept of men’s free will!
And what kind of people believe that a man does not deserve real love and affection, real interest and arousal? Why do they believe men can’t convince women to sleep with them because they actually want to? Is it just me who finds this belief profoundly misanthropic?
Not to mention it’s a highly dangerous approach to say women are the ones responsible for preventing rape. Instead of telling women how to behave, men should understand just how wrong rape is. Not because we consider every man a potential rapist, but because we have internalized values like gender equality. Women are not worth less than men. And neither men nor women should believe they are.
In the whole debate about rape culture, people tend to forget that human beings have free will. We are not bound to follow our animal instincts. We can decide whether to do something or not. Anybody who claims differently is spreading ideas that are not just misogynist but also misanthropic.
When I see men like Shane, my boss, and Jean, my colleague at the studio, who is an ex-fighter and holds kickboxing classes at the center—and Carter, too—who are loving, who don’t see women as slaves, who don’t think they have the right to own a woman’s body or make decisions about it as they please, I wonder what’s wrong with those “neomasculine” freaks. If I was a man, I’d be appalled by the idea that I’m not capable of controlling myself, that I’m forced to succumb to animal instinct.
I chew on my pencil, wondering whether my approach to this speech is too theoretical. Maybe I have to name some examples to get more of a human twist on the story, to show them that it’s not just theory. That women have to live with the results of rape culture on a daily basis. I think about all the girls and women I have seen in this office, who have cried, who have been scared out of their wits, felt embarrassed, believed they had done something wrong. I need to talk about their stories. Anonymously, of course. But I need to put a face on this.
Three days later, the patron of the event—the governor’s wife—introduces me to a packed house. I’m trembling. Sheila gives me a nod, wishing me luck. I walk up the stairs, stand at the podium, and wait for the applause to subside. I look at my notecards to say my first sentence.
But I can’t.
It doesn’t feel right. The campaign needs a face, but it shouldn’t be anonymous.
I see a stool by the side of the stage, drag it over to the middle, and sit half on it. I look at my cards. There’s absolute silence around me.
I hold up the cards and say, “I’ve got a great speech here containing many arguments, facts, and figures to convince you to support our cause.” I throw the cards up in the air, so they fall down around me like giant confetti. “But I’m not going to give that speech.” I look for Carey’s and Carter’s faces in the crowd. They’re about to experience the shock of their lives.
I take a deep breath. “I was fifteen when my father raped me for the first time.”
A horrified murmur erupts in the room. I can see the shock in Carey’s eyes, and Carter’s, too. I look at Shane, and he smiles proudly. He wants me to be brave, not just for others, but for myself, too, to free myself from the prison of my past, leave it behind and finally be able to face the future.
“One night, he came to my room. My older sister had died a few weeks earlier, and obviously, he had abused her first. After her death, he directed his sick desire at his other daughter.” For a moment, I close my eyes. “At first, he just touched me, but soon, that wasn’t enough. The night he first…”
I pause. I take a breath, fighting down tears. I can do this. I can tell the story and be the face we need to make our campaign emotional enough to attract sponsors
I start again. “The night he first…penetrated me, I wanted to die. I couldn’t understand how this person who was supposed to love me unconditionally could do this to me.” A small tear runs down my cheek. “I begged him to stop, but he just kept going. He didn’t listen to me, not when I asked him to stop, not when I begged him to. He was only interested in himself. Not in me.”
It is utterly silent in the room. You could hear a pin drop. I look over at Carey and see tears in his eyes, while Carter only looks speechless.
“After he was finished, I lay in bed crying. I wondered what I had done wrong. Nobody’s daddy should behave like that, but mine did, so it must have been my fault. I must have been bad, maybe I hadn’t been listening to what I was told. I must have done something to provoke him. I must have done something wrong, otherwise my daddy would have loved me and never would have tortured me like that.”
I look to the side of the stage, where I see Sheila and Jean looking at me full of worry. They know it’s hard for me to talk about this.
“My mom was no help. She never got over my sister’s death and blamed me for it. She beat me up every single day. But always in ways that nobody could notice. I never put up a fight.” Again, I close my eyes for a moment, before I find the inner strength to say, “I never put up a fight because I believed her. I thought it was my fault my sister had died. I had let her drown. I hadn’t saved her. I had killed her. My mom beating me up only seemed fair. And the fact that my dad raped me was my own fault, too. So I put up with it.”
Looking around the room, I don’t see anyone unaffected by my speech. And that is a good thing. We need people to feel moral outrage in order to make things better.
“One day,” I go on, “I read the sentence: We
are the heroes of our own story. Back then, I didn’t know it was Mary McCarthy who had written it, but her words immediately took root inside me. This sentence expressed so much that I wanted for my own life. The most important lesson in it for me was that only I could help myself. Nobody else would do it for me. So I ran away. The police picked me up, and I told them what had happened. My father got ten years, and my mother was released on probation, but that’s not the important part of my story. Fact is, here was a man who believed he could do with me whatever he wanted. Who had no respect for my own wishes. In his mind, I had no rights.”
I stand to recite a few facts from the speech I’d prepared. “He was my father. The person who was supposed to protect me. Many girls and women suffer the same fate. Many rapists are brothers, friends, and neighbors. In forty-nine percent of cases with girls under twelve.” I step aside, kneading my fingers, trying not to let the nervous habit show. “Forty-four percent of victims are under eighteen years old. This is almost half of all reported cases, and you all know the real figures are much higher. What do children do to deserve this? What do they do to provoke men? What do they do to ask for this?” I look around the room. “Nothing. Because there is nothing they could do that would deserve this. There is nothing that could justify a man becoming a rapist.”
I let my words sink in. “Rapists claim that women are the ones to blame, often for dressing in a manner they deem too sexy. In our society, it seems to be okay to blame the victim. But imagine for a second that she is not just some nameless woman. Imagine she is your mother, your friend, your sister, or your daughter. Imagine that girl or woman you love is the victim we are talking about. Are you going to tell her she deserved this?” I stand upright and take a deep breath. “In the United States, a woman or a girl is raped every two minutes. One in six women will become the victim of rape or attempted rape during her lifetime.”