Breaking Free

by Winter Page

  I spied Cam and Freddie weaving through the crowd toward me, arm in arm, both of them smashed as hell. I had to physically catch Cam when they finally reached me in the crush of sweaty bodies. She’d managed to fall off of her high heels as she turned to speak to me.

  I smiled carefully down at her. “Hi there, Cam. How ya holding up?” I yelled over the music.

  She giggled, taking a big swig of her latest rum and Coke. “I’m great! But Freddie isn’t doin’ so hot,” she slurred, hiccupping.

  She swayed as Freddie staggered on cue and grabbed at her arm for balance. He had that whole clammy, faintly gray-green-skin-tone thing going, as if he was going to puke, which wouldn’t surprise me with the amount of drinking everyone had been doing. At least neither of them seemed high. Not that I would be able to tell if they were. As a homeschooled kid buried deep in the Bible belt until a couple of months ago, it wasn’t like I’d hung out with a whole lot of kids who had access to drugs.

  “Cam, do you know where the bathroom is?” I asked.

  Despite having no balance and a serious brain-tongue disconnect, she seemed to be otherwise holding her liquor relatively well. She nodded, her eyes going in and out of focus. I was about to take them both to the bathroom and hold Freddie’s head while he puked his guts out when I saw something that made me stop.

  I took Cam by the shoulders and stared hard at her, forcing her to focus on my carefully spoken words. “Take Freddie to the bathroom. Get him to puke, or at least sit down with him in there for a little bit. I’ll meet you over by the bar when you’re done. Okay?” I shouted. God, the music just kept getting louder and louder. I had no idea how the cops hadn’t been called yet.

  Cam nodded as if she’d understood my instructions, and I prayed she would do what I told her to. I knew she would never remember to go back to the bar, but it was worth a shot.

  I hurried past her, leaving her staring at me, confused. But I had to investigate what I had seen. I weaved my way through the crowd on what passed as the dance floor—I think it was the living room, but all the furniture had been pushed back to the walls. It was a fight to weave my way through more failures to twerk than I had seen in a long time.

  I kept my eyes locked on the spot where I’d seen the flash of her long hair, though. I had an overwhelming intuition that this was important. I had walked—well, driven—away against my better judgment once before, and I wasn’t about to do it again.

  Eventually, the living room bottlenecked into a dining room and then into a kitchen that had previously been all about pristine white marble. Now there were crumbs and spills and smears of barf all over the countertops among the abandoned red plastic cups. I was really starting to dislike alcohol.

  When I stepped fully into the kitchen, I caught sight of the drinking game taking place in the breakfast nook. Girl after girl lay down on a wooden table and pulled her shirt up to reveal her belly button. A guy with a bottle of tequila poured a sloppy shot into the girl’s belly button, and someone put salt on her neck. Then, whoever wanted would bite a lime, lick her neck, and suck the shot off of her stomach. And finally, the girl would take a shot the guy who had licked her would hand her. I sighed. Complete teenage stupidity, right there.

  I was just about to turn around and leave when I spotted Brad across the kitchen, huddled over the kitchen counter with another football player. They looked like they were being secretive about something. Which, of course, made me intensely curious.

  I moved closer and dodged around the kitchen island in time to see him pull out a small packet. He tore it open, and a small pill sank to the bottom of a shot glass full of liquid. Three guesses who he was planning to roofie, and the first two didn’t count. Asshole.

  I needed to warn her. But that would mean I had to find her. I stood in the doorway of the kitchen and stood on my tiptoes, but I wasn’t tall enough to see over the crowd. There must have been three hundred kids at this damned party.

  I turned back to Brad. He would have to lead me to her. He picked up the shot glass and said something to the guy with him. They traded devilish smiles.

  He shoved into the crowd of kids in the family room beyond the eating nook, and that was when I saw her. Clare. No way would I be able to muscle through the crowd the way he had. Panic filled me as I watched him offer the drink to her. I tried to shout a warning across the room, but I could barely hear myself. No way would she hear me.

  She shook her head no, and my legs almost collapsed in my relief. But then Brad smiled slowly, winding his free hand around her waist. I didn’t realize what he was doing until he pushed her forward to lay down on the table. She rolled her eyes but nonetheless lay down and pulled her shirt up.

  In disgust, I observed as Brad practically had mouth sex with her bellybutton. Then following with tradition, Clare took the shot that Brad gave her. I swore at myself for my stupidity. I’d forgotten about the shot for the girl afterward.

  Clare shuddered as she slammed the shot glass down on the table. Brad tossed the shot glass in the kitchen sink and carried a plastic cup of beer back to her. She took a big drink from it. As for me, I didn’t have an attorney for a parent for nothing. I sidled over to the sink and snagged the shot glass. Surreptitiously, I stuffed it in my purse.

  I had no idea how long it took for a roofie to take effect. I tried to keep Brad and Clare in sight for the next twenty minutes. Just when I had given up and decided that the pill was probably just sugar to help her get the tequila down, Brad led her to the flying staircase in the middle of the room.

  His friends whooped and hollered behind him, catcalling over the blasting electronica being pumped into the room from huge speakers. Clare’s eyes were completely glazed over. Her limbs seemed to go limp as she sagged against Brad helplessly. He half carried, half dragged her up the stairs.

  I waited for Brad’s friends to turn back to their dates and begin grinding again. As soon as they were completely distracted, I sprinted as fast as I could up the stairs. When I got to the top, I looked around frantically. Down the hall, I saw a door just shutting.

  Without stopping to think about what I was actually going to do next, I threw open the door. Clare was completely passed out on the bed, her eyes closed and mouth lolling open. Brad rounded on me, anger clear on his face.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said as casually as I could muster. “Dude, you don’t know where the bathroom is, do you? The one downstairs has someone in it, and I’ve really got to pee,” I lied, bouncing up and down for effect.

  Brad stalked over to me, herding me back toward the door. “I don’t know where the hell the bathroom is, but I know it’s not here. So get out,” he spat, getting right up in my face.

  I frowned. “Brad, buddy, she doesn’t look so good,” I said, peering around his wide frame.

  “That’s none of your damn business,” he growled. Crap, he was big. And muscular. He looked the same way my dad did when he was drunk enough to get violent at the slightest provocation.

  I squared my shoulders, trying to take back a little bit of room from him. “Oh really? Because that looks like a very passed-out girl in some trouble. It would be a shame if someone had seen you slip a pill into her drink about twenty minutes ago and happened to mention that to, I don’t know, a cop?” I said, my voice edged in steel.

  I took a step forward, trying to force my way past him to get to Clare. He didn’t budge. Which I suppose I should have expected. My dad didn’t yield an inch when he was drunk, either.

  “You have one chance to turn around, walk away, and forget everything you saw. Otherwise, I can make your life a living hell,” he said venomously.

  I smiled wickedly up at him. “Try me. I witnessed you drugging a girl, and I collected physical evidence of it. I have proof of a serious criminal offense, and all you have is empty threats. There’s the door, Brad. Now use it.” My voice was strong and steady.

  I watched different emotions play over his face, the main one being rage. Neither of us broke eye contac
t, until finally he pushed past me, slamming the door heavily behind him. I let my shoulders sag, exhaling a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

  It struck me forcefully that, although I had a particular talent for getting myself into trouble, I’d really done it this time. I strode over to the bed, trying to rouse Clare. It took several attempts to get her awake. She wiped a hand across her face, disoriented.

  I spoke softly but loud enough for her to hear me. “Clare, it’s Raimi. Are you okay?”

  She blinked up at me blearily. Stupid question, she was definitely not okay.

  I racked my brain, trying to figure out a way to tell how severely affected she was as of now. Was this purely the roofie’s work, or was the booze partially to blame? “How much have you had to drink, tonight?” I asked.

  It took her a minute, but she finally responded. “Raimi? Why do you want to get me drunk?” Her voice was childish, and she rubbed her eyes, smearing her makeup badly. She really was a train wreck right then.

  “Just answer my question, Clare. It’s important.” My voice was urgent in the relatively quiet room. She looked at me quizzically, her big turquoise eyes staring up at me innocently.

  “Two shots of tequila, and, umm, three gin and tonics.” Her voice was small and slurred.

  I swore under my breath. To say she was shitfaced didn’t quite cover it. I had to get her out of there. But how? I was nowhere near as strong as Brad, who’d hauled her up there. And after all my hormone shots, I wasn’t anywhere near as strong as I used to be, either. For once, I regretted not being a boy.

  Well, it wasn’t like I had any choice in the matter. It was up to me to get her out of here. I cleared my mind of everything except the task at hand. Carefully, I looped her arm around my neck, already knowing her balance would be next to none. I helped her stand, her body weight hanging heavily against my side. I tried not to grunt in effort as I lifted some of the weight off of her feet. Her head rolled to rest on my shoulder. Her hair tickled my face, spilling down in front of her. She was so weak. So freaking helpless and childlike in this state. Who could do this to any other human being and then rape her?

  That was the moment I started to hate Brad.

  It was slow, hard work getting her down the stairs, but I did it. Mostly by sheer, stubborn determination not to let that bastard get the best of either of us, and a little bit by coaching Clare when and which foot to step down on.

  I thanked my lucky stars when I spotted Cam and Freddie by the bar. Thankfully, they came to me when I waved them over. And when I announced that we were leaving, now, they didn’t ask any questions. You know a party has gotten really crazy when no one even notices the practically unconscious head cheerleader being led out by a group of junior art nerds. How in the hell could the adults be so unaware of what all their kids were up to these days? Crazy world we lived in.

  When we got outside, Cam told me she was pretty sure she’d seen Clare arrive at the party with Brad. And yes, he had a car. God, I hoped he drove it drunk and wrapped it around a tree. Maybe if we were lucky, he’d kill himself in the process.

  Freddie was kind enough to help me lay Clare across the backseat. He put her head in his lap so she wouldn’t get a concussion on the bumpy way home on top of everything else.

  I took out his keys when a frightening thought hit me. My eyes widened. “Cam, do you know where Clare lives?” I squeaked.

  Cam stared back at me blankly, not seeming to have a clue.

  “What about you, Freddie?” I said hopefully.

  He shook his head remorsefully at me in the rearview mirror.

  “We both know where she used to live before she got too cool to acknowledge our existence,” Cam murmured bitterly.

  Crap. Now what? I put the car into drive. I was suddenly very glad I had a good relationship with my parents. Well, good enough for what I had to do next.

  I DROPPED off my two inebriated friends at their respective houses. Neither of them seemed concerned about talking their way past their parents. Huh. If I’d shown up at my house that trashed, my mother would’ve had my head on a platter. I promised Cam I would give her car back to her Monday. She would be passed out tomorrow with a hangover, anyway.

  And then there were two. I sighed heavily, turning around to go home while Clare remained unconscious in the backseat. I tried to drive as carefully as I could, but still I heard an occasional groan from the backseat. I winced when we hit a massive pothole just yards from my house.

  The scary part was, she didn’t even move her head to look and see what had just happened, even though she practically caught air. Asshole! Asshole! Asshole! just kept running through my mind. All I could seem to think about were different and colorful ways to describe the depth of Brad’s stupidity.

  I turned onto my street and pulled to a stop in front of the long walkway to our front door. I put the car in park, taking a deep breath. Even if my parents threw a fit, I owed it to Clare to let her crash someplace safe until morning. I got out of the car, circling around to try to pull her upright.

  She complained in incomprehensible mumbles, but I got the gist of her wanting to be left alone. She would freeze to death if I left her in the backseat of Cam’s car all night, though.

  “We’re almost home, Clare, just stay awake for two minutes, okay?” I soothed. “Do what I tell you to, and I promise I’ll leave you alone and let you sleep after that.”

  I was relieved when she nodded her head ever so slightly to indicate she’d heard me and would attempt to cooperate with this exercise of getting her inside. Just like we had at the party, I helped her stay upright. It took some fumbling at the door, but eventually I got my key to catch on the lock. We stumbled through the living room and up the stairs.

  I helped her onto my bed, where she collapsed in a heap. I actually had to straighten out her arms and legs for her. God, thinking of what Brad would have done to her in this state made my skin crawl.

  I took off her strappy heels. It wouldn’t help either of us if she managed to rip my sheets because of her taste in shoes. I turned her on her side so she wouldn’t choke to death or suffocate if she puked and propped a pillow behind her to keep her there. Then, carefully, I pulled the blankets up over her.

  I think the scariest part of that night was just how helpless she was. It made me shiver. Once she was taken care of, I trudged downstairs, bracing myself to face some serious crap.

  I knocked on my parents’ bedroom door, the sound of a late-night show on their TV coming faintly from behind it. My mom opened the door, glasses perched on her nose and a book in her hand. I glanced past her. Luckily, my dad was already asleep, most likely after his usual Saturday night bender.

  Mom put a finger to her lips when she saw my face and led me into her office down the hall. She closed the door quietly, no doubt trying not to wake my dad up. Not that a marching band would’ve done the trick once he’d gotten deep into a bottle of scotch.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked sympathetically. My mom really was a great lawyer. She knew how to get anyone to talk, including me.

  I took a deep breath, taking a minute to sort out my thoughts. “Mom, there’s a girl in my room upstairs. I’m pretty sure she got drugged at the party, and I was wondering if she could stay here tonight to sleep it off.” I added in a rush, not wanting to give her a chance to say no, “I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom and drive her home in the morning.”

  She took a moment to respond, obviously taken off guard. “If she was drugged, then we should get her to a hospital tonight so they can do testing and catch it before the drug leaves her system. Do you know who did it?” Her eyes were piercing, even though they were heavy with lack of sleep.

  I should’ve known she would jump immediately to the legal implications of what I’d said. Suddenly, the shot glass in my purse, still over my shoulder, felt like it weighed a ton. I’d known what had happened was a big deal, but the enormity of my interfering in Brad roofie-ing Clare slammed into me even harder no
w. Was I willing to make a police statement? To testify against Brad? To drag Clare into the middle of a criminal investigation without her having any say in the matter at all?

  Thing was, stuff like this happened to girls all the time. And from what I knew of kids my age, they rarely wanted to drag adults into it, let alone the police. It was stupid to keep their silence and was rooted in even more stupid fears, but it was also the code we teens lived by. If I wanted to be one of them, I had to play by their rules.

  I shook my head slowly, decision made. Now to talk my mom down off the legal bridge. “I think there’s more going on with her than just being drugged. The guy who did it has something on her. Something he’s holding over her. I don’t know what it is, but I’m pretty sure she would refuse to take a blood test if she were conscious. Can we just not get involved?”

  It felt weird trying to talk my mom out of pursuing one serious situation because a more serious one likely existed. I looked at her pleadingly, silently trying to convince her to stay out of it.

  She stared at me long and hard, surprise evident on her face. Her expression passed through skeptical to thoughtful to resigned. “I’m going to trust your judgment on this, Raimi. Do what you need to. But don’t hesitate to come to me again if you need help.”

  And with that, my mom turned around and left me alone in the room. I stared after her for a minute. She was really the best mom ever. I reminded myself to tell her that tomorrow. In the meantime, I’d better check on my impromptu houseguest. I walked back upstairs, suddenly feeling dead tired. Drained.

  Clare was still out cold and hadn’t moved a muscle. I’d done everything I could for her. I grabbed an old T-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and headed down the hall. No guest bedroom had probably ever felt more welcoming to anyone.

  LIGHT STREAMED in, slanting with midmorning. I squinted at the open window, disoriented. The minute the events of last night hit me, I sprang out of bed and sprinted to my room. My bed was empty, a yellow sticky note in the center of my pillow. I scanned it quickly.