by Hart, Alana
We dance for a while. Brad holds me on the dance floor and shouts in my ear above the music blasting out of their sound system. I've no idea what I'm dancing to, but it's nice to be close to Brad and not to be alone at a party, not knowing anyone, to be part of the throng and not standing on the sidelines.
He gets me another drink and we sit on big floor cushions at the edge of the room, watching the others dancers and trying to keep our legs and feet from getting in the way. It's really crowded. He kisses me and we make out a little like other couples around the dance floor. I can feel the punch going to my head, but I'm okay.
More people arrive and pile in. It's jam-packed in there.
“How many people did you invite?” I ask.
“I don't know. We just told everyone we knew. Maybe they invited others.”
It's too crowded now and I've had enough to drink. The party is going to go on forever. I look around for Chelsea to see if she is ready to go home, but she's in the corner kissing some guy I don't know. I'll just have to go on my own. I don't know if Brad will leave the party to walk me home, but it's not far.
“I'm going home,” I yell in his ear, “before it gets any more crowded.”
“Don't go. I'll have to stay and help the guys in case there's any trouble. But I don't want you walking back on your own.”
I give in and stay. It's nice that he cares about me.
“Why don't we go somewhere quieter?” he says.
I know he means his room. I hesitate. I'm not ready for anything more with Brad. Someone steps on my foot and I yell. The dancer apologizes, but I know I'll have a bruise there tomorrow.
“Come on,” he says. “We can't stay here.”
We make our way through the crowd. Chelsea sees me hand in hand with Brad as she lifts her head from her new acquaintance and winks.
Am I really going to Brad's room? I tell myself we're just going to make out a bit where it's quiet. Kisses and nothing more. Yes, that's all I want.
It's dark in Brad's room, though there's weak light from the street lamp outside filtering in through the curtains.
He sits down on the bed and pulls me to him. “It's much better in here. I've got you all to myself.”
He kisses me, his mouth seeking mine in the dark, and I kiss him back. I like him. I'm happy to be out of the noise and crowd but I'm still not sure I should be here. It worries me the way he’s pressing his body against mine, and we’re alone in his room. He starts undoing the buttons on my blouse.
“Don't. Anyone could come in.”
“Don't worry. They won't care.” And his mouth is on me again, stopping me from saying anything.
He has unclasped my bra somehow and his hands are on my breasts. I can't help but moan in response.
“You like that,” he says, smirking.
Someone bursts through the door. I pull my blouse closed, but it's too late. He saw us. I know he did.
“For fuck's sake, Charlie, get out of here,” Brad says.
Charlie is drunk. “Sorry, Natalie.” He’s slurring his words. “Oops, that's not Natalie is it? Smaller tits.”
“Who's Natalie?” I don't like the way this is sounding.
“Brad's girl. The noisy one. Kept me awake half the week.” Charlie sways against the bed, a bottle of vodka or something in his hand. He leers at me. The door shuts behind him, blocking out the sound of the party.
I get up, livid. All the time Brad has been taking me out, sweet-talking to me, kissing me, trying to get into my blouse, he had someone else.
He grabs hold of my arm. “Don't be like that, babe. Charlie doesn't know what he's saying. Natalie isn't here tonight. She had to go to some family thing or other. And she's always fucking studying. We can still have a good time. You were up for it two minutes ago.”
“Leave me alone.” There’s no way I’m staying here. “I'm going home.”
Charlie looks on. He doesn't seem to care that he's wrecked his friend's chances of ever dating me. I'm just some girl he doesn't know and doesn't care about. And he knows Brad probably doesn't care either.
“I never said I wasn't seeing anyone else,” Brad says. “We can still have fun. A whole lot of fun.”
I try to pull my arm free, but he won't let me go.
“Oh, a struggler, I like that.”.
“Stop it! I'm going home.”
“You're not going anywhere,” he says. “Not until I'm finished with you.”
I gasp, fear taking my breath away. I don't know him at all. His face has changed. He pulls me back so I fall on the bed and wrenches my blouse open again where I'm still trying to hold it closed.
“Get off me!” I struggle and kick.
“Hold her legs, Charlie,” he says. “This cock-teaser is not going anywhere...”
CHAPTER 25
MADISON
They say one of the worst things when you are raped is how dirty you feel. And it's true. When they finally let me go, I grab my clothes and run home through the night, not caring that I have no shoes, no purse. I can't go back for them no matter how much the cold gravel hurts my feet. My keys are still in my pocket. I can get in!
I scrub myself clean in the shower. I can't stop shaking or crying. I long for Chelsea to get back to help me. I want to call her but I don't think she'll hear her phone at the party and then I realize mine is in my purse anyway. I can't call anyone.
Chelsea doesn't make it home that night to see me at my worst. It's morning when she returns to find me shivering in bed under my blanket. She feels guilty for introducing me to Brad, but it's not her fault. It's my fault for trusting him, for trusting any guy really. None of them are worth it.
I want her to help me go to the police.
“Of course I'll help you if that's what you want. But are you sure that's a good idea?” she says. “Every girl who does that always seems to suffer for it.”
“I can't let them get away with it.”
“But think about it,” she says. “Their kind always have great lawyers, and you don't have any evidence. You washed that away. They'll say you were drinking. That you went to his room. That you led Brad on. They might not believe you, and you'll have to face Brad and Charlie in court. Have your word doubted. It's two against one. Your reputation will be shot for nothing.”
So I don't report it, and they get off scot free.
But I don’t. I can't get away from what they did. I live with it every day. I live with it because I can't stop thinking about it. I live with it when I have to get tested for pregnancy and disease. I live with it because they are still around and I'm terrified of seeing them again. I live with it because I can't sleep. That's when the nightmares come.
I wake up night after night in a cold sweat after reliving what they did to me as if I were still there in that room. I see them put a chair under the door handle to keep it closed, and experience again how it felt when they held me down to stop me struggling and stuffed my panties in my mouth to stop me making a noise and laughed at the sight.
I have to relive how they treat me as if I'm nothing. A worthless piece of meat. “Stick it in that cunt, Charlie,” Brad urges his friend after he has taken his turn. I always hated that word “cunt” and when I hear it now, I feel physically sick.
They say that one of the worst things is how dirty you feel, but there are other things worse than that. You have to live with the feeling of powerlessness that they did this to you and there wasn't a damn thing you could do about it. I can never be free of that.
***
I struggle on at college. I try and concentrate on my studies, but I can't. It's no surprise to me when I fall behind.
CHAPTER 26
LUKE
God knows what happened to my phone in the crash. I don't have Madison's number anymore, but I'll find her anyway. Mom says she hasn't seen her. I don't know why she didn't visit me when I was so sick. When I get out of hospital, I go to the beach house, but it's all closed up. Of course it is. It's well past summer.
<
br /> I knock on a few doors and find Jill to see if she has a number for Madison. And she still has it in her phone, though she says she hasn't heard from Madison for a while. I call the number Jill gave me but it doesn't seem to be in service.
I have Madison's address in Greenwich, so I find the number and call. I know I'll get short shrift from her mother, but I have to try.
“Madison is at college.” Her mother talks like it’s beneath her to speak to me. “If you think she'll want someone like you calling her now, you're very much mistaken.”
“Please give her a message anyway, Mrs. Collins. Tell her—”
She hangs up on me.
I call the college too, but they won't give me any information.
I give up then. There's no point. I know if Madison wanted to see me she would have been in touch. She knows where I live. Perhaps her mom was right about her, and I was just a diversion at the beach. It's not much fun having a summer romance with a guy in a coma.
She must have moved on. I can't quite believe it. I thought we had something together, and she didn't even visit me once. Or perhaps she did, but no one saw her. Maybe she came and was told ‘only family visitors’ or something. I don't know. Whether she came or not, she didn't bother to keep in touch.
But I can't deal with it anymore. I need to get my life back on track. I'm going to Chicago this week. It's high time I got to work and made something of myself. It's time to focus on that and forget about women for a while, or at least the one called Madison with dark hair and eyes that are not quite blue and not quite green who broke my heart.
CHAPTER 27
MADISON
I don't go back to college after the Christmas break. I can't bear it. Mom says I have to go back but I dig in my heels. Nothing she says can make me go back. And what was I doing there anyway? It was just the thing everyone was doing.
Mom keeps telling me I've wasted every penny they paid for my education, that I'll never get that chance again, that I'm stupid and ungrateful. But still I refuse to go back. I don't tell her why. I know she won't believe it wasn't my fault, and I'm not strong enough to deal with the things she might say.
She's as bad as ever. I want to mooch around the house but Christmas with her is so bad I can't stand it anymore. I get a job in a florist’s but Valentine’s Day and all the red roses are nearly the end of me. I know I'll never have that kind of love where twenty-four red roses turn up at my door. And when a new art gallery opens on a little side street, I'm glad to move there.
Michelle, the owner, lives above her gallery. She's friendly, but she doesn't ask too many questions. I like that. We get along well together. It's calm and peaceful at the gallery. I love the art work Michelle chooses to sell, and she says I have a good eye when I make a few suggestions about how we hang the work of a new artist to present it in the best possible way.
I haven't picked up a pencil or brush for years. I never did manage it that summer with Luke, but as life calms down and summer comes around again, I start to think I might have a go. I buy paper, canvas, paint and brushes. Working with all the pictures inspires me. I want to paint and draw.
Mom doesn't like my renewed interest. “Is that what dropping out is all about? I suppose you think I'll let you go to art school because you didn’t like college. Think again.”
I don't let her put me off this time. I like to take my pad and pencil to work, and when it’s quiet at lunchtime, I draw.
Michelle is very encouraging when she sees my early efforts. “Why don't you take a class?” she says.
So I draw and paint and work in the art gallery, despite Mom and her never-ending negativity. And I'm okay. At least I'm okay when I'm awake and not reliving what happened to me at college. I know I need to see a therapist about that, but it's awkward. How would I explain it to Mom? And I don't have much money to spare. I won't give up my art classes. I can't. I love them. Or buying paint and canvasses.
I'm saving for the deposit for my own place. I'm starting to think I'd like to live on my own eventually, somewhere large enough where I can have a studio. I know there'll be a time when I don't need the presence of anyone else to feel safe. Ironic that living with my crazy mother makes me feel safer than living on my own. I guess all I really want these days is to feel safe again. And not to have nightmares.
CHAPTER 28
MADISON
***FOUR YEARS LATER***
Michelle is a great boss. I'm so pleased I found the job at the art gallery. I can hardly believe I've been there for over four years. I never want to work anywhere else.
My mother mocks my lack of ambition. “If you'd stuck it out at college you'd have had a great career by now.” But my job makes me happy so I don't care what she says.
I hardly ever have nightmares now. It's true, time does heal. Or at least it puts a mighty great bandage over everything that you don't want to remember.
I no longer think every guy is out to rape me. But I don't know how I'd be on a date or alone in a room with a guy. I prefer them in broad daylight and when they are not coming on to me.
Sometimes the guys at the art school ask me out, but I always refuse. How can I even think about dating? The thought of some guy kissing me, touching me, and pinning me down and not letting me go makes me shudder. No matter how nice some of the guys are on the surface, and no matter how much they chat at coffee and seem like okay guys, who knows what they are like under that veneer? I thought Brad was nice too until he wasn't.
No. It's safer just to work and paint and draw and keep away from relationships. Mom has given up going on about my lack of love life. I think she's given up on me altogether. She's says I'm a hopeless daughter. She never fails to criticize me about anything and everything.
Every six months or so, I take one of my days off to go and see Dad. He doesn't bother to take time off for me. There's a regular pattern to these meetings. He takes me for lunch. I tell him about the art gallery or what Mom has done or said. He gives me money for “a treat.” It pays for my fare and there's a bit left over to add to my “escape from Mom” savings. And he shows me pictures of his new family.
His daughter is nearly five years old now and he has a baby son too. He seems proud of them. They are nice looking children. I hate them, though it's not their fault that my father dotes on them and not on me. Perhaps I should see a therapist about that too. I'm a mess. I know that. But I get along and I'm content in my own way.
It's time for me to meet up with Dad again soon. I think about saying to him that I’m too busy at the gallery this time, but I can't quite bring myself to cut off every tie. I keep hoping one day, though I know it's ridiculous and stupid of me, that he'll look at me and say, “I'm proud of you, you know, Madison. I don't ever say it but I am. You're strong. You've put up with your mother all these years. You're my first child and you'll always be my favorite.”
CHAPTER 29
LUKE
It's ten to twelve. I'm five minutes late and rushing through the foyer of the Bernstein building when I get a call. It's my assistant, Julia. My next appointment is cancelled. She's been trying to reach me. I've had back to back meetings all morning. Too bad. I tell her not to reschedule. I only granted this Monday lunchtime meeting because I knew I'd be on this side of the city. If they don't appreciate how busy I am, they can forget it. I can use the time anyway. Catch up on some work for my next deal. It's a big one. Even bigger than the last.
I turn away from reception, where I was about to announce my arrival to the pretty blonde sitting behind the desk, and bump right into some guy.
“Baroncini,” he says. “I don't think we've met. Stephen Collins. Highfield Finance.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it and look up, hearing a gasp beside him.
“Madison,” I say, as smoothly as I can. “It's been a long time.” Of course, I should have picked up on the name. In my defense, it's a pretty common name. He must be her father.
“Yes,” she says. “It has.” I can see she's rattled, bu
t she doesn't look ashamed or anything about deserting me all those years ago as I lay in hospital. Maybe it hasn't even crossed her mind to feel guilty.
“You two know each other?” her father asks me. “Please join us for lunch if you have time. I've been reading about you in the business pages for a while. It would be a pleasure.”
“I'd be delighted,” I say. I can't wait to find out whether Madison will cook up some excuse or not mention the past at all. I wonder how embarrassed she will be when I bring it up. I really would like to know why she ran out on me and couldn't be bothered to stick around to see if I was alive or dead.
There's no way I'll give her the satisfaction of showing it bothered me. But shit, it still rankles. I swipe those thoughts aside. I glance at her finger. No ring. She's not found some rich fucker and married him then. I wonder if there's anyone sniffing around her these days. She looks as good as ever.
CHAPTER 30
MADISON
I'm finding it hard to swallow my food with Luke sitting there talking to my father. It feels as if a stranger is sitting there wearing an expensive-looking business suit. Luke has broadened out in the shoulders and there's a little scar on his cheek that wasn't there before. Like he got in some kind of fight. He must have tried to pick up some other guy's girl or something, or maybe he did one deal too many in the wrong part of town.
He seems to have done well, though. Dad read about him? Wanted to meet him? I guess if I ever read the business press, I might have noticed his picture too. Looks like he made it in the end. Just like he said he would.
You have to be ruthless for that. Ruthless like he was when he left me. I can feel my stomach knotting with the memory of how I felt then, that he couldn't even be bothered to let me know. Funny how that still hurts. God, I hate him for that.