by Cynthia Hart
Kaleb catches up with me after class one day and asks me if he can buy me a beer. Reminiscent of our first night together, we walk together to a nearby bar, not engaging in much chat on our way. We sit down, each with a pint in front of us. He’s only had a few sips, but it seems to loosen his tongue.
“I thought we were supposed to be friends, Clara,” he opens abruptly.
“Well, that’s kind of a non-sequitur,” I say, not sure how else to respond.
“Seriously, though, I just want to understand why you’re being so cold to me! I feel like I’m being super respectful of you and I’m not asking for anything but you to be nice to me.” He looks sad. And honestly kind of pathetic.
The way he’s talking rubs me the wrong way, so I’m not particularly diplomatic in my answer, “Kaleb, you have no idea what I’m going through right now. Not much more than two weeks ago I was brutally attacked and could have been killed. My best friend still hasn’t recovered. And you need me to be nice to you? God, I am so sorry that you feel like I’m just a tiny bit cold. Try to have some empathy.”
He sighs in frustration and runs his hands through his hair, “Fuck, I wasn’t trying to fight. I just wanted you to know how I’ve been feeling. I want to be there for you! I want to help!”
“Maybe the best way for you to help right now is to stay away from me,” I say, and leave without finishing my drink.
Chapter 15
Kaleb and I are sparring in a group class. I’m twisting and spinning, feeling powerful and in control. We haven’t talked much since our little meeting at the bar. I do regret speaking to him a bit harshly, but he was thinking way too much about himself and needed to understand better where I was at. He has taken a step back though, and we stopped our private lessons. This is our first time sparring, and I know he’s going easy on me, and the whole point of this is to show me all my weak points, but it still feels powerful to go up against someone who is both significantly bigger than me and much more skilled.
The other way in which I feel powerful is that that night is almost all the way back. Finally, most of that night is mine again. I remember the men yelling at Ana and me, calling us sluts. I remember not being able to keep my mouth shut, and telling them where they could shove it. I remember them surrounding us, blocking all escape. They smelled rancid, like days of drinking and pent up aggression. Their eyes shone with excitement at the prospect of showing us what happens to girls who talk back, to girls who walk alone at night, to girls who dress in short skirts. I remember, now, one of them getting in my face. Ana, who had been stonily silent up to that point, pushed him. Hard. While I stood there, unable to move or think. Back in the present moment, I spin a kick in Kaleb’s direction, his face rushing past me in a blur.
Something clicks into place, seeing his face blur past me, mostly obscured. I remember how he almost seemed familiar the first time we met and different times when looking at him reminded me of something, but exactly what was just beyond my reach. That first time we met wasn’t really the first time, was it?
Everything suddenly falls apart. The pieces finally fitting together.
He was there. Kaleb. I remember his face in the circle of jeerers. He was one of our attackers... He was there as they pummeled me on the ground, as they were an inch away from raping me. He was there as my best friend was knocked out. He could have been the one who hit Ana hard enough that she still hasn’t woken up… Why was he there? How was he there? How was he both there, and here now? I know that the two things are physically possible, yet I can’t fit the two images together, it seems impossible, incongruous. How can he have hurt me, and now be helping me? My mind is spinning. I hear my name being echoed around me. I look up. My ears are somehow blocked, and I only see a circle of people looking down at me in concern. I’m on the ground, once again, without knowing quite how I ended up there. I vow to myself that it will be the last time.
I push myself to my feet despite a throbbing head and walk to the cubbies where we keep our stuff. I shoulder my backpack and start to leave, refusing to make eye contact with anyone or respond to offers of help and confused demands to know what happened.
“Clara! Hey!” I hear from behind me. Kaleb’s voice. He touches my shoulder. All my restraint goes into not punching him in the throat. “What’s wrong?” he looks so Goddamned concerned, but it’s all an act. He’s a fake; he doesn’t care about anything but himself.
I feel a burning where he put his hand on me, and my stomach rolls over with disgust and contempt. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” I growl through clenched teeth, at the same time backing away. His face looks confused and hurt, but for once I don’t care. “I know, Kaleb. You were there.” I don’t wait to see his face another second, or hear what he has to say. All I can do is run.
I run all the way home, or sprint, really. I collapse on my floor, panting and crying. How dare he? Every interaction we ever had is coming back to me now, painted over with shades of inky black betrayal. I’m having a tough time seeing through all the anger I feel. Everything he said, every kiss, every lingering look, and touch. I shiver in disgust remembering all the times and ways we touched. That I could feel so close to a human so vile is beyond me... Even the first time we met, I’m remembering, he gave me that strange look. That bastard recognized me from the very beginning! It was all a front, all to assuage his guilty conscious. I’m just so confused, he didn’t seem like a treacherous person. He didn’t seem like every step was calculated to deceive. It just goes to show exactly how skilled he was. Or maybe exactly how stupid and naive I was.
Everything is clear now, this is what really happened: I left the bar with Ana sometime after midnight, but we separate at the door. I’ve walked a short ways, when she runs up behind me, deciding that she doesn’t want to go home with the guy she met, in the end. She’s planning on sleeping at my place. We’re about halfway there, the streets quiet, when we see a group of men. We keep silent, eyes fixed straight ahead and quicken our step. They yell things at us, asking if we’d “like to have some fun” and commenting on how we’re dressed, that we are sluts. I can’t help it, I turn towards them and tell them to fuck off. I didn’t realize just how close they were to me, and they quickly surround us, some coming out of the shadows ahead of us. Five men, large, in their late twenties and thirties. Drunk. I can’t see all of their faces clearly, but I can see Kaleb’s, a hoodie obscuring some of his features, but he’s there. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s blocking my escape. I look around frantically, no one is around to help. It doesn’t occur to me to scream. One of them comes close to my face, whispers “I should teach you a lesson.” I stand there, like an idiot, when Ana reaches over and pushes him in the chest. He stumbles but doesn’t fall. When he’s regained his balance, he laughs derisively. Waking up to the situation, we’re in a bit of a mess. Not accounting for the fact that we are outnumbered and both slightly inebriated, I reach out and punch him straight in the nose. It doesn’t land quite right, though, and it makes my hand ache. He looks surprised for a second, then laughs. He pushes me to the ground, and I fall easily like I’m filled with only air. Ana is nowhere in sight, I look around frantically, and finally find her: she’s prone on the ground, clearly unconscious. I think I must be missing a couple of minutes here because I can’t remember much of an actual fight. I still don’t remember getting cut. I have no idea what happened to her, I didn’t see it. I start to push myself up, I have to help her, but the circle closes tighter. They start to kick me. One of them pulls off my skirt, leaving me in my thin black tights. I manage to stand up, but a hand reaches out, knocking me against a concrete wall. I crumble to the ground. Everything is mostly black, except for the brief moment where I regain consciousness. I see Kaleb’s face above me. “GET AWAY FROM ME,” I scream, finally able to find my voice. Then it’s black again, until the hospital.
The full memory doesn’t bring the closure I expected. I just feel angry and betrayed. It all feels so unfair and confusing. Finally, I remember every
thing I saw, but it doesn’t change the fact of the betrayal that happened. I can’t wrap my mind around someone being so purely awful, someone being a part of such an attack, and then having the nerve to try to date me? Having the nerve to sleep with me? I punch my pillow and all but scream “I hate him I hate him I hate him” over and over again until finally, I fall into a fitful sleep.
I wake up between dreams throughout the night. First, I’m on a bus, traveling somewhere far away. We drive along a coastal road, the waves violent and high, they threaten to overtake us. I know, as things are just known in dreams, that Kaleb is behind me, chasing me. I know he will eventually find me. The bus stops and I know that if I stay on it, he will catch me, so I go to leave. As I stand up, I see Ana lying in the aisle, passed out. If I leave, Kaleb will get her. But I go anyways, deciding to leave her at his mercy. I leave the bus, but the waves are too much, they overtake me, and I can only assume that I drown.
The next dream I have, Kaleb and I are in the middle of having sex. At first, it’s just normal sex, me on top, we’re both moaning in pleasure as I move up and down. It isn’t disagreeable. Suddenly, the scene changes, and we’re in a dark, gloomy room on an uncomfortable bed. I try to sit up and realize that both my hands and feet are tied to the bedposts. Kaleb is standing by the bed, looking down at me in disgust. His face transforms into something grotesque, an animal, a monster, “Slut” the monster spits on me, and then unzips his pants.
I wake up feeling more tired than when I fell asleep and covered in sweat. I shake my head, trying to erase the disturbing dreams from my psyche. I reach over to check my phone, wondering if there is any news about Ana.
I have 2 missed calls and five texts from Kaleb. For him, this is a lot. He even left a voicemail. I don’t listen to it. I delete the texts without reading them. Just seeing his name makes me feel sick and brings way too many dark thoughts to my mind to handle. It makes me recall the night of the attack and the role he played, but more than that it makes me remember the other night we had, the night of love. The taste of betrayal is bitter in my mouth.
I decide to try to forget him as best I can. I block his number, delete all of our messages. I cry. I consider going to the police. Despite me taking a few steps back, I really felt like we could have had something, eventually. So I cry for the loss of what could have been, I cry for what never was, and I cry purely for the fact that someone so awful can exist on this earth. I cry because I feel violated. Why couldn’t he just stay away from me? Why did he have to say yes when I asked him for coffee? Why did he have to take me home? My only response to these questions is that he must be a truly horrible person, with no regard for anyone but himself. It all must have been so calculated... It’s impossible to wrap my mind around, the desire he must have felt to violate me a second time.
I force myself to go out the next day because life must go on. I take all my books to a local coffee shop and set myself up to study there for the day. I’m working on an essay on The Handmaid’s Tale, which seems fitting, somehow. The story of women being completely disregarded and taken advantage of is relevant to my life right now.
I am deep in my writing ‘zone’ when the chair in front of me pulls out, and a muscled frame slides into it. I’m frozen in my seat, unable to look up. I see two broad hands, face down on the table, fingers spread wide, knuckles white with tension. These are begging hands.
I feel like I’m going to be sick, or like I’m going to choke on my own tongue. I can’t imagine what he thinks he can say to me, how he plans on explaining himself. His mere nerve to show up fills me with anger.
I look at him. Against my will, my eyes fill with tears. I can’t find the energy to scream, to tell him he’s the last person I want to see. Instead, I look him in the eyes and try to communicate all of my pain, all of my disgust, with just a look. He withers under my gaze, but still finds the nerve to speak.
“Clara,” my name hangs in the air between us. He says it with so much tenderness that it makes me think I’m going to puke. He doesn’t have the right to say my name like that, he doesn’t have the right to say my name at all. “I think you misunderstood something in what happened… can you tell me what you remember?”
“I don’t owe you anything, Kaleb. I should go to the police. You deserve to be punished for what you did.” I fill my voice with as much bile as I can muster.
“You don’t, Clara, but you do owe yourself the truth!” His voice is full of sorrow and regret. “Try to think back, in that circle of men, do you really see my face there? Or is your brain just filling in a gap with something familiar? What do you remember, Clara?”
I try, but my throat is clogged with tears. I want so badly to believe him, to trust someone, but it’s hard to get the words out. “I saw you in that circle, I feel sure of it. I remember laying on the ground, and you looking down on me. I remember yelling at you to get away from me.”
He sighs. “Clara, I wasn’t in that circle of men. I came after. I had no part in what happened to you.” He is begging me to believe him. But, how can I? The only really trustworthy person is me, isn’t it?
Tears are streaming down my face. This is too hard. “Are you trying to gaslight me, Kaleb? I remember your face! You looked familiar to me that first day of class, and I know you recognized me! Why are you denying this? I don’t even care about myself anymore, do you realize that my best friend is in a fucking coma because of you?!”
“Clara, I was there, but you have it all wrong! I think you were already passed out when I arrived. Can I tell you my side?”
I can’t do anything but nod, it’s hard to say no to his pleading. I can’t imagine how he’ll explain himself, but there’s still a seed of hope inside of me.
“I was walking home from a party when I saw a group of guys around someone lying on the ground in the middle of them, and another person lying on the ground a little off to the side. I approached slowly, not wanting to alert them to my presence, and saw that it was two women, both unconscious. They were still kicking you, and, as I got closer, I heard them discussing other things. Worse things. They were actually arguing amongst themselves over who would get to “go first.” They didn’t notice me, so I retreated a bit and called 911. Black belt or not, I know my limits. I can’t take five guys at once, and I didn’t know if they had weapons. The operator said they’d be there soon, she told me not to get involved. But I didn’t know what they would do with an extra ten minutes. I walked back towards them and told them to back away from the two of you. They laughed at me, saying they’d take me down, too. They threatened me with a knife, saying who knows what would happen if I approached. I told them the police were on their way, that I had already called. That freaked them out, and they ran off.”
I’m shaking my head. “If that were true, you would have stayed and waited with me. You would have given descriptions to the police. You wouldn’t have run away like a coward.” I feel lost, it’s impossible to know what to trust.
“This is where your memory was right, though. I came up to you, sat on the ground, and put your head in my lap because it was getting all wet from the pavement. It was probably too intimate of a thing to do, but I acted without thinking. I rested my hand on your head. I heard the sirens coming, and was going to wait with you and tell them what I saw. But the sirens woke you up. And, understandably, you saw a strange man looking down at you and freaked out. That’s when you screamed at me to go away. Clara.. I was scared that you wouldn’t remember what happened correctly, that you’d think I did something to hurt you. Basically, exactly what did happen. So I got scared and ran away. I never imagined your memory would have been so spotty, or I would have come forward and told the police what I saw.”
I’m feeling rather speechless. What he says fits. And makes sense. But at the same time… I don’t know if I should believe him. Why wouldn’t he just tell me the truth? I decide to ask, “And when I showed up at your gym? When you decided to fucking have sex with me? None of those moments seeme
d good to tell me the truth?” I’m getting worked up again. Even if his story is true, why wouldn’t he just tell me what had happened? Especially after the connection we had. How could he stand lying to my face?
“I wanted to, but then… I don’t know, I don’t have a good excuse! Everything started moving so quickly, and I liked you so much, and it seemed like such a weird coincidence, even though it wasn’t, really, and I was scared you wouldn’t believe me since I knew your memory was weird… I remember you told me how the doctors said it was better if you remembered by yourself. My decision was more selfish than that, though. I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to know you. “
“Wait wait wait, did you just say us meeting wasn’t a coincidence? Can you go back to that?” My tone is steely. I knew all of this was too strange to have happened randomly.
“Um, I mean, it kind of was, but, well,” he pauses, looking guilty. It feels kind of good to watch him squirm. “I put my gym’s card in your bag. It was a last-minute decision. I just thought, maybe you’d want to learn some moves, after what happened. And then, also, I would get to see you again.” He smiles sheepishly. “Win-win, no?”