“What do you think of the champagne?” he asked, handing me a glass flute.
“It’s the piss of the gods.” I put the flute to my lips and emptied it in one gulp.
“You never cease to impress me, little Caraway,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders. I don’t remember how long we stayed there on the edge of the balcony, talking and laughing over the revelry below.
Looking back, I wonder how things went so wrong. Did I laugh too loudly at his jokes? Did my eyes linger on his a second too long? I know now that I shouldn’t have left the party with him, but I doubt I could have done anything to avoid what was to come. Even if I could have foreseen the outcome, I was powerless. It was inevitable. I was under his spell.
I followed him and the scent of the cologne I had grown to crave. We climbed into a cab to get out of the rain. Clark and Vivi and everyone else we were leaving behind didn’t even cross my mind.
We arrived outside Adam’s home, which was on the sixth floor of a stately brick apartment building. We didn’t say much as we stepped through the front doors and into the elevator. The boldness from the champagne began to wear off. I could feel the tingle of nerves as we stood there silently while the elevator climbed slowly upward floor by floor.
He led me down a carpeted hall to a large wooden door that stood above a black welcome mat. “You’ll have to forgive the mess,” he said, unlocking the door and stepping inside. “The girls can be little hurricanes.”
Adam fixed me a drink while I looked at the photographs hanging on the walls. His wife and daughters were spending the night with Adam’s parents-in-law outside the city, but their beaming smiles surrounded me in this home that was theirs, not mine. The only thing that seemed sad in this room was the lonely Christmas tree standing in one corner, unlit and decorated in colour-coordinated ornaments.
“I’m not sure if anyone else is coming,” he said as he handed me a glass. “I guess this happens with after-parties. Everyone gets all excited and then loses steam. We might be the last men standing.”
If I had believed there would actually be an after-party, I probably would have left then. Instead, we clinked our glasses together and took a seat on the leather couch.
I don’t recall the sequence of events that led to his mouth being on my mouth. There was no smooth segue, no warning. Before I knew what was happening, I was pressed firmly between the hardness of his body and the softness of the leather. The smell of his cologne and the champagne on his breath was intoxicating.
He threw his tuxedo jacket to the floor and tore off his shirt before doing the same to mine.
It was when he began to undo my pants that I realized this had gone too far. My ears began to hum. I could feel the prick of one needle, then two.
“I’m sorry,” I said, smiling shyly. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Adam grinned at me. “What do you mean?”
“I’m really tired. I think I’m just going to head home.”
“You’re not going anywhere, little Caraway.”
The ringing in my ears became louder.
“Adam, you have a wife. You have two kids.”
His hand hit me against the face so unexpectedly that my body had no response, no reflex. I lay there frozen, the pain in my face spectacularly bright.
“You don’t get to talk about my family.” His tone simmered with disgust.
The shadow wrapped around me during everything that followed, warm and familiar like an old blanket. I found solace in its terror. As the needles spread throughout my body, I sank into the fear. My throat began to tighten — not by the hold of the shadow but by the hands of the man behind me as they closed around my neck. For once, the pain inside was overpowered by the pain outside.
I lay there, paralyzed, on the first morning of the new year as Adam reminded me that there is no escape from the darkness. No matter how much hope there may seem to be, life is deceitful. Happiness had fooled me.
His breath was warm against my ear. “This is everything you ever wanted, isn’t it?”
• • • • •
I returned home later that morning and washed myself in the shower for hours, scrubbing until my skin was raw, until I could no longer smell him on my body. I sat on the tiled floor and let the water rain over my head, realizing it was futile. He was inside of me now.
The days that followed were dark. I could not sleep. I seldom left my apartment. There was a deep, throbbing pain in my chest. The shadow visited often.
I kept myself busy by cleaning. I scrubbed the floors. I sanitized every surface. I washed the laundry, then washed it again. I put my tuxedo in a garment bag and dropped it off for dry cleaning. I never picked it up.
There were multiple messages on my phone from Vivi and Clark trying to locate me after I had vanished from the party. I responded by telling them I was fine.
I scrolled through friends’ posts online declaring their new year’s resolutions and flaunting their celebratory photos. I tortured myself with this outpouring of aspiration from such hopeful people, musing how I had been one of them such a short time ago.
On day four, Vivi showed up at my door unannounced.
“You look like shit,” she said as I opened the door. She was right. I did. Although my apartment was spotlessly clean and I was showering at least twice a day, the lack of sleep and nutrition was beginning to show on my ghostly face.
“Something terrible happened,” I said.
Vivi visited almost every day. I was equally relieved and disappointed to learn she had no advice to give me. She always had an opinion. As much as I didn’t want her telling me what I should be doing, it scared me that she had no idea.
The one thing she insisted on was that I talk to Clark. “He needs to know about this. He could help you.”
By February, the pain in my chest had become unbearable. I dug out a hammer from the bottom of my linen closet. I don’t know what was running through my mind except that I needed to do something. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, my pale skin glowing beneath the glare of the light bulbs. Both hands clutched the handle of the hammer and swung it toward my bare chest.
It wasn’t a hard swing, but it sent a wave of feeling that momentarily eclipsed the pain inside. I swung again, a little harder this time. Then again. My nerves flared in response to each blow, sending tendrils of relief throughout my body. Soon, my chest was crimson, the soreness smothering everything else.
Vivi screamed at me when she noticed the bruises a few days later, which had ripened into a rich purple colour like French wine. I didn’t have the energy to calm her down. Instead, I sat on the couch and watched her break down into tears.
“If you aren’t going to find help, I’m going to do it for you,” she said. It was a threat. “I will tell your parents. I will tell Clark. I will find Adam myself, and you don’t want to know what will happen then.”
“Please don’t do any of that,” I said.
“Then talk to someone. Talk to Dr. Dana. Talk to your family. I don’t know how to make you better, so you need to find someone who does.”
“I can’t go through all of that again,” I said. “I thought it was over. I thought I could move on, that it was behind me. I can’t go back now.”
“You’ve come a long way,” she said gently, kneeling in front of me with her hands clasped over mine. “You were able to put all of that in the past. You can do it again. You had help then, and you need help now. No one can do this alone.”
I invited Clark over the next day. I had not seen his face or heard his voice since the party. Even though I made a valiant effort to appear normal, he could tell there was something wrong as soon as I opened the door.
“How has work been?” I asked, forcing a trembling smile.
“Work? I’m not here to talk about work. Look, Coen, what’s going on? You’ve been avoiding our phone calls. No one has seen you in weeks. You need to tell me what’s wrong.”
He stood there in my kitchen,
staring at me as he waited for an answer. I didn’t know how to respond.
“Take a seat,” I said, gesturing to the dining table. “Let me get you a beer.”
“I don’t want a beer. I want you to talk to me.”
I sat across the table, placing a bottle in front of him and a glass of water in front of myself. Clark sat motionless and waited.
“Something bad happened,” I said finally.
He continued to stare.
“It involves Adam. On New Year’s Eve.”
“What happened? Vivi thought she saw you take off together. Did he try getting you to do drugs or something?”
“No. There were no drugs.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
“He told me that he invited some people over to his place for an after-party. I didn’t know where you or Vivi were. I was drunk. We both were. We took a cab together to his apartment.”
Clark squinted, not quite piecing together what was to come but sensing it was worse than he’d imagined.
“We got to his place and he told me that nobody else was coming, that everyone had bailed. I guess I should have left then, but I didn’t think I was in any danger. We were just drinking and talking when all of a sudden we were kissing. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t dislike it, but I also knew it was wrong. One thing led to another and he started to take off my pants. That’s when I stopped him. I told him that I had to go. I reminded him about his wife and his daughters. Then he hit me.”
Clark remained still and silent as he listened, hugging his chest with his arms. I could feel my body quivering as I spoke.
“I tried to get away. I pushed him off me and ran toward the door. He grabbed me. He was so strong. Then he — forced — himself on me.”
I drank from my glass until it was empty and waited for Clark to speak. Finally he said, “What are you saying? Are you saying that he forced you to have sex with him?”
I nodded.
“So you’re saying he raped you? Am I understanding this correctly? That you were raped?” His voice was louder.
I nodded again, my face burning with shame.
“I need you to speak, Coen!” he shouted.
“Yes. He raped me.”
He exhaled loudly and rubbed his temples with the palms of his hands. As incredible as the story might have seemed, he knew I wouldn’t have made it up. He took a deep breath and looked at me, his green eyes searching mine. “You kissed him willingly, right?”
My face felt warmer. “Yes, but why does that matter?”
“What you are saying could be very dangerous. It could be damaging to all of us. I’m just trying to get the facts straight.”
The pricking of the needles began, soft yet undeniable. I focused on drawing one breath at a time, inhaling then exhaling.
Clark looked down at the table as he clenched and unclenched his fists. After a minute or two of silence, he turned to me. “What do you want me to do about this?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Nothing. I just thought you should know.”
That was a lie. I wanted him to scream. I wanted him to be furious. I wanted him to hold me. I wanted him to beat Adam’s face until it was unrecognizable. Instead, he listened to me. He did nothing.
I watched Clark cradle his forehead in his hands. After what seemed like a long silence, he said, “You’re not going to go to the police, are you?”
“I don’t know. Should I?”
“They’ll never believe you. These types of charges are almost impossible to prove. Plus, this happened over a month ago. It would be his word against yours.”
“So you think I should just keep quiet.”
He cracked his knuckles before he continued. “I’m saying that pressing charges would likely make the situation worse. He’s a successful thirty-five-year-old man with a wife and children. I doubt he even has a speeding ticket on his record.”
I nodded. “You’re right. I should just keep quiet and let him victimize someone else. That’s what I should do, right?”
“Coen, listen to me. Do you really want to put yourself through that? You’d be interrogated by the police. You’d probably have to go to court. Your entire personal life would be on display to the public. Think about what that would do to you. Think about what that would do to Mom and Dad.”
It was harder to breathe, but I forced the voice out my mouth. “You only care about yourself, Clark. Don’t try to pretend like you worry about what would happen to me. You know you’d probably lose your job. You know this would be a blow to your reputation.”
“That’s bullshit. I’m trying to look out for you.”
I laughed so loudly and abruptly that Clark backed away from me in his seat. “I wish I could believe that.”
“You don’t make this easy,” he said. “You know that, right? Being your brother can be such a struggle. I’m sure being your father and mother is even harder. We have gone through so much for you. You don’t give us any gratitude. All we get is your resentment, your bitterness. I can understand that it’s not easy being you, but you’re going to learn one day that we are not the enemy.”
“You don’t know anything,” I said. It came out like a whisper. I didn’t recognize the voice.
“I know that you got drunk. I know that you got into a cab with a man you barely knew.”
“Stop it.”
“I know you found that man attractive. You went to his home. You kissed him. Then things went too far.”
“Shut up.”
“I don’t doubt that what he did was against your will. But it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t put yourself in that situation. Now what are we supposed to do about it?”
“I just want you to leave,” I said.
The only thing worse than the shadow is its chamber. Over the previous few weeks, it had pulled me into the darkness despite my resistance. Sometimes the door would be left ajar. Usually I would be able to emerge for some time before falling back in. It was after my meeting with Clark when I was pulled so deeply inside that I didn’t know if I would make it out again. I was so tired of fighting.
The chamber isn’t really a pit of darkness. The world around me looks the same except it’s clouded with smoke. The colours are duller. The light is softer. The sounds are either hushed or deafening. I could be in a room filled with laughing people and still be utterly alone — both physically there and mentally elsewhere, isolated from the warmth of the sun.
Nothing matters in the chamber. I stopped cleaning my apartment obsessively. Towers of dishes grew high in the sink while layers of dust slowly caked the countertops. I stopped responding to messages and invitations.
The dangerous thing about the chamber is that it’s not an entirely uncomfortable place to be. The pain is steady and numbing, making it easier to endure than living in constant fear of the shadow. There are no expectations to meet. No surprises. It strips away the costumes that I wear like armour. It allows me to weaken my resistance. I can stop fighting.
I forced myself to attend my mother’s birthday celebration at the house in Deep Cove. Before leaving for the event, I looked at my reflection in the bedroom mirror and was impressed with the person staring back at me. Besides the bags under his eyes, this person could pass for normal.
It took every ounce of energy within me, but I spent the evening being as charming as I have ever been. I smiled as I greeted the guests. I laughed at their jokes. I listened to their stories. By their approving expressions, I could tell I had them fooled. None of them — my aunt Sheila, my cousin Taylor, Mom, Dad — would have known I couldn’t pull myself out of bed most days.
Despite the show, I wanted them to notice. I wanted someone to see through me, to pull me aside and ask me what was wrong. I would have told them everything.
At one point in the night, Clark and I found ourselves alone on the deck overlooking the inlet. “How are you doing?” he asked with a glint of concern in his eyes. He kept his voice low, as if we were shar
ing a secret.
“I’m doing well,” I responded, smiling broadly to prove it.
It was a lie. I felt trapped.
“Seriously,” he said. “Coen, how are you doing? Our last conversation did not go well. I’m sorry for what I said.”
“Really, I’m fine. You were right.”
“You seem like you’re doing okay, but I can never really tell with you.”
“I decided to put that in the past. I’m moving on.”
Clark knew me better than this. I had never felt so empty. He must have been able to see there was something wrong with me. I suppose it was easier for him to believe the act. Could I blame him?
“Good,” he said. “I think that’s probably the right thing to do. You’ll let me know if anything changes, right? Just be strong.”
“Of course. I’ll be strong.”
Vivi was the only person who wasn’t fooled. She knew what I was like when trapped in the chamber. She had seen it before. She still visited almost every day, but she seemed slightly less troubled each time as though coming to terms with this new reality. She would still lecture me as she washed my dishes and dusted my shelves, but I learned to tell her what she wanted to hear. Yes, I would talk to my parents. Yes, I would think about meeting with Dr. Dana again. I knew she didn’t believe me, but what else was she supposed to do?
If it were not for two events, my life might have gone on like this forever. First, I discovered that Clark had been fired. “If you say anything to anyone, I will ruin you” was the last thing Adam had said to me. “I will ruin Clark. You would regret it.”
Two days later, Decker coaxed me out from hiding to have lunch at a restaurant near the beach. It was a rare occurrence during this time. I avoided straying from a five-block radius around home.
Decker and I sat on the patio. Spring had finally arrived, and the city was alive. Everyone was out basking in the sunshine. The cherry blossoms had fallen weeks ago, but every other living thing was crackling with colour. Even through the smoke of the chamber, it was blinding. We went for a walk through the neighbourhood after lunch and passed a playground tucked inside a grove of leafy trees. That was when I saw him.
After Elias Page 18