Edge of Darkness Box Set

by Margaret McHeyzer

  Taking in and releasing a deep breath, I lift my head to see what the girl in the mirror wants to show me. Clapping a hand to my mouth, I hold in a scream. I want to yell that it’s not me. She’s nothing more than a figment of my dark imagination, not real.

  But she blinks the moment I blink and the tears stream down her cheeks, reflecting the ones running down mine. A pained, muffled cry escapes my swollen lips as I look at the broken girl in the mirror.

  Her body is heavily bruised. There are marks all over her legs, with specks of dried blood stuck to her skin. There are bruises around the base of her neck and on the tops of her arms. She looks beyond broken, she looks . . . destroyed.

  “My God,” I whisper as I look around the room, fearful that someone came in without me noticing. “What happened to me?” Of course the question is rhetorical. No answers appear.

  Turning from the girl in the mirror, I grab my dress and scrunch it up, stuffing it in a box as far back in my closet as I can get it. Then I wrap a towel around myself and go to the door. Placing my ear up against it, I listen to the sounds of the morning. I need to make sure no one is near so they don’t see me when I come out of my room. When I know Mom and Dad are in the kitchen, and I can’t hear Sam, I open the door and quietly pad down the hall to the bathroom Sam and I share.

  My senses are in overdrive, and I try to remain invisible. When I get to the bathroom, I quickly close and lock the door behind me. Taking a deep breath I feel my legs become solid again. I can’t even move anymore. I’m so scared Mom and Dad will know something has happened by looking at me that my entire body is on high alert. Swallowing hard, I try to calm my pulse as it hammers violently through my veins. “You can do this, Dakota,” I encourage myself.

  Double- then triple-checking the door’s locked, I’m finally able to get into the shower, knowing I’m safe in here. Turning the water to as scalding hot as I can get it, I drop the towel and step into the continuous stream of boiling water. The moment it touches my bruised and painful skin, I let out a small yelp of pain. But I welcome the heat, and hope it has the power to wash the night off me.

  Looking around the shower I try and find a cloth to wash my body, but there’s nothing in here. Dripping wet, I get out and look under the vanity to see what mom’s got here. I find a scrub brush with hard bristles I’ve seen mom use to clean the bathtub, and I bring it into the shower. Squirting liquid soap on it, I begin by scrubbing my fingers, which leads to my hands, and then all the way up my arms. I can’t stop; I need to make sure everything is removed, scoured clean so I have no trace left of what happened last night.

  Every body part I touch hurts; every bruise I scrub makes me wince in pain. I dread washing my vagina, but I know I have to. “Oh God,” I say to myself as I squirt more soap on the scrub brush. Totally bracing myself I move my hand down. “Ahh,” I cry out as I wash off whatever the hell is on me. The heat of the shower is pounding on my back, and tears are flowing down my face.

  This hurts so bad. But I have to do it. I have to wash away whatever happened to me. No one can know; no one can suspect. I don’t want to know, I don’t want to even think about what might have happened. It’s too embarrassing. If anyone finds out, they’re going to think I’m a slut, and that I was asking for it. I can’t have that. I can’t let anyone find out. It’s beyond humiliating.

  Shaking, I continue to clean myself, making sure any trace of what happened is long gone. The only problem is the more I scrub, the dirtier I feel.

  “Get off me,” I howl while squeezing more soap on the rough bristles. “Get off me!” I keep crying as I try my hardest to clean the filth away.

  I stand in the shower for so long that the water begins to cool. I look down at my body to see exactly what I’ve done to it. I’m completely raw from the hard brush, and some spots are red from where I’ve scrubbed enough to break skin. “Oh my God,” I gasp as I look at the parts of my body which are covered in crimson drops.

  Suddenly everything changes while I’m standing under the now cool water. I go from feeling crushing shame and humiliation, to staring blankly at the wall. Small blurring dots dart in front of my eyes as I continue to glare at the tiles on the wall. Not a single thought enters my mind, not even a hint of feeling.

  My tears stop and the compulsion to make sure I’m thoroughly clean dissipates at a rapid rate. The cold fingers gripping my throat have melted away. I can’t feel anything. I can’t think. There is nothing for me to hold on to. I’m icy cold and numb.

  As I stand under the shower a realization washes over me. A part of me died last night. Something was taken from me, and I know I didn’t give permission for it to be taken. I know what happened now.

  I was raped.

  Chapter 3

  I’ve locked myself in my room and pretended I wasn’t feeling well, which is the only reason I got away with it. Mom was concerned when I came out in jeans and a long-sleeved sweater, but when I told her I’d danced too much and hadn’t drunk enough water, she put it down to me being exhausted.

  I don’t have the courage or the heart to look at my phone to see who has messaged or called me. I don’t want to lie to anyone, so I simply won’t look. Instead, I’ve been in bed all morning with the blankets pulled over my head, trying to forget. But trying to forget isn’t easy, especially considering I know what happened, even though I wasn’t conscious for it. I keep replaying the evening in my head, looking for any clues that could lead me to the truth. They say knowledge is power, but as I lay in bed, I keep fighting with myself. Do I really want to know, or should I forget about it all and move on with my life?

  I’m stuck. My heart is telling me to forget about it, but my head is telling me to try and find the answers. But then, if I do find out what happened, what do I do with the information? Do I go to the authorities? Or do I keep my mouth shut? If I tell the police, will they believe me? What happens if my friends find out? Or worse still, what happens if my parents find out, or even Sam. My God, Sam. I would hate to see the disappointment in her eyes if she ever found out. I’m sure Sam would still accept and love me, but what if she didn’t? I don’t think I could live with myself if I saw anything in her eyes other than the worship she shows me now.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  I don’t want anyone coming in, but I know regardless of who is on the other side of the door, they’ll start questioning me and will want to know why I’m so withdrawn. “Come in,” I call with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. My voice sounds strained and cautious, even to me. Sitting up in bed, I fix my hair, pretending everything is fine while I wait to see who’s coming in.

  “Hey.” Sam excitedly bounces into my room. “How was the prom?” She sits on the end of my bed, and eagerly waits for my answer.

  “It was good,” I answer, but avoid her eyes.

  “Did you and Levi . . . ?” I shake my head, and pick a spot on the blanket to look at. “Phew. I was scared he’d try to pressure you into it.”

  A soft smile plays at my lips, although I’m only smiling to hide the real feeling of shame. I start picking at a loose thread on the white cotton blanket on my bed. “There was no pressure. He was really good about it.”

  “I heard Mom and Dad saying you got in late. Tell me all about it. What happened? What were Lindsey, Mariah, and Jordan wearing? Did you look the prettiest? I bet you did. Oh my God, was Reece there? He’s sooooo cute.” Sam’s talking so fast and enthusiastically all her sentences are blending into each other.

  “Sam,” I say, finally working up the courage to look her in the eyes for the first time since she came in here. “Everyone looked great.” Although I try to feign enthusiasm, my tone is flat and dry and Sam immediately picks up on it.

  Her shoulders drop and her eyebrows knit together in question. “Did something happen, Dakota?”

  Every single hair stands on end and my entire body shivers as a cool breeze touches my exposed skin. “No, why?” I automatically respond, defensive. I close my eyes
for a second and regroup. “I mean, no, nothing happened. I just . . .” Crap, what do I say? “I’m really tired. You know dancing and things like that.”

  “Levi called earlier looking for you, and I told him you were still asleep. He sounded funny, too.”

  “What do you mean?” I sit up further in bed and painfully cross my legs. I’m so sensitive.

  “He sounded like he was worried about you. What happened last night? You’re acting all weird and he sounded strange. Did you two have a fight or something? Is it because you told him you weren’t ready to have sex? You know, you can tell me anything; I promise not to tell Mom and Dad.” She reaches out and rubs her hand on my leg. The moment she touches me I flinch, moving my leg away from her hand reflexively. Sam notices and pulls her hand straight back.

  My bedroom fills with awkward tension as she looks at me in confusion “Sorry, I’m just tired,” I say, dragging my gaze away from the hurt she’s obviously feeling.

  “Dakota?” I don’t dare look at her. “Dakota!” she says again in a stronger voice.

  “I’m really tired, Sammy. Can we talk later?” I don’t give her an option to say anything more. I turn over on my side, my back to her, and pull the covers up to my chin.

  I’m hyperaware of her still sitting on my bed, but I have to keep my shit together until she leaves. My heart breaks. I’m so angry, not at Sam for her questions, but at myself for treating her so badly. She’s my little sister and all she wants to do is talk to me. I wish I could tell her, but I just can’t. I can’t tell anyone.

  I feel the bed move, and a few seconds later I hear Sam say, “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Dakota but you know you can tell me anything, I’ll always love you.” Then the door quietly closes behind her.

  I want to scream at her, to call her back so I can hug her and tell her what happened. But I know I can’t. It’s too shameful.

  Instead I lay perfectly still and my eyes finally close, giving me some peace and quiet.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Startling awake, I grab the blankets and pull them close to me. “Come in,” I call out in a croaky voice.

  “Sweetheart, are you going to sleep the day away?” Mom asks as she comes and sits beside me on the bed. “Are you feeling okay?” She puts her hand to my forehead and feels for a fever. “You don’t feel warm. What’s wrong?”

  I look up at her and smile weakly. Degradation and humiliation fills every part of me. I want to burst into tears and tell her what’s happened. But I can’t, because then she’ll look at me differently. She’ll think badly of me, and I don’t think I could take it. “I’m okay,” I finally whisper, choking back the tears threatening to fall.

  “You sure?” Mom asks as she strokes the hair off my face. “You look tired.” I nod to her and try to paste a smile on my face, though of course it’s a fake and sickly sweet. “You must have had a great night last night.”

  “Yeah,” I finally respond after a few seconds of quiet. Better I say very little than risk my voice deceiving me and Mom looking at me as if I’m crazy. No matter how much I want to tell her, I know I can’t.

  Mom’s naturally golden hair is falling gently over her shoulders, her deep brown eyes examining everything about me. I have to put on my ‘happy face’ and pretend I’m okay. “You sure?” she asks again, trying to determine whatever’s bothering me.

  I swallow down once, and smile again. “Yeah, Mom, I promise. I’m good.”

  Mom takes a deep breath and stops playing with my hair. “Okay, I trust you.” The moment the word ‘trust’ is said, I have to hold back the strangled cry of shame. “We’re going out for dinner tonight. Just down to Henry’s Pizza House. We’re leaving in about half an hour.”

  “I’ll be ready,” I say, though inside my soul is dying.

  “Okay.” Mom leans down and gives me a kiss on the forehead. She then leaves my room, and I bury myself back under the covers.

  A few moments pass, and I know if I don’t get up, Mom will know something is really wrong. So I reluctantly push back the blanket, and get up out of bed. “You can do this, Dakota,” I encourage myself. Stumbling over to my mirror, I look at my body where I can see every scratch, bruise, and mark made last night. If I can see them, everyone else will see them too.

  Looking at my make-up arranged on my small table, I pick up the concealer and dab it all over the glaringly obvious marks on my face and neck. “Oh my God, I look terrible,” I mumble to myself. I begin to layer the make-up on my skin, masking the horrible marks beneath.

  By the time I finish, I look halfway like my normal self. Almost like the sixteen-year-old version of me before last night happened. But my eyes tell a different story. They tell of sadness, humiliation, betrayal, and guilt. The rock lodged in the pit of my stomach confirms the shame I’m carrying.

  Examining myself, I make sure there are no visible marks and that I look somewhat normal. Putting on an air of fake happiness, I take myself out to the family room where Dad is sitting on his usual chair, reading on his tablet. He looks up when I enter the room and a huge smile brightens his face. My throat tightens knowing how deceitful I am being.

  Man, now I feel even worse.

  “Hi there, princess. How was your prom last night?” he asks as he sits up in his seat and leans forward in anticipation of me retelling my evening.

  “It was great,” I lie. Oh God, Dakota.

  I should tell them, get it over and done with. But, it’s too late. I should’ve done it when I got home instead of waiting for hours. Everyone will think I’m making it up. Besides, I can’t remember anything, so what can I say?

  More guilt consumes me. I’ve lied to everyone who loves me. A colossal wave of remorse overtakes me and suddenly I can feel my heart clamoring to get out of my chest, bile sits in my throat, and I shove my hands in my jeans pockets so Dad can’t see them shaking.

  “Tell me about it. Did you dance a lot?” Dad smiles at me.

  “Yeah, too much. I’ve been really tired all day.”

  Dad nods. “Was the food nice?”

  “Uh-huh. Great. Um, I’ve got to go to the bathroom before we go for dinner.”

  “Okay, we’ll talk more later.”

  “Yep,” I respond and run to the bathroom. When I get there, I let out a huge breath and drag myself to the mirror. “What are you doing?” I ask myself. Shaking my head I look away from the lying eyes of the girl in the mirror. I can’t stand looking at her anymore. She’s such a liar. “I’m not a liar; I’m protecting them. I’m protecting me, too,” I tell myself.

  Finally I’m able to calm myself down enough that I can leave the bathroom. I’ll just keep quiet and only answer questions I’m asked. I won’t say anything, and tomorrow will be better.

  Tomorrow will be a new day. Won’t it?

  Chapter 4

  “Honey, are you okay?” Mom asks when I come into the kitchen to get a juice.

  “Yeah I’m fine, Mom.” Quickly and discreetly I adjust the long sleeve sweater I’m wearing. Averting my eyes, I pour a glass of juice and turn to leave the kitchen.

  “Hey,” she calls. Stopping dead in my tracks, I take several deep breaths, plaster a fake smile on my face and turn to Mom. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks again, this time with worry clouding her words. “You’re looking really pale, and you’re not wearing what you usually wear to school.”

  I knew this morning when I woke, everything is going to be different. “Yeah, I know. I just feel like jeans and a sweater.” I try to force myself to make eye contact. Instead, I’m looking at the fridge door to the right and behind Mom.

  Mom takes a couple of steps toward me, and I have to force myself not to retreat, and not to flinch when she reaches out to tuck some hair behind my ear. “If something’s bothering you, you know you can talk to me, right?” her voice is soft and earnest, and I know she’s genuinely concerned for me.

  “Nothing’s bothering me. I’m good.” God, I wish I could
tell her. To yell and scream at the top of my lungs how what was supposed to be the best night of my life, turned into the scariest nightmare any person could ever go through. The worst part though, is not remembering. “Really, Mom, I’m good. I promise.” I lean in and give her a kiss, although I know I’m lying to her.

  “Okay. But if you need to talk, I’m always here for you.” Smiling at Mom, I step around her, place my glass in the sink and get out of here so I don’t break down and cry in front of her.

  “Bye,” I shout as I close the door. Walking down the garden path I try and get away before Sam catches up to me, because we always either walk or catch the bus to school together.

  “Dakota.” Crap, she heard me leaving. Speeding up, I pretend I didn’t hear her. “Dakota!” I hear her footsteps as she runs to catch me. “Hey, I was calling you,” she says once she’s caught up to me, puffing.

  “Were you? Sorry, I didn’t hear anything.” I don’t dare look at her, she may see my lie.

  “You sure you’re okay? You’re kinda different.” Sammy shoots me a sideways look as she ties her light brown hair back in a ponytail. “You’ve been a bit off since yesterday.”

  “What the hell is wrong with everyone?” I snap and immediately regret my outburst. “Sorry I shouldn’t have said that.” Gosh, this is so hard. So much more difficult than I could’ve ever imagined it would be.

  Sammy looks at me sideways again, and takes a step away from me, looking down at her shoes. “S’okay.” But her actions speak much louder than her words do.

  I have to make this right with her, although I still can’t tell her what’s happened, I can pretend I’m the way I was before prom night. “How about after school today we go to the mall and we get some frozen yogurt?”