CHAPTER TEN

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2018

          I had made plenty of mistakes during my nineteen years of living in this planet, but none of them had been fatal . . . so far.

          I knew I should have said no when Savannah invited me to come to that frat party. I'd heard the rumors about what actually went down at those parties, and I'd heard it directly from Ingrid, who had almost become another statistic. Those facts alone should have been more than enough to refuse to join her and her friends, especially with my suspicions about them being responsible for the vast majority of the assaults. However, I had never been great at saying no to people and, when Savannah had looked at me with those big, brown eyes of hers, my 'no' got hitched in my throat. How could I say no to my first friend in university?

          Naturally, I'd gone to Ingrid for advice.

          I was well aware reaching out to her about the frat party would only widen and deepen the wedge between her and Savannah, but I had no one else to turn to. I wouldn't bother my parents with trivialities like college parties, when they weren't paying an insanely expensive tuition for me to attend parties instead of studying, and I refused to sound like a paranoid airhead around Chase.

          Every word that came out of my mouth whenever he was around sounded like utter gibberish, as though someone had replaced my brain with wet egg noodles, and I would never be able to explain to him exactly why I was scared of those parties. I had tried to before, and had done quite an acceptable job at it, but it had sounded desperate, like a plea for him to not leave me, to not let me make questionable decisions, but that was the kind of person I didn't want to be.

          I wanted to stand up for those girls, for Ingrid, not just for myself. I didn't want these parties to keep taking a turn for the worse, night after night, girl after girl, and I wanted something to be done about it. I loathed the feeling of powerlessness that swept me off my feet, an earthquake that shook me to the core, and it was only then that I remembered I was way in over my head.

          Even if I got the slightest bit of information, a confirmation, even if I saw it happen with my own eyes, even if those girls were victims and witnesses, it would still be their word against ours. Maybe the girls wouldn't even want to talk about it. In a world that protected the attackers and shamed the victims, I wouldn't be too surprised if that were the case, regardless of how badly it infuriated me.

          Ingrid didn't want me to go. I didn't want her to go, either, but she thought we were stronger together since we were both adamant about attending that party. She had other friends, better friends, so I was somewhat confused about why she wanted me there with her, but then I stopped to wonder. Maybe I was the only person she had ever been completely honest with, whereas I had been lying to her ever since the first time we spoke to one another.

          Thus, I'd made the mistake of not telling anyone where I was going. The only person I could have let know was Chase, but, since we hadn't even put a label in our relationship to set clear boundaries and clarify any doubts, I didn't feel like he needed to be bothered with these things.

          I wanted to believe I would be safe around Ingrid, who was still a threatening presence, like a guard dog, and I was determined to never leave her side. It would protect us both, I thought, even if she grew tired of me being there. She had even let me borrow one of her dresses, although part of me thought it left my skin way too exposed for a party like this. I liked dressing up and her closet was one of those that would put my mother's to shame, but, considering what these frat parties were all about, I would have felt more comfortable in jeans and a sweater.

          Things would be a lot easier if Ingrid and Savannah could just get along like normal people. Ingrid was responding to the way Savannah treated her and vice-versa, and trying to find the root of their feud was like bringing up the chicken or the egg dilemma. They were similar, whether they agreed or not, and they had made the conscious choice to not get along; even worse, they were using me as a weapon against the other, something to toss around whenever they felt they would benefit from me being there. It was exhausting. It was exhausting to be friends with two people who couldn't spend more than five minutes without passive-aggressively insulting one another, and I couldn't be caught in the middle of their fights any longer.

          Usually, I had Chase. Be it physically or just as a figment of my overactive imagination. I'd seek refuge in him, the only good, steady thing in my life, and the one relationship that didn't bring me nearly as much stress as being ammo in Ingrid and Savannah's rivalry, in spite of everything I had to do to stop it from ever imploding. That night, I couldn't be thinking about him or anticipating the moment I'd get to be with him again. My senses had to be focused on one thing: safety. That meant I couldn't afford to get distracted, as mere seconds were all it took for someone to slip something into my drink.

          I'd brought a book to the party. Suddenly, I was that girl, the one who thought of herself as being so much better than everyone else, the airheads who only cared about booze and weed and partying, but I had willingly put myself in that position. Keeping to myself and not going out of my way to make friends easily made me pass off as arrogant, especially when one took my last name into consideration, but I was being overly stimulated, and it was far too much for me to handle.

          Chase had emailed me a list of book recommendations, based on the things he liked, and also just so I wouldn't have to keep rereading The Bell Jar. I hadn't told him how much that simple gesture had meant to me; the fact that he was using something we both liked to help me get out of my shell, explore new worlds, and find new things for us to have in common was, to me, a sign that he cared. He didn't want me to remain static while everything else changed. He was the tidal wave that had completely thrown my world off its axis and no one, no one would ever be able to do it the way he had.

          I was sitting on a couch, flanked by Ingrid on one side and a couple making out on the other, and my empty cup rested on the coffee table in front of us. Ingrid kept her arms firmly crossed in front of her chest, desperate to go do something else, but we knew we had to stick together. She'd tried to get my attention multiple times, but my attention remained attached to the heavy weight of Frank Herbert's Dune. It wasn't something to be read in a day and I was convinced I didn't have the cognitive skills or the intelligence to properly enjoy or understand it, but I was trying. At least, I could say I was trying.

         "I still cannot believe you're reading that," Ingrid commented, with an elbow resting against the back of the couch. If I leaned back, it would look like her arm was around me, which gave us an extra layer of protection. We were a package deal. "That's, like, peak straight men literature. Like, look at me, I'm so cool because I read dense science fiction."

          "It paved the way for a lot of books going forward," I replied, parroting the words Chase had said to me in that email. I knew nothing about Dune, except for the fact that it had been adapted into a David Lynch movie, who Chase admired, but I wasn't familiar with his work outside of Twin Peaks and Mulholland Drive. "I'm finding it quite entertaining."

          "You would."

          My jaw clenched. I didn't want to think about what she meant by that, but I wondered when people would start taking me seriously. Chase was the only one who did, while everyone was so quick to jump to condescending conclusions. So, I'd settled into those expectations, begrudgingly, and pretended I wasn't there. Instead, I would be sucked into a fictional world, using words I didn't quite comprehend, and the world around me faded away until it became nothing but a hazy memory.

          I dreamed of sand and deserts and orange skies and warmth. I dreamed of peace and solitude, a moment of quiet, a true immersion in a universe that didn't exist. I was alone, but it was the comforting kind of loneliness, the one where I didn't long for company or ached for someone's touch; it was the kind of loneliness where I was enough for myself. I was all I needed to be happy there.

          But then, as darkness fell and I could barely see anything ahead of me, I still searched for the cracks of light. They were all out of my reach, even when I thought I was so close to one, and those that didn't vanish were too high. I needed someone to hoist me up, to help me, but there was no one with me. The solitude I'd praised earlier ended up being my demise, suffocating me in the dim light of the caverns.

         "I need a drink," Ingrid announced, pulling me out of my inner monologue, and my surroundings became sharper once more. Music blasted out of the speakers, an electronic tune I wasn't familiar with and a heavy bass line that reverberated beneath my feet. "Are you coming?"

         "Sure."

          In the kitchen, we found Savannah and her friends. Ingrid instantly stiffened, turning her back to them whenever she could just so they wouldn't recognize her, but the place was too crowded for us to move without walking into someone. I quickly lost count of how many times some stranger's hands brushed against me, lingering on my waist as an excuse to help them walk past me and Ingrid, and they all sported the same sleazy smile.

          One of them was Savannah's friend Paul, the one that had stood me up at the beginning of the school year. He was standing close enough for me to look into his eyes when I looked up, barely making out his irises, with how dilated his pupils were. He didn't seem to know who I was, even when Savannah attempted to introduce us and trigger some memory of his to help him recognize me. She now knew I had gotten stood up, offended I hadn't told her about it—hadn't I? I couldn't quite remember—and apologized profoundly on Paul's behalf, but it all fell flat. She was giggling through it all and, when she stumbled towards me, her breath reeked of alcohol. Someone that small couldn't possibly hold their liquor well and I didn't want to think about how much she'd had to drink up until that point, especially while being in the company of not so nice people.

          Paul was in an even worse state than she was. I'd heard about his 'hobbies' secondhand, and that was a can of worms I needed to stay away from, but he wouldn't let me. Ingrid had already dipped, happy with her drink and too preoccupied with it to notice I hadn't followed her, and I quickly found myself cornered against the kitchen counters.

          "Where are you going?" he asked.

          "Back to the living room," I replied, tightening the hold on the edge of the counter behind me. It dug into my spine, right on the small of my back, like a sword going through me. It was either that or risking touching him, which would, inevitably, give him the wrong idea. It would make him think I was interested. I tried to catch Savannah's attention, pleadingly; as my friend, she ought to help me. She was distracted, though, and never saw me. "Let me through, please."

          "Come on, stick with us. Any friend of Sav's is a friend of ours." Somehow, I highly doubted that. I had no immunity just because I was her friend; in fact, our friendship wasn't doing me any favors at the moment. It was like I wasn't even in the room. "You should spend time with fun people. Ingrid there is a bit too uptight."

          I squared my shoulders and looked up. "I'll be the judge of that by myself, thank you." I pushed my shoulder against his chest as hard as I possibly could, but he didn't budge an inch. "Move."

          "You heard her, Paul," a male voice said. It belonged to some guy who looked so generic in the middle of all the other frat guys—broad shoulders, short hair, light stubble. I wouldn't have looked at him twice in any other situation, but Paul did. It never failed to bewilder me how men would much quicker listen to other men saying the blandest things but would completely disregard what women had to say, even if they asked them to stay the hell away. Paul obeyed like a puppy, while I was so nauseous I couldn't even stand to look in Savannah's direction. "Leave her alone."

          "Your words, boss."

          Paul stepped away. I gritted my teeth, shooting a look of gratitude at the stranger for having done the bare minimum, and returned to the living room with shaky steps.

          Things blurred after that.

          I couldn't find Ingrid anywhere, no matter how hard I searched for her in the concentration of people around me, and the smartest thing I could do was to leave and go home. However, I hadn't, as she could end up needing me, so I returned to the couch. The guy from the kitchen found me there, noticed what I was reading—or attempting to, as my head was too foggy to concentrate on Dune—and apologized for Paul's behavior. He always does these things at parties, he said. I nodded, stiffly. Can I get you anything? Some water? Something to eat?

          I shouldn't have said yes. I shouldn't have. It was the reason why I had been carrying my cup with me everywhere I went, preparing my drinks myself, but it was just water. Surely I'd be able to taste the difference if anything had been slipped into it.

          Surely.

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          I was in my desert when I came to my senses. My mouth, so dry as though I had been licking sand, was prickling, with my nerves fluttering awake. The dunes under me didn't scratch me and, as my eyes got used to the change in scenery, I lost my orange sunset. It was dark, too dark, but still nothing like my dream. In my dream, there were no beds, no poignant scent of masculine cologne, and I was awake through it all, whereas present me was struggling to stay conscious. My brain, still slow and groggy, attempted to put the puzzle pieces together.

          The floor still vibrated with the music booming downstairs. I was in a bedroom, still at the frat party, and a quick check of my clothes confirmed they were all still on and my dress hadn't been rolled up. My heart pounded against my sternum, making sense of what was going on, or what was about to happen, and I was glad to realize I still had my phone with me. My vision was too blurry for me to properly see the screen, but I just needed to send something simple, straight to the point, to the only person I'd ever felt safe with.

SOS @ frat

         I didn't wait for him to reply, still struggling to roll to the side and get up. I wasn't drunk, but the only unsupervised drink I'd had hadn't been prepared by me or even in front of me. Stupid. So stupid. Ingrid wasn't on speed dial and I couldn't waste precious time attempting to find her number, so I used whatever was left of energy in my limp body to pull myself up.

          Then, I was pushed back down, like there was an anchor weighing my chest down.

          "Get off," I croaked out. I used my fists, my elbows, my knees, my nails—every part of my body I could regain control of—to push him away, but he was too strong. Such strength he had, so irresistable, that he had to spike my drink and God knew how many other girls' just to get them like this. I'd woken up in time, but others hadn't. Others were notches in his reputation. My nails scratched the side of his face and he yelped in pain, like an injured animal, and something slammed downstairs, startling us both.

          I never had time to think twice about what had happened. His hand crashed against my cheekbone, sending me flying to the side and off the bed. His anger was primal, infernal, and I knew. I knew what guys like him were capable of, courtesy of their entitlement and everything they thought was owed to them—me, my body, my devotion. But I wouldn't.

          "Campus security is outside," someone yelled, from the other side of the door, banging on it. I couldn't think of that person as my savior; the last time I thought someone in this party had come to my rescue, they had slipped something into my cup. "They're evacuating us. Time to go, big guy."

          I supported myself on a wall to stand up with wobbly knees, as the room spun around me. I could barely make out the outlines of the furniture or even distinguish his figure, something he took advantage of by pulling me forward by an arm, but I was more aware now. Even if he was stronger, weighed more, or if his movements and thoughts hadn't been hindered, I had the element of surprise to my favor.

          I also had the ability of shoving my elbow into his mouth, knocking him aside, but he retaliated by pushing me. My mouth instantly flooded with blood after I bit my tongue, but the worst pain came in pulsating waves. I'd hit my head on the floorboards on my way down, but, as he crept closer to me, I forced it away from me, kicking him the calf with those stupid stilettos I hadn't even wanted to wear.

          Whimpering, I crawled towards the door, pulling my phone close, and used the knob to help me get up. He was right there behind me, refusing to let me get away, but I wasn't going to let him catch up to me.

          Adrenaline was one hell of a drug, overpowering everything else, and my survival instincts kicked in just in time to give me the necessary strength to propel myself forward and bolt out of the room. I sprinted down the stairs, skipping steps and nearly spraining an ankle, and the walls began to close in on me. I was still in the cavern, suffocating, and my legs couldn't run fast enough, the light in the distance fading and fading, and I was so fatigued.

          Then, fresh air, and arms to catch me when I fell.

          The faces around me faded, blurry, hidden behind foggy glass, and my fingers closed around the fabric of the shirt of the person supporting my weight. I could vaguely distinguish Ingrid's voice in the background, panicked, and maybe even a hint of Savannah's, but there was no way of denying and ignoring the choleric voice still demanding I turned around and went back inside.

          I wouldn't. I would never.

          I would recognize these arms anywhere, having spent countless hours anticipating the moment they would hold me again. I couldn't hold him too tightly, stand too close to him, and what I made out of the words he was saying was enough to tell me he was there as a professor and nothing else. Even the reassurance that I was okay, that I was safe, it was all professional. I could deal with that.

          I must have looked like hell for no one to want to touch me. Paramedics were at the scene, for some reason I couldn't comprehend, and they rushed me towards the back of an ambulance. Chase kept a comfortable distance, but still standing close enough to keep an eye on me, and people kept trying to fill me in, while Ingrid struggled to approach the ambulance.

          Paramedics were there thanks to a suspected gas leak. Chase just so happened to be around and, after someone had tipped off the campus security that something shady was going on at the party, it was only fair to cancel the whole thing. I was asked how I was feeling, if there was anything I remembered, but my brain functions were slowly decaying, now that adrenaline was no longer pumping me up, so all I could muster was a weak murmur about someone slipping something into my drink.

          "You should get checked out," one of the EMTs said. "Get a kit—"

          "I'm fine," I slurred.

          "I think she might have hit her head," someone else commented. "She looks a bit . . . out of it. Not present. Look at her eyes."

          "Just don't call my parents." I glanced at Chase, too quickly for anyone to notice. "Don't tell them."

          The first EMT sighed, then turned to Chase. "Professor, it might be best to have an adult present, since her parents are . . . unavailable."

          I expected him to refuse. It would be too much of a risk and people would, undoubtedly, start gossiping about it if he came along, but part of me wanted to beg him to come along. They thought he just so happened to be nearby, as the parking lot wasn't too far away from the frat house, so it was just a happy coincidence to them and, to me, a permanent reminder of the night he'd saved my life.

          Then, he nodded, almost imperceptibly.

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before you ask me "is this what took you nearly 2 months to write??" :

a) YOU try being plagiarized

b) this is nearly 4k words long give me a break

stop ignoring updates