“I’m going to kill him,” my dad said, after I finished telling my parents what happened with Tyler at the party. “I’m going to tear him apart.” He stood up and paced in my room, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. I’d never heard his voice sound like that before, flooded with enough contempt and disgust that I believed he meant to follow through on his threats.
“Daddy, no,” I said, sniffling and wiping my eyes with the edge of my sleeve. I hadn’t called him “daddy” since I was eight.
He stopped pacing, staring at me with tears in his blue eyes. “Baby girl,” he said. His voice cracked, and he didn’t go on, looking like he was struggling to hold himself together.
“I can’t believe it,” my mom said, tears running down her cheeks. “I just can’t. How could he do something like this?”
“It wasn’t just him,” I said, leaning back against my headboard. My eyes were practically swollen shut from all the crying I’d done in the last fourteen hours. I’d never felt so tired or drained in my life. All I wanted to do was go back to sleep. All I needed was oblivion. “I was drunk, too. I shouldn’t have danced with him the way I did. I shouldn’t have—”
“Stop that!” my mom said, cutting me off. “None of this is your fault. Do you hear me, Amber? None of it. I don’t care if you were drinking or not.” Her voice rose as she spoke, becoming more tense and shrill as she went on. “You told him to stop. You told him you didn’t want to do it. Right?” I nodded, numbly, and she bobbed her head, too. “Then what he did to you he did without your permission. He raped you, honey. That’s what it was, pure and simple.” Her shoulders began to shake and she pressed a curled fist against her mouth. “I can’t believe it,” she said again. “How could he?”
“I’m going to find him,” my dad said, turning toward the door, but my mother leapt up and grabbed him by the arm.
“Tom, don’t,” she said. “We have to take Amber to the hospital. We have to call the police. They’ll handle it.”
“No!” I said, shaking my head. “I just want to stay here! Please, don’t make me go.” My bottom lip trembled as I pictured having to lie back on a hospital bed, my legs spread, enduring a doctor’s poking and prodding between my legs. I couldn’t bear it. There was no way. “I already took a shower. They wouldn’t find anything.” Except the bruises, I thought. Except the way that he used his body like a knife inside me and made me bleed.
“But you have to report what happened,” my mom said. “He needs to be held accountable for what he did!”
“And how would I prove it?” I said. “Everyone at the party saw the way I was dancing with him. I made out with him, too. No one’s going to believe me . . . that I told him to stop. It’ll be my word against his.”
“The police can get him to confess,” my dad said. “That’s their job. You just have to tell them what happened, like you told us, and they’ll take it from there.”
“I don’t want to talk to the police!” I said, spittle flying from my mouth. “I won’t! Please, leave it alone. I just want to be left alone!” I started crying again, and I wondered how it was possible for my body to produce this many tears, if I’d ever be able to stop. I kept seeing the look on Tyler’s face when he’d walked into my room, the confusion and concern, and it didn’t make sense. Did he not remember what happened? Did he black out? Would he blame his actions last night on alcohol? Would he proclaim his innocence because of an inability to recall what he did?
My parents were silent for a moment, frozen where they stood, looking at each other, then back to me. “I just need to sleep,” I said, trying to calm down. “Let me sleep and we can talk about it later. Right now I can’t think about anything. I can’t make any decisions. My head’s a fucking mess.” I never swore in front of my mother—crass language was one of her pet peeves—but my energy levels were so depleted, I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t care what she thought.
“Okay,” my dad said, but I could tell it pained him to agree with my request. He took a couple of steps over and cupped my head with his hand, leaning down to kiss me on the forehead. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, sweetheart. Your mom and I are here for you, okay? We’ll support you, no matter what.”
I nodded, and my mom opened and then closed her mouth, like she changed her mind about what she was going to say. “We’ll be right downstairs,” she finally said. “We’re not going anywhere.”
They left, and I sunk down beneath my covers again, lying on my side and tucking the blanket tightly up under my chin, the same way I had when I was a child and woke from a bad dream, telling myself if I just closed my eyes and rocked back and forth, I would eventually lull myself back to sleep. Escape was all I could think about, and the only escape route I had was the ability to fall into unconsciousness. But just like last night, after my shower, my mind spun with too many thoughts to let me drift off. I tossed and turned, my body aching, until I remembered a trick that I used to use when the phentermine I took at the height of my eating disorder made it impossible for me to sleep.
As quietly as I could, not wanting my parents to hear me and come back upstairs, I slipped out of bed and opened my door, sneaking across the hallway to the bathroom, where I rummaged around in the medicine cabinet until I found the clear bottle full of tiny pink pills I needed. A standard dose of antihistamines always made me drowsy; a double dose would give me the relief I so desperately needed now. I took two pills, swallowing them down with a few handfuls of water from the sink, again making sure to avoid looking in the mirror. I stared at the bottle a bit longer, wondering what might happen if I took three, then four, or even the entire contents. That would give me a way out of having to deal with any of this. It would make this entire nightmare go away.
No, I thought, screwing the cap back on and returning the bottle to the cabinet. I can’t do that to my parents. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how unbearable my feelings might be, I can’t just give up like that. I won’t.
Within minutes after returning to bed, I felt the comfortable buzz of impending sleep roaming around in my head. The allergy meds had numbed out my thoughts, quieting them down enough that my eyes stayed closed, and my heart stopped racing.
It was almost dark outside when I woke up, with my mouth so dry, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I blinked, trying to get my eyes to focus on the digital clock next to my bed. It was a few minutes past eight—I’d slept almost ten hours—and I saw that my mom had removed the tray of untouched tea and toast from earlier and replaced it with a bowl of cut-up fruit and two bottles of water. I knew I couldn’t eat, but I did drink down both bottles in just a few minutes, knowing that the antihistamines I’d taken had dehydrated me even more than the tequila from the night before.
I forced myself to swing my legs over the side of the bed; I still felt woozy and bruised, so I took several deep breaths in through my nose, blowing them out of my mouth, trying to restore a proper level of oxygen to my brain. It was a trick I shared with my clients who struggled to catch their breath after a particularly intense workout. “Press one nostril closed, and then take in three quick, hard sniffs of air through the other, like you’re snorting some kind of drug. Then slowly blow the air out your mouth, as controlled as you can manage.” This instruction always garnered me strange looks, but when they complied, my clients always felt better. “Your brain functions best when it gets lots of oxygen,” I’d tell them. “That’s why exercise strengthens your mind, as well as your body. Oxygen rinses it clean.”
I almost laughed as I thought about this now, guessing there was nothing in the world that would ever make me feel clean again. I stood up, planning to go back across the hall and take another hot shower, but as soon as I opened the door, I found my mom waiting for me.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said, reaching out to brush my hair out of my face. “How are you feeling? I came in to check on you a few hours ago and you were totally passed out.”
I nodded, knowing I couldn’t tell her about the pills I’d taken. “I need to take a shower,” I said. “I feel disgusting.”
She winced, upset, I was sure, picturing what Tyler had done to me to make me feel that way. I took another step, but she rested a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “Honey, wait,” she said. “Daniel is here.”
“What?” I said, practically hissing the word. “Jesus, Mom. Did you call him? Did you tell him what happened?” My heartbeat, which had been calm just seconds ago, ramped up again, banging around behind my rib cage. I’d forced myself not to think about Daniel since I’d come home from the party; I’d been too overwhelmed by everything else. I didn’t know how to fit him into the messy, imbalanced equation of it all.
“No, of course not,” she said hurriedly. “I wouldn’t do that. He just showed up about an hour ago. He said you two had argued, and he felt horrible about it. He just wants to talk.”
“I can’t see him,” I said, the tears already returning to my eyes. “Not like this. Mom, please. Make him leave.”
“Oh, honey,” she said, pulling me into her arms, where I stood stiff as a board, afraid of what might happen if I let myself succumb to the comfort in her touch, worried I might lose control and never get it back. “Daniel loves you. He needs to know what Tyler did.”
A thought struck me, and I yanked back, glaring at her. “Have you told anyone else? Did you tell Liz?”
A dark, fractured look passed over my mother’s face. “No,” she said. Her voice was strangled. “I haven’t. But I want to. She needs to know. So does Jason. They need to know what their son did.”
“What have you and Dad been doing all day?” I crossed my arms over my chest, preparing myself to hear the worst: that they’d gone against my wishes and called the police.
“Nothing,” she said, and her chin trembled. “We’ve just been sitting together, waiting for you to wake up. Your dad is going out of his mind. He’s so angry. I don’t know what he’ll do if Tyler shows up here again.”
“He can’t do anything,” I said. “He knows that, right? He’ll just make it worse.” Part of me felt better knowing my dad wanted to hurt Tyler for hurting me, but I also couldn’t stand the idea of the man who’d raised me answering one violent act with another. I hated what Tyler had done, but beating him up wasn’t going to solve a thing.
“Yes, he knows,” my mom said. She was about to say more, but then we both turned our heads, hearing my name spoken from the bottom of the stairs.
“Amber?” Daniel called out.
“Mom, please,” I said, and she grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly.
“You need to tell him,” she said. “He deserves to hear the truth.”
My already racing pulse sped up more. How would I tell Daniel anything? How would I tell him that I’d flirted with Tyler for weeks, how I’d dressed slutty for him last night, then danced with him like a stripper, kissed him, and let him lead me upstairs. The rest of what happened last night rolled through my body in waves that threatened to drown me.
“Hey, baby,” Daniel said when he reached the top of the stairs, looking as though he hadn’t slept much either. He walked toward me, and my mother let go of my hand, but not before giving it one more squeeze. She gave me a reassuring look, then headed back to where Daniel had just come from.
“Hey,” I said, my voice dull, watching my mother’s retreat, wondering how in the hell I was going to handle a conversation with my fiancé right now.
Daniel hugged me, and again, I stayed stiff. “You’re still mad at me?” he asked when he pulled back.
I shrugged and walked into my bedroom again, retreating to the furthest corner of the bed, against the wall, pulling as many pillows and blankets around myself as I could. Daniel followed behind me, shut the door, then leaned up against it.
“I feel shitty about our fight,” he said, and I almost laughed, thinking how ridiculous and small our argument was compared to the one I imagined we were about to have, once I told him that his suspicions about my best friend hadn’t been unwarranted.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, spinning my engagement ring over and over again with my left thumb. It felt heavy and wrong on my finger. I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve Daniel. “But it did make me think,” I continued. “A lot, actually.”
“About what?” Daniel asked, the weight of him sitting on the edge of the bed sinking the mattress down.
I huddled closer to the wall. “About us. About getting engaged.”
“Amber—,” he said, but I interrupted him.
“Wait,” I said. “Let me finish.” I didn’t want to cry more. “I care about you, Daniel, but I just don’t think I’m ready to get married. You should be with someone who is.”
“Are you being serious right now?” he asked, his brows stitched together, creating a small v in his otherwise smooth forehead.
“Yes,” I said, feeling my heart sink down inside my chest. I couldn’t tell him what had happened. It would hurt him too much. My silence would save him the devastation of knowing what I’d done, how I’d blocked him out of my mind, rationalized my behavior, and betrayed his trust. I was a broken person now—a pile of damaged goods. He needed to be with someone better than me. I was sure he would find someone else. “I’m sorry, Daniel,” I said, pulling the ring off of my finger. “But it’s over. We’re over.”
I held my hand out, palm up, offering him the ring. He dropped his gaze to it, then raised it back to me. “No,” he said. “I’m not going to let you do this, Amber. It was one stupid fight. We’ll work it out. We’ll find a way to spend more time together. I took two days off to come up here, and I want to spend them with you. We just need to talk—”
“Don’t you get it?” I said, raising my voice, even as a few tears slipped down my cheeks. I held on to the ring. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to try and make this work. You moved too fast. You pushed me into getting engaged when I wasn’t ready. All you were thinking about was your own time line . . . your stupid master plan to get married before you started making a bunch of money. You weren’t thinking about me and what I want. You didn’t even ask. And you know what, Daniel? I don’t want that life. I don’t want kids. I don’t want a life with you.”
He stared at me, his brown eyes clouded with confusion and hurt. “Is this about Tyler?” he asked, slowly. “Was I right? Is something happening with you two?”
“No!” I said, maybe a little too sharply, because Daniel just shook his head.
“I knew it,” he fumed. “I fucking knew it.” He stood up and glared at me. “Did you sleep with him last night? Is that why you’re doing this now? I pissed you off so you decided to fuck him. Jesus, Amber! What the hell is wrong with you?”
My throat flooded with so many tears, I couldn’t speak. I just stared at him through glassy eyes, wishing I had it in me to tell him what had happened. Wishing I could say that he was wrong. I heard my mother’s voice inside my head, He raped you, honey, and I thought about showing Daniel my bruises as proof that while I may have been guilty of leading Tyler on, he was guilty of something far worse. All the things I’d heard at orientation my freshman year at college started to run through my head: Be careful if you’re drinking at a party. Don’t go into a room with a guy alone. If someone tries to force you to do something you don’t want to do, fight back with everything you have. Gouge him in the eyes with your thumbs. Knee him in the balls. Hurt him before he can hurt you.
I’d done none of those things, because I’d been with someone I trusted. Someone I never thought might hurt me. And here I was, hurting Daniel, trying to save him from a more excruciating kind of pain.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, and once again, I held out my hand, offering him the ring.
“Yeah,” he said. “I bet you are. I hope you’re happy with that asshole.” Daniel snatched the ring from my palm and shoved it into his front pocket. “I never should have given that to you. You’re a fucking cheater.”
The disgust in his voice sliced through me. But he was right. I had cheated on him the past few weeks, a hundred times over in my head. I’d pictured how it would feel to kiss Tyler, to let him touch me the way I knew he’d always wanted. I’d thought about what it would be like to sleep with him—visualizing our bodies together, imagining how gentle he’d be as his fingers tenderly trailed across my skin. I’d wondered if he was the one I should actually be with, the one who already knew and loved me, even after everything we’d both gone through. And now, after last night, I couldn’t be with either of them, with anyone. I couldn’t imagine feeling safe with anyone else, ever again.
“Do me a favor,” Daniel said. “Pretend we never met.”
I nodded, knowing there was nothing I could say to make up for what I’d just done. He spun around and charged out of my room, leaving the door open. I sat in the silence staring at the wall, feeling the ghost of the ring on my skin, as though it was still on my finger. I felt like I should break down, but my eyes stayed dry. I wondered if I’d finally reached the limit of my tears—if there was only so much one person could cry in one day.
My parents appeared in my doorway, and then walked through it. “What happened?” my mom asked. “Daniel just ran past us and didn’t say a word.”
“Did you tell him? Is he going after Tyler?” my dad asked, looking as though if that were true, he might just follow my fiancé. Ex-fiancé, I reminded myself, and then I shook my head.
“I didn’t tell him. I broke it off. I gave him back the ring.”
“Honey, no!” my mom said, coming to sit next to me on the bed. She rested a hand on my leg, and I pulled away from her touch. She sighed. “You didn’t even give him a chance? I think he would have understood. He would have supported you.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.” Strangely enough, I meant those words. I didn’t feel anything about breaking up with Daniel. All I felt was the giant, aching bruise my body had become. I felt the sudden absence of emotion, the all-encompassing lethargy that, even after so many hours of sleep, wouldn’t let me go.
“Sweetie . . .” my mom began, but I held up my hand to stop her.
“Please,” I said. “No lectures. That’s the last thing I need.”
“What do you need?” my dad asked, gently.
“She needs to eat something,” my mom answered, glancing at the untouched, slightly wilted bowl of fruit on my nightstand.
“Not now, Mom!” I said. “Please.” I sunk back down beneath my covers, not answering my father’s question. I wasn’t sure what, exactly, I needed. I needed for them to leave me alone. I needed more sleep. But mostly, I needed to turn back time, take back my bad decisions, and find a way to pretend I didn’t feel like I wanted to die.
