After I left Mason’s house, I took a long shower, hoping the hot water would help release some the tension in my body. But all I could think about was the look on Amber’s face when I walked into her bedroom. All I could hear was her screaming for me to get out.
I’m not a rapist, I told myself over and over as I dried off and got dressed. This is just a misunderstanding. My head throbbed, so I grabbed some ibuprofen from the cupboard above the stove in my kitchen, and poured myself an enormous tumbler of water and drank it down, knowing that hydration was the only road back from a hangover. Dropping onto the couch, I picked up my phone from the coffee table, where I’d set it when I first got home. I unlocked the screen and clicked on Amber’s contact info, assuming that, if I called, she wouldn’t pick up, but if I texted, she might at least read what I had to say.
“Amber, please. Talk to me,” I wrote. “Whatever happened last night that made you freak out when you saw me, I didn’t mean to do. I love you. I would never hurt you. You have to know that. We can work this out.” I pressed send, wondering if her parents had pushed her into telling them why she’d screamed at me. Would they believe her if she said what happened was rape? Would they make her report me to the police?
With this thought, at the idea of being arrested and taken to jail, I stood up and began pacing in my small living room, just as I had at Mason’s. The anxious energy coursing through my body was a giant, revving engine. I couldn’t sit still.
“Fuck it,” I muttered, then headed into my bedroom, where I picked up a pair of socks from the dresser and my running shoes from the floor. I put them both on, snatched my keys from the table, and headed out, not caring that going for a run was the absolute last thing I felt up to doing. The only thing I cared about was quieting the fear twisting my mind into knots—trying to escape the mistake I might have made.
As I ran, I went over the last couple of days in my head, thinking about my panic attack the night of the tanker truck accident, the fight with my father, and the way Amber had looked at me on the dance floor. It was the same look Whitney used to give me when she’d come over to my apartment and let me lay her down on my bed—a look that said we both wanted the same thing.
But then I remembered the last time we were together, a couple of days before she went home for the summer. “Damn,” she said, once we were done. “You were on a mission. I’m gonna have bruises.” She rolled onto her side in order to curl up with me, not seeming to notice my body flinching in response to her touch.
“Sorry,” I said. She didn’t understand that my physical intensity wasn’t a result of how much she, specifically, turned me on or how desperately I wanted her. It was the swell of my anxiety, adrenaline seeking release—the only thing I was desperate for was relief.
“That’s okay. I kind of liked it.”
The hopeful tone of her voice only amplified my discomfort. She thought I had something to offer her. I turned so I could sit sideways on the edge of the bed, half-facing her. “I hate to do this,” I said, “but I’m pretty wiped. Do you mind . . . ?” I trailed off.
She stared at me with hurt in her dark brown eyes, which she quickly attempted to mask by looking away. “You can’t sleep with me here?”
“Sorry,” I said again. “I’m sort of used to sleeping alone.”
She sat up then, too, yanking the sheet up over her breasts. “Oh,” she said. “Okay.”
“I’ll text you later.” I pulled on a pair of boxers, waiting for her to take the hint.
“Want to maybe catch a movie sometime this week?” she asked.
“I wish I could, but with work and it being my mom’s birthday and everything . . .” It wasn’t my mom’s birthday. I was simply willing to say anything, tell any lie, to get her to leave.
“Oh,” Whitney said, laying a small, cool hand on my bare back. “Do you ever talk with her about me?”
“No, I don’t.” My insides itched. I stood up to get away from her hand on my body. “Listen. I like hanging out with you. It’s fun. But I can’t do a relationship right now, okay? I’m just not there.” Not with you, anyway.
“But I like you. I mean, like, really like you.” She dropped her gaze to the floor and then lifted it back to mine. In that moment, she looked so much younger than her twenty years. So vulnerable and insecure. “I just want to know . . . is there any chance . . . ?” She trailed off, waiting for me to fill in the empty spaces of her questions.
“No,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh,” she said again. Her voice was small. She scooted down to the bottom of the bed to avoid having to climb over me, then quickly got dressed. I did the same.
“So this is done?” she asked as she slipped on her shoes. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”
Now, I remembered feeling relieved when I’d finally locked the door behind her, despite the fact that sex with her was the best remedy I’d ever found for the anxiety that coursed through my blood. And then it hit me—I had used her. I’d taken advantage of her age and compliant nature and said all the right things, whatever it took to get her to sleep with me. I’d done exactly what I’d watched my father do with women for years. Realizing this made me stop running. I stood in the middle of the sidewalk, breathing hard, terrified to think I was capable of that kind of behavior—that, despite my best efforts, I might still be like the man I sometimes hated. If I’d basically manipulated Whitney into having sex, did that mean I was capable of forcing myself on Amber, too? No, I thought. No way. I love her too much. I would never do that. We were both drunk, and we both wanted it. I am not my father. Having sex was her decision as much as mine.
On my way back home, I made those last two sentences my mantra. I repeated them as I showered again and then forced myself to eat a peanut butter sandwich, along with two more big glasses of water. I checked my phone for a message from Amber, but there was only a short text from Mason. “You hear from Amber yet?” it said, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth. If I said that she still wouldn’t talk with me, he might take it to mean that she really did have a reason to be scared. That maybe I actually did force myself upon her.
Having sex was her decision as much as mine. This was the only thought I could allow myself to have. Anything else was too horrifying to comprehend.
I watched a little television, trying to get lost in the convoluted plotline of a stupid movie, and finally, around six o’clock, I felt drowsy enough to pull down my room-darkening shades and collapse into bed, still fighting the lingering aftereffects of my hangover. Mason and I weren’t back on shift until the next evening, so I planned to get all the sleep I possibly could to make up for the alcohol I’d had to drink. Sleep would let me escape. It would erase, at least temporarily, the look of terror that had taken over Amber’s face when I stepped inside her room. It would silence the sound of her screaming, and I could pretend, at least while I slept, that my life wasn’t about to fall apart.
• • •
I didn’t wake up until seven the next morning, when the sound of my phone ringing served as an annoying alarm. Amber was the first thought in my head, so I scrambled to answer the call, disappointed when I saw my mom’s face on the screen.
“Good morning,” I said. My voice was more graveled than usual, so I coughed to clear it.
“Honey,” she said, not bothering to greet me. “Did something happen between you and Amber? I went over there last night and Helen wouldn’t even let me inside.” She paused. “She was so upset, Ty. I’ve never seen her like that. She could barely look at me. When I asked her why, she said I should talk to you.”
I froze, not knowing how to tell her everything that happened. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words “She thinks I raped her” to my own mother. I couldn’t imagine saying them to anyone.
“Tyler,” she prompted. “For god’s sake, tell me what’s going on!”
“I’m not really sure,” I said, thinking that this was actually true. Amber hadn’t accused me of anything. Not yet. I still didn’t know what she was thinking. “We got drunk at the party we went to, and Mason and Gia ended up driving her home.”
“What? Why?”
“I overdid it,” I said, trying to be as honest as I possibly could. “I passed out.”
“Oh, Tyler,” my mom said. “What were you thinking?”
“She was drunk, too,” I said, realizing that I sounded like a child again, trying to defend myself by saying, “She hit me first!”
“That doesn’t matter,” my mom said. “You were her ride, and it sounds like you basically deserted her.” She sighed. “But why would Helen be so angry? Amber got home okay, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t want to think about any of this. I just wanted to go back to sleep. Having sex was her decision as much as mine.
“Did anything else happen? Did you and Amber have a fight?”
“Not exactly,” I said, realizing that there was no way I could avoid telling my mom what really happened. If I didn’t, I knew Helen eventually would. At least if the story came from me, I had a chance to explain my side.
“Then, what?” she asked, exasperated. “Helen’s my best friend, Tyler. If she’s angry enough to barely speak to me . . . to not let me inside her house . . . then she must think something awful happened.” She waited for me to fill in the blanks.
“I’m not sure,” I said, again, another honest statement. “Amber’s been flirting with me since she got home from school, Mom. We’ve been flirting with each other. And at the party . . . well, we got pretty close. When we were dancing, she kissed me.”
“She what?” my mom exclaimed. “Amber wouldn’t do that. She’s engaged!”
“I know that. But it’s what happened.” That’s right, I told myself. Amber started this. I only followed through on what she made it clear she wanted. I took a deep breath, and then spoke again. “We ended up having sex. And now I think Amber regrets it or something. I don’t know, for sure.”
“Why don’t you know?” my mom asked, dragging out the words.
“Because I went straight over there when I left the party the next morning to make sure she was okay. I was worried when I woke up and she wasn’t there. But when I tried to talk with her, she basically kicked me out. I have no idea what she told her parents.” There, I thought. I’m not lying. Every bit of what I just said is true.
“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” my mom said. “You need to go back over there and straighten things out.”
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”
“If it was just between you and her, I would agree with that, honey. But she obviously told her parents something that made Helen angry enough to turn me away. I can’t possibly think what could be so bad . . .” She trailed off, and I waited for her to draw her own conclusions so I wouldn’t have to say the words myself. “Oh no,” she finally said. “Do you think she told them that she didn’t want to have sex with you? That you forced her?”
And there was Amber’s voice again, inside my head: Tyler, wait! I closed my eyes and suddenly flashed back to the moment when she put her hands on my chest and attempted to push me off of her. The way she started to cry. Fuck. I rolled onto my back, throwing my one free arm over my forehead. “It crossed my mind,” I said to my mother. “But you know I would never—”
“Of course you wouldn’t!” my mom said, cutting me off. “That’s just insane. Helen has to know that. Tom, too. I mean, good lord. You’re not a rapist. You’re a paramedic. You save people’s lives.”
I nodded, not sure, exactly, what one thing had to do with the other, but still desperate to allow my mother’s words to make me feel better. She was right. I wasn’t a bad person. Yes, I’d treated Whitney poorly, but I wasn’t the kind of man who stalked women, then hid in the bushes, waiting for the right opportunity to attack. I only did what millions of other guys my age are known to do—I got drunk with a girl at a party, and we ended up having sex. I didn’t tie Amber up or hold a knife to her throat. Even if she regretted it, an accusation of force would be almost impossible to prove. Everyone saw how she was dressed, how we were drinking and kissing and dancing. They saw us go inside the house, holding hands.
“Have you talked with your dad?” my mom asked.
“No,” I said. “Why?”
“Because it’s possible he could give you some advice here,” my mom said, with more than a touch of bitterness. “You know he beat a sexual harassment suit right after we got divorced.”
“What?” I said, sitting up and resting against the wall. My room smelled stale, of sweat and sleep. The curtain was edged in a bright square of sunlight. Birds chirped noisily, right outside my window. “No, I didn’t know that. What happened?”
My mom exhaled, loudly. “A woman who worked with him claimed that he promised that if she slept with him, he would use his friendship with their captain to get her off of night shifts so she could spend more time with her kids. There was an investigation, but because he wasn’t her superior and it was shown that she willingly initiated meeting with him multiple times over a course of several months, he was cleared.”
“Wow,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t believe he never told me.”
“I think it scared him,” my mom explained. “And since then, you know he’s slept with a disgusting number of women, but I’m pretty certain none of them have been from work.”
I thought about how, over the last few years, since I started my job, my dad had warned me about doing just that. “Don’t shit where you eat, Son,” he’d say. “Don’t dip your pen in the department ink.” Now, the frequency with which he’d said it made sense.
“I don’t want him to know about this,” I said, trying not to sound like I was begging. “Okay, Mom? He’ll just make it worse.” I could already hear how my father would berate me for getting stuck in a situation like this. For finally having the courage to make a move on Amber, but then royally fucking it up. It would only add fuel to what he’d said about me. It would only prove his point.
“All right,” she said, reluctantly. “But you need to work things out with Amber. And I’ll try to talk with Helen again.”
“No!” I said, feeling panicked at the idea of her hearing details from Helen that I couldn’t control. “Let me handle this, please.”
“I’m sorry, Tyler, but I can’t stand the idea of my best friend thinking you would be capable of hurting her daughter. I don’t work until five tonight, so I’m going back over there this morning. You can come with me or not. It’s up to you.”
I felt torn. Part of me was worried that if I showed up at her house again unannounced, Amber would freak out. But another part of me reasoned that maybe all she had needed, like me, was a good night’s sleep to put the events of the party in proper perspective. Maybe she had come to terms with the fact that she was just as liable for what had happened.
It was this last thought that had me meet my mom at the Bryants’ house a few hours later. I’d showered and eaten a good breakfast, grateful that my hangover was gone and, for the most part, my head felt clear. Both Helen’s and Tom’s cars were in their driveway; I knew Helen’s job at the elementary school gave her the summer off, but Tom was typically so busy meeting with clients, he rarely worked from home. The fact that he was here made me uneasy. An uncomfortable lump formed in my gut.
“It’ll be fine,” my mom said, running her hand down the side of my arm. “We’ll work it out.” She wore jeans and a light-blue top that I had given her for Mother’s Day.
I gave her a weak smile, nodding my head once as we made our way to the front steps, which felt a little odd—too formal. I was so accustomed to entering on the side of the house, like family, through the kitchen. I raised my hand and rapped on the door three times, lightly.
When it swung open, Tom stood in front of us, his hand still on the knob. He glared at me with a look so hateful, I dropped my eyes to the ground. “You have some balls showing back up here,” he said, practically growling the words.
“Tom, please,” my mom said, reaching out her hand to try to touch his arm, but he jerked out of her reach.
“Please what, Liz?” he said, forcefully. “Ask your son to come into my house for a sit-down? He raped my daughter. He raped her. And now he’s standing on my fucking front porch, acting like nothing’s wrong.”
“That’s not what happened,” I said, glancing around to see if any of the neighbors were watching from their windows. “You have to believe me—”
“No, Tyler. I don’t.” Tom’s face was red and his blue eyes were dark. I’d never seen him like this. “I believe my daughter. I believe you got her drunk and you forced yourself on her. And now she won’t leave her bedroom. She won’t eat. She’s in more pain than I’ve ever seen before and it’s your fault.” He paused, breathing hard, looking like he wanted nothing more than to punch me. “So forgive me if I don’t invite you inside. Just be glad I’m not holding a gun.”
“Hold on, Tom!” my mom said. “This is crazy. You know Tyler. You know he’d never—”
“The only thing I know is what I saw,” Tom said. “I saw how frightened Amber was of him when he was in her room yesterday. She was terrified, Liz. I’ve never seen anyone so scared in my entire life. I know he’s your son and you’d do anything to protect him—”
“I don’t need to protect him because he didn’t do anything wrong!” my mom said, throwing her arms up in the air, then letting them drop back down to her sides. “Amber got drunk! She kissed him and led him to believe she wanted to have sex with him, even though she’s engaged to someone else! So who, exactly, is in the wrong here?” My mom was breathing hard, too. Her previously calm demeanor had vanished. “Amber cheated on Daniel and now she’s just looking for someone to blame!”
“Shut up, Liz!” Helen appeared out of nowhere next to her husband, as though she’d been hiding behind the door, listening. Her red hair was a tangled mess and her skin was pale beneath her freckles. She crossed her arms over her chest and shot a look full of daggers at both my mother and me. “Just shut the hell up! My daughter is upstairs, still shaking after what your son did to her. I always told you if you didn’t get him into counseling he’d end up just like his father, and now he has! He raped my daughter! He took advantage of her trust and now she can’t stop crying. She’ll never be the same.” Tears rolled down Helen’s cheeks as she spoke, and she angrily brushed them away. She looked at me. “How could you do this, Tyler? Tell me, please. How?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” I stammered, hating the thought that Helen believed I was anything like my father. That she had told my mother I might turn out just like him. “I just . . . I thought . . . we’ve been flirting so much since she’s been home . . .”
“Honey, you don’t need to say another word,” my mom said, but she was too late. Tom flung the door open and it crashed against the wall with a loud thud. He curled his fingers into fists.
“Don’t you dare blame Amber for what you did!” he said. His words dripped with disgust. “Don’t you fucking dare!”
I stumbled backward, down the steps, holding on to the railing so I wouldn’t fall. Amber had told her parents that I raped her, and they believed her. She could go to the police. I could be arrested, prosecuted, and put in jail. I gave Tom an imploring look. “Please, you don’t understand. It was a mistake. She wanted it, too. She kissed me. She let me take her up to the bedroom . . .”
“She told you to stop!” Tom roared, and before I knew it was coming, he flew toward me, down the steps, his right arm pulled back. I thought about ducking, about turning around and running to my car. But then it was too late. His fist made hard and fast contact with my cheekbone, sending a shock wave of pain through the side of my face. The next thing I knew, I fell backward, hit the ground, and the world around me went black.
