Page 12 of Shamed
A tiny part of me wants to know what he thinks about what happened now that he’s had time to ruminate on it. Does he blame me? Is he angry with me?
The bigger part of me doesn’t want to know any of those things and would rather hide away, wishing he had no clue what happened to me.
There’s an icky feeling sitting in the pit of my stomach, wishingno oneknew.
I rush past his door, determined not to listen, but his voice rises to a level I’m sure the whole house can hear, and I pause.
“I don’t care if the results haven’t come back yet. She wasassaultedand the boy was there. Put two and two together. No one fucking touches my daughter and gets away with it. Do what you need to do and make an example of him for this town.”
The smallest amount of relief oozes into my system at the fact that he doesn’t appear to be blaming me.
But my stomach hits the floor when I think about the rest of what he said. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around my waist as if I can keep the rest of my organs inside.
Making an example of him means shoving me further into the spotlight. Exactly what Idon’twant. It would be made public, talked about everywhere.
Rushing back to my room, I dive back into bed, burying myself under the covers and closing my eyes once again, hoping that when I wake, this will all have been a terrible dream.
*~*~*~*
It wasn’t a dream.
Two days later, the air in my bedroom feels stuffy and thick. The curtains may still be open, but the window is not. The two days of me hiding in here finally has the filth I feel inside bleeding out onto my surroundings.
My thoughts have been like an untended garden with weeds growing out of control and taking over what were once bright flowers, leaving an ugly mess of space.
Deep down, I know what happened wasn’t my fault. I know that Jacob is the one with the filthy soul.
Yet,I’mthe one who feels dirty.
Why is it thatIfeel shame for what happened to me?
Why is it thatIam the one hiding away from everyone?
Sexual assault was talked about in school; I’ve read about it in books, and seen it in movies, but there was always a disconnect. I never believed it would happen to me . . . never believed itcould.
Now it has.
People can tell you what it might be like, how you might feel, or even how their friend felt going through it, but until you’ve lived through it yourself, you can’t understand the mixed array of emotions and feelings associated with it.
Sliding my legs out of the blanket, I force myself into a sitting position, telling myself I need to pull it together. If I bury myself away in here, then Jacob keeps winning. He doesn’t care what happens to me now; he already got what he wanted.
Before I’ve even gotten to my feet, there’s a knock, and the soft murmurings of Jersey and Marni reach me through the door. My first instinct is to hide under the covers and pretend I’m still asleep, regardless of the time. I’m not sure I’m ready to face them.
But I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to face them about this. I guess it’s better to rip the band-aid off and get it out of the way now.
Straightening my rumpled tank and shorts, I turn to the door. “Come in.”
The door flies open, and my two best friends rush in. I wish I felt a spark of relief or the warmth of comfort at seeing them.
“Oh my God, Jen,” Jersey exclaims, face twisted. “I can’t believe . . .” Her sentence trails off as she sits on the bed beside me and wraps me in her arms. Her touch and the feel of being enclosed brings a sudden urge to shove her away, but I force myself not to react outwardly.
Marni is next to sweep me into her arms from her position in front of me. Once she’s pulled back, I shift so I’m sitting against my headboard a little further away from the two of them.
Space.
They both stare at me for a moment, their eyes brushing over my cheek. I almost forgot I had a bruise there. It’s easy to do when you refuse to look in a mirror.
Seconds tick by before Marni’s nose crinkles, her eyes swinging to the unopened windows. “I’m just going to let some fresh air in, okay?” Not waiting for a response, she walks over, sliding the glass open as far as it goes. “That’s better.” Slowly, the stifling warm air is replaced by something more breathable.
