Page 107 of Palm South University: Season 2
“No.”
“Yes, goddamn it.”
“No!” she screams it this time, standing straight, fresh tears falling with the force. “It’s my body, Bear! And I said no!”
A sob breaks through and she doubles over, clutching her stomach as she sinks down to the floor, ankles still bound together by lace. I go down with her, trying to lessen the fall with my arms as I pull her into me. Slowly, I slide her underwear up, but she stops me.
“Take them off. Get them off of me.”
I rip the fabric and quickly tuck them inside my jacket, wrapping my arms around her again. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. All the skits from PSU freshman orientation and years of sex education come flying at me but none of it feels right. “We have to call 911, Erin.”
“And what?” she asks, lifting her tear-stained face to me, blue dress crumpled around her. It’s the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever seen, like I’m holding a princess broken beyond repair. “This isn’t a movie or a fucking seminar, Bear. This is real life. And in real life, rich boys with even richer parents and lawyers don’t go away for raping a sorority girl.” The wordrapespits from her lips like poison. “They’ll say I wanted it, they’ll say I planned it, they’ll say I consented, they’ll say I was drunk on my own, they’ll say whatever they have to because it’s four of them against one of me. You weren’t here, you can’t say without a doubt that you saw them do anything. It’s me versus them. And in this world, when themeis a girl known for being emotionally unstable and thethemis a group of privileged white men, they win, Bear.” She sniffs, leaning her head against my chest. “They win.”
My hand finds her hair and I pull her close, as close as I can, trying to protect her from a monster I was too late to fight. “Erin, you’re still . . . you’re not thinking right.”
“Please,” she begs, fists curling in my dress shirt. “Just take me home. Please, Bear. Please.Please.” She says the word over and over, each time softer, her frail body rocking in my arms. “Please.”
“Okay,” I finally say, letting myself feel her pain. I take it in, take it as my own, let it overtake my urge to do what I’ve been taught is the right thing. “Okay.”
ERIN ASKS ME TO TAKE HERto my room, knowing her house will soon be flooded with sisters soon, so I do. She asks me to help her undress, so I do. She asks me to burn her dress, so I do. But when she turns on my shower, I quickly turn it back off, keeping my eyes on hers.
“If you’re going to shower, if you’re really not going to tell anyone, then I need you to promise me something.”
Her eyes are so tired, so red, yet tears still pool and spill over. She doesn’t ask me what the promise is, she hasn’t said much at all.
“Erin, you have to get tested. They could have given you something.” I feel weird saying it, but I can’t just let her wash away all evidence without a promise that she’ll take care of herself. I’m already going against every principle in my being. “A disease . . .”
“A baby?” she finishes for me, laughing a bit. I can’t understand why. She shakes her head, leaning over to turn on the shower again. “They used condoms.”
“I don’t care.” I shut it off. She turns it on again but my hand covers hers. “I’m serious, Erin. Promise me.”
She swallows, and the way her eyes connect with mine makes me feel like our souls are tied together in a way that can never be undone from this day forward.
“Okay.”
I nod, dropping my hand and leaving to let her shower in peace but she reaches out for my arm. “Wait.” I pause. “Can you . . . will you . . .”
I turn, brows pinched together as the realization of what she’s asking settles in. But I won’t leave her, not if what she needs is for me to be here right now. I peel my shirt off in response and Erin watches me for just a moment before stepping behind the curtain.
The water is scalding, almost too hot to bear, but I let it burn us both as she scrubs their hands off her skin. The bruises are really starting to show now and her pale skin turns redder and redder as she scrubs, her tears mixing with the water from the showerhead. Tentatively, I take the rag from her hands and slowly run it over her tender skin. My touches are gentle, and she closes her eyes, lips quivering as I try to help her shed the last few hours.
I’m not sure how long we stay in the shower together. The water runs cold and still we stay, shivering together, crying as one. When her tears stop, I turn the water off and wrap her in a towel, carrying her to my room. I find a t-shirt and boxer shorts and she slips them on, crawling into my sheets and reaching out for me again.
So I hold her, all night, through the tears and the silence and the nightmares and the pain. I hold her close, tight, and I whisper the same words over and over and over again until we have no choice but to believe them, until I have no choice but to never rest until they’re true.
“Everything’s going to be okay.”