Page 84 of Palm South University: Season 3
“I did it,” she says quickly, lifting her eyes to look at mine for just a split second before focusing on her hands again. “I thought it would make me feel better, to get some sort of revenge.” She shrugs. “But it just made me feel worse. Because there’s absolutely nothing I could ever do to him that would be as horrible as what he did to me.”
It’s like a fiery arrow is shot straight into my chest at her words and I reach my hand out, grazing her lower back just enough to let her know I’m here. “You could press charges.”
She scoffs. “Don’t, Bear.”
I know her stance on it already — that she feels like it doesn’t matter what she says or does, he’ll get away with it. She was drunk, they’ll say she was “asking for it.” And even if they did give him jail time or anything else, it wouldn’t make her feel better, and then she’d just be the poor girl who was raped. These are all things she’s told me multiple times since that night, but I hate hearing them, hate that she believes them… hate that in many ways, she’s right. Our justice system doesn’t seek much justice for rape victims, not the way it should.
Erin laughs a little. “And then, to add insult to injury, I was walking by the Student Union earlier and this perky little sophomore on the Orientation Team stops me, telling me that they’re fighting back against sexual assault on campus. And she hands me this,” she says, opening her hand and holding up a small, teal and orange whistle — PSU’s school colors. “‘It’s arape whistle,’she said.” Erin laughs again. “Like this will save anyone. Like this will make it stop.”
Suddenly, Erin pops the whistle in her mouth and starts blowing it, loud shrieks piercing the otherwise quiet night around us. She blows it over and over again, her eyes welling with tears, face red when I finally take her in my arms and hold her tight to my chest.
She keeps blowing it, and to drive her point home further, no one inside the ballroom even looks our way. She might as well be whispering.
Finally, the whistle falls from her mouth and she catches it in her hands, choking on a sob as she leans into my chest.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, running my hand over her hair as I hold her tighter. “I’m so sorry, Erin.”
She lets me hold her for a short minute before she’s shoving me off, wiping at her face like she’s stupid for crying. “Whatever. I was just making a point. Even if I would have had this,” she spits, holding up the whistle again. “This stupidthing, I would have maybe been able to blow it twice before it would have been ripped from my mouth. And that’sifI could even manage to get it out of my clutch. And, even if I did, no one would have heard me.”
“I was too late,” I say, fists clenching at my side again. “I should have known something was off. I should have found you earlier.”
“How would you have known?” she challenges, looking at me again. “The door was shut. The music in the ballroom was loud. There’s nothing you could have done.” She hiccups, wiping at her face again. “There’s nothing anyone could have done, other than Landon and his friends.” Her face twists. “I don’t even know their names.”
I reach for her again but she pulls away, standing.
“You need to talk to someone, Erin.”
“I’m fine.”
“Clearly,” I deadpan. “You’re going to break if you don’t get this off your chest and start working through it.”
She laughs, eyes brimming over again. “I’m already fucking broken.”
“You’re not broken, but you are losing yourself.”
“Yeah?” she asks, patronizing me. “Well, maybe I’ll like the new girl I find. Maybe she’ll be stronger and not take any shit.”
“Or maybe she’ll be a cold shell of the amazing girl I used to know. And dead inside,” I counter.
Erin’s eyes catch mine then, her face as smooth as stone. “Better to be dead inside than live with this pain anymore.”
My heart is too broken to say another word before she turns, tucking the whistle into her clutch and walking back inside the ballroom.