25. The Storm
25
The Storm
I didn’t know if sharing my story with Amber would make a difference in the end, but it felt right. When I woke the next morning, I didn’t regret it. If nothing else, she’d know she wasn’t alone. That would have to be enough.
Ben and I were at my locker, and the seven-minute bell had just rung when I sensed someone beside me. I glanced over the top of my locker door and met Amber’s manic gaze. My stomach clenched. The storm had arrived.
“Can I talk to you?” she asked, and I nodded.
“Yeah.”
I turned to Ben, and he squeezed my hand. I leaned in and kissed his mouth lightly.
“Be brave,” he whispered.
“I will.”
With a parting nod to Amber, Ben turned and walked away.
I shut my locker and leaned my shoulder against it. Amber shifted her weight, casting nervous glances around us.
“Can we… go somewhere?”
“Sure.” I jerked my head in the vague direction of the auditorium. “I know a place.”
She followed half a step behind me, ensuring we were never close enough to touch. I’d thought first of taking her backstage or up to the sound booth where we wouldn’t be disturbed, but I thought better of it. I was still just a guy, and even though she could probably incapacitate me with a simple punch to my bad hip, I understood the threat I embodied.
So I took her to Acker’s classroom instead.
Ms. Acker sat behind her desk, working on her computer, but her head came up when we walked in. She furrowed her brow as the two-minute warning bell rang.
“Can we sit here for a sec?” I asked, and her eyebrows rose.
“You need to get to class,” she said.
I glanced down at Amber. She gazed back with glassy eyes.
I turned back to Acker. “It’s really important,” I said, holding her gaze, and her expression sobered.
“Important enough that I’m needed?”
“Yeah,” I said, and though Amber stiffened, she didn’t protest.
Ms. Acker nodded. Just once. “Shut the door.”
I shut the door as Amber shuffled to a chair halfway between Acker’s desk and the exit. Dragging over another chair, I set it across from Amber, leaving a foot or two between us, and sat down.
Acker remained at her desk, hands clasped together, computer forgotten.
Amber didn’t look at me for a long time, but eventually, she met my gaze. “People won’t believe us,” she said.
“Maybe not,” I said.
“They’ll drag us through the mud.”
I nodded. “Probably.”
“It won’t make a difference.”
“It might.”
She said, “I don’t think I can do what you want.”
“I don’t want you to do anything.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “But I am here to listen, if there’s anything you want to tell me.”
Her chin wobbled. Her eyes welled. But then her eyes hardened with resolve, and she said, “I’d like to tell you what happened to me.”
And I said, “Okay.”
Amber spoke, and with every word she uttered, my heart broke anew.
I didn’t know how long we sat in that classroom. It was long enough that my hip grew stiff from lack of movement. Long enough that my back started to ache from my hunched over position. Long enough that I feared Acker’s second hour class would arrive and ruin this moment of safety and vulnerability.
But none of that mattered.
Acker was the only one to move in that room. Amber adopted the same position as me, elbows on her knees, hands clasped together. Our hands were mere inches apart, but she didn’t bridge the gap, so neither did I.
At some point, Ms. Acker sat down beside Amber and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. Amber stuttered but didn’t stop. We sat like that until her words finally faded. A single tear hung from her lashes as she stared at the floor. I wanted to brush it away, but I kept my hands where they were.
“Thank you for telling me,” I whispered, voice rough.
She squeezed her eyes shut, that lone tear falling and soaking into the crimson and gold zigzags beneath our feet.
“You’re very brave,” Acker said, squeezing Amber’s shoulder. “Can you be brave a little longer?”
Amber ground her teeth, but then she nodded.
“Let’s go to the office. We’ll call your parents.”
As Ms. Acker guided her toward the door, Amber looked back at me. “Will you come with me?”
“If you want me to,” I said, and she nodded again. “Okay.”
I winced as I stood, stretching my leg, then I fell into step beside them. We walked with Amber between us, Acker wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. When we arrived at the front office, Amber hesitated.
Acker opened the door and waved her forward. She didn’t move.
Like Ben had done for me, all those months ago, I reached out and offered my hand to her. Amber looked down at it, then up at my face. I didn’t move to touch her, because this had to be her choice. She was in control. She just had to remember.
So I held out my hand, and I waited.
Slowly, carefully, like it was the hardest thing she’d ever done, she closed the miniscule distance between us and slipped her hand in mine.
Together, we walked into the office.
Calls were made. Amber’s mother arrived. Later, a few police officers, including Detective Arthur Rogers—the man in charge of Ben’s and my case—joined us. Amber told them what she’d told me. She strangled my hand with hers the entire time, but I didn’t let go.
It wasn’t until she told her mom that she thought she might need to take a pregnancy test that Amber broke. She sobbed into her mother’s shoulder, and my rage burned in my chest until I feared it would consume me.
It was decided that Amber and her mother would join the detectives at the police station, and after I gave my statement to Detective Rogers, I was free to go back to class. I left a crying Amber in the arms of her mother, feeling empty and oddly numb.
I passed Thing Two—Hank—in the foyer as Vice Principal Fields ushered him toward the front office. Our eyes met, and he scowled at me. I stared back, refusing to look away first.
It wasn’t his fault, but Eric was his friend. And if we did nothing, if we refused to hold our fellow men accountable, then maybe we were responsible too.
As I walked absently through the main part of the school, I looked at the clock and realized it was lunch time. Instead of going to my locker, I headed to the lunchroom. I stopped when I spotted Ben and our friends eating at our usual table.
He was picking at his food, only vaguely interacting with the others.
Like he felt my presence nearby, he lifted his head and our eyes met. Worry creased lines into his forehead as he stood and jogged over to me.
Cupping my face in his hands, he stared into my eyes, asking questions he knew I couldn’t answer. My breath hitched, and I circled his neck with my arms, burying my face in his shoulder. He held me as I trembled, dry sobs punching from my chest.
Our embrace was interrupted by a furious bellow echoing through the large lunchroom. I jerked out of Ben’s hold and watched as Amber’s brother ran through the crowded tables, shoving students out his way. The vice principal and a police officer chased him down, but he was faster.
“My sister?” he roared as he charged at Eric, who lounged at the wrestlers’ table. Eric staggered to his feet a second before Hank tackled him to the ground. “You touched my sister, you fucking asshole!”
I clung to the front of Ben’s shirt as Hank wailed on Eric, landing several good punches before the police officer and Vice Principal Fields could pull him off. Even then, he struggled and strained against their hold, expression feral.
“You goddamn rapist!” he snarled as they hauled him back.
One of the school security guards took Eric’s arm and led him out of the lunchroom toward the front office, keeping a good distance between them and the still shouting Hank.
Eric’s face was bleeding, but I wasn’t close enough to see how much damage Hank had done. But I was close enough to know the exact moment that he turned and glared right at me.
But I didn’t cower. Not this time. I stared him down, and when he turned away first, I grinned.
“Holy shit,” Ben said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Shit’s hitting the fan now.”
“Is Amber okay?” he asked with a gentle squeeze to the back of my neck.
I looked up at him and dragged the back of my knuckles over his jaw. “She will be.”
Our foreheads met, and we breathed.
After school, I caught a ride home with Kim and I spent a few hours doing homework until Ben was done with the middle school swim camp. He drove home, showered, and dressed in clean clothes before we got back in the car and returned to the school.
Most of the notes from yesterday’s choir rehearsal were in Amber’s notebook, not mine, but I would make do with what we had. Ben was useless to me in the sound booth, but he stayed quiet and out of the way, a comforting presence as I completed my final performance of my high school career.
As the auditorium emptied beneath us, Ben stood by the door, shifting his weight. “I have to pee so bad,” he said, doing a childish little dance, and I laughed as I started shutting down the stage lights.
“Then go pee. I’m not stopping you.”
“The stairs are narrow,” he said, and I snorted.
“I’ve gotten myself up and down these stairs just fine.” I held up my cane and wiggled it. “I’ll be fine. Go pee, and I’ll meet you down there in a few minutes. I’m almost done.”
He faltered, and I huffed. Crossing the small room, I popped onto my toes and kissed him. “Go before you pee yourself and embarrass me.”
He scowled, and I laughed.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised, and I pushed him toward the door.
“I’m sure I can survive five minutes without you,” I said, and he flipped me off as he clambered down the stairs like a herd of elephants.
I shut down the soundboard, leaving only the lowlights of the auditorium on for the remaining stragglers still exiting the theater. I gathered my things and glanced around the sound booth. It was finally over, wasn’t it? It was bittersweet, but it felt right.
Patting the back of the chair, I released a heavy breath, then turned toward the door where I heard someone climbing the stairs. Wow, he’d peed fast.
“I didn’t think it was possible to piss that fast,” I called out to Ben. “Did you not make it? I’m not walking out there with you if you wet yourse—”
My words cut off as a looming figure stepped into view. A figure that wasn’t Ben at all.
“Eric,” I said.
Boyt scowled, face bruised and swollen from where Hank had hit him. “Brigs.”
I said, “Don’t do this.”
And he said, “You should have kept your fucking mouth shut.”
He reached for the light switch and flipped it off, plunging the booth into semi-darkness. The light from the staircase cast his face in shadow, but his eyes gleamed dangerously. I glanced down over the auditorium, and my stomach dropped to my toes. It was nearly empty, and with the booth dark, no one could have seen me anyway.
The only exit was blocked by Boyt.
Ben wouldn’t be back for a few minutes at least. Maybe longer. Could I stall that long? What if I screamed? There were people down in the lobby area, but I could hear the loud murmur from here. Would they even hear me if I called for help?
The solid weight of my cane felt good in my hand, and I tightened my hold. I would try to stall, but I feared there was only way out of this. It was me or Eric. I didn’t think we’d both make it out of this booth unscathed. Not this time.
I stared Eric Boyt down, shifting my grip on the cane so I could use it as a club.
“It’s a good bludgeoning tool,” I’d said to Amber just last night, and a manic laugh bubbled up my throat. I managed to swallow it before it broke past my teeth.
Eric’s dark eyes glittered dangerously, but I didn’t cower. I wasn’t the same boy he’d cornered in that bathroom. That boy was dead and buried with my father. I was stronger now, and I would fight to my last breath before I allowed him to take anything else from me.
Because I had lost enough—he had taken enough.
“You can still walk away,” I said.
Eric stepped forward.
A faucet drip, drip, dripped.
“You’ll only make things worse,” I said.
Eric bared his teeth.
The hard floor of the backstage was cool on my cheek.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said.
Eric blocked out the light from the staircase.
I was drowning in cucumber melon.
“Eric,” I said, and I hated the way it sounded like a plea.
And Eric Boyt said, “Shut your fucking mouth.”
He didn’t yell. His words were hushed and cool, but I flinched anyway, part of me wishing he had shouted. Somehow, that would have been better than his cold, empty tone.
“That’s all you had to do,” he said, taking another step toward me. “That’s all either of you had to do. Just shut your fucking mouths. But you couldn’t even do that.”
I matched his forward motion with a backward one of my own, but there was nowhere to go. The back of my thighs hit the edge of the wood surface holding the soundboard.
“Eric—”
“Shut up!” he barked, pointing a thick finger at me. “You think you’re so much smarter than me, don’t you? Like I don’t know what you’re doing. Like I’m too stupid to see it?”
I scooted along the edge of the table, trying to circle around the small space so I could get to the doorway. “I’m not doing anything.”
“But I know what you’re doing,” he said, like I hadn’t spoken at all. “I’m not stupid. I’m not gonna let you ruin everything.”
“I’m not the one who raped a sixteen year old girl,” I said, and Eric stopped, his eye twitching.
“That’s not what happened,” he said, voice rougher than before. “It wasn’t like that.”
My hand trembled around its death-grip on my cane. “What was it like then?”
His jaw clenched. “She was ungrateful. She had to learn.”
“Had to teach her a lesson, huh?” I said, rage burning away the fear in my chest. “Had to teach her respect ?”
For a moment, Eric looked unsure, but it passed so quickly I was sure I’d imagined it. “She’s a lying bitch. Just like you. And now they’re going to expel me. I’ll lose my scholarship. That’s my ticket out of this shit town, and I’m not going to let some faggot take that away!”
“You’re going to burn for what you did,” I said, inching ever closer to the exit. “I’m gonna make sure of it.”
I reached the end of the table, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from darting to the doorway. I was so close.
Eric followed my gaze, noticing for the first time that we’d circled each other and I was now closer to the doorway than he was. His eyes widened as I reached back blindly and grabbed the first thing my fingers touched—a cordless microphone.
“Guess you’re not as smart as you think you are,” I said as I chucked the thing at him.
He raised his arms to bat it away, and I used his second of distraction to swing my cane like a baseball bat with all the strength I had. I was aiming for his head, but he was moving to dodge the heavy microphone, so my cane smashed into his shoulder instead. He grunted and stumbled back.
The power of my swing nearly upset my own balance, but I forced my feet to move. I ran for the door, fully prepared to throw myself down the stairs if it meant I’d get away. But just like that first night in the bathroom, Eric tripped me.
His foot connected with the back of my left knee, and my bum leg immediately crumpled beneath me. I landed hard, my cane flying from my grasp. I scrabbled after it desperately. It was the only weapon I had. But it rolled over the top step and clattered down the narrow stairway.
When a vice-like grip dug into my calf and yanked me backward, I sucked in a breath and screamed. Eric’s palm slapped over my mouth, but he’d learned from the last time. He adjusted his grip so I couldn’t bite him, but it still muffled my shrieks.
“Stop it,” he growled as he straddled my back, trapping me under his weight. “You stupid bitch.”
I didn’t stop. I screamed around his hand, pushing against the ground in a vain attempt to unseat him. With a frustrated snarl, his free hand dug into my bad hip and it felt like he leaned all of his body weight into that grip. My next cry was all pain.
Somehow, I managed to keep struggling through the pain, and he made another animalistic noise of aggravation. In quick succession, he landed three blows to my hip with his meaty fist, and my vision whited out.
I blinked hard, fighting the pull of unconsciousness. I had to stay awake. It was vitally important that I stay awake!
Gagging against his palm, I went still beneath him, and bile bathed the back of my throat as Eric’s hot breath fanned over the gash above my ear. “Why do you make me hurt you? You think I want to do this to you? Huh? You think I want this?”
His breathing was ragged, voice emptying to an icy void as he muttered, as if to himself, “Look at what you make me do. You stupid little shit. You’re gonna take your medicine. You’ll learn your lesson if it’s the last thing I do. I’ll show you. I’ll show you.”
And through the waves of pain crashing over me, that voice wriggled in the back of my brain, like it had that night backstage.
He’s not even talking to me.
“I’ll teach you respect,” he said
My stomach heaved as thick fingers tangled in my hair and yanked my head up. The hand at my mouth slid down to frame my throat, and I whimpered as his spittle splattered my cheek.
“You’re gonna tell everyone that you’re a lying little faggot. You’re gonna tell them that you made it all up.”
I coughed up acidic bile as agony radiated from my hip, and Eric’s fingers tightened around my throat.
“You made Amber talk. You’re going to shut her back up. You hear me?”
When I tried to speak, nothing but pathetic gasps scraped my throat, and Eric’s grip loosened enough for me to suck in a breath.
“You have something to say?” he asked conversationally, like he hadn’t just been strangling me. “Did you learn your lesson?”
“She’s sixteen,” I choked out. “She’s just a kid, you sick fuck.”
With a furious growl, he grabbed my head in both his hands and smashed it into the floor. Everything went white, then black. My brain felt fuzzy, like I was underwater.
“Look what you did,” the monster, who was really just a boy, said. “Look what you made me do!”
I hadn’t done anything. Because I wasn’t even there. I was floating. I was sinking. I was underwater, and I just wanted to sleep.
Something heavy added pressure to the back of my head. I groaned as pain throbbed through my brain. Someone was breathing in harsh pants, and I flinched when thick wetness splashed onto my cheek, above my ear, across the back of my neck.
“That’s respect,” he said. “I told you I’d show you.”
I tried to ask him who he was talking to, but I was lost to the dark sea. Everything was quiet here, and I floated along, watching stars fall around me. I reached out to touch them, and they burst into fireworks.
My dad sat beside me in the bed of my truck, hand clasping my shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay, son.”
“Am I?” I asked, and he smiled, his dark eyes warm and wonderful.
Then someone screamed, and I was sucked deeper, my father fading away like he’d never been at all.
The angel, who was also just a boy, said, “Oh my God.”
He said, “Silas, baby, can you hear me?”
He said, “Kim, call an ambulance! Oh Jesus, he’s bleeding.”
And I was lost again.