Chapter 20
Josephine
“The high school rape case?” Kendrick asks, head whipping up from where his attention was fixed on his lap.
At the same time, Hunter screeches, “That was you?”
I drop into my chair and dig deep into my resolve before turning to my friend. “No,” I deadpan. “My rapists did their homework and weren’t dumb enough to record penetration on camera like in Steubenville.”
“Jesus, Jojo,” Kendrick huffs, pounding his fist into the table, then bowing his head again.
“You were…” Locke starts, his usually warm hazel eyes filled with sorrow.
I clear my throat, garnering my strength to make it through as many details as possible before I lose it.
This is my past. It was my story. I’ve put in the work to heal as best as I can from the trauma of that night, but in the end, it shaped me. Changed me. It happened. It was real.
I’ll never be over it. But I can live with it. Most days, at least.
The lasting effects of that night—and the fallout after—made the rest of the world go fuzzy around me for several months. But with years of counseling, the proper combination of meds, and a shit ton of time and self-care, I’ve moved on.
Correction: I was moving on. This week, it’s as though I ran into a brick wall, and I’m still slamming my body into it over and over again, desperate to get out of this feedback loop. I’m trapped in my head, transported back.
Inhaling and calling on all the courage I don’t feel strong enough to muster, I begin to explain.
“When I was sixteen, I went to a party. I was drugged. I was raped. Probably gang banged. I don’t know exactly what happened, because I was unconscious, dumped on the side of the road, and left for dead. It was storming that night.”
I look first to Locke, then to Kylian. They’re all too familiar with my deep-seated aversion to storms.
“The rain was relentless. It soaked through my clothes, washed away evidence. All the semen, and the blood.”
Greedy curses under his breath. Beside him, Hunter places her hand on top of his.
“Lightning split a tree along the side of the road where they left me. I saw it strike. It’s one of the very last things I remember—the night sky splitting in two, then the tree cleaving down the middle. I still see it. When I close my eyes. At night, when I dream.
“I wanted to vanish into those cracks of bark and burning wood. I lay there, semi-conscious, wishing for the sky to swallow me up and take away every ache, every pain, all the memories. I just didn’t want to feel anything anymore.”
Hunter sniffles, and my gut reaction is to reach out and comfort her, but I can’t be the friend I want to be in this moment. Not until I get through this.
“The tree fell across the road where they left me. That’s the only reason I wasn’t hit by a car. The road was blocked, so not a single vehicle passed all night long.”
“The clean-up crews were out early the next day. It was a massive storm. They eventually found me, but it wasn’t until the late afternoon.”
“They called 911, and I was transported to the ER. I was in such a fog. I had definitely been drugged, but I couldn’t access the words or wherewithal to explain that.
The last thing I remember from the night before, besides the lightning, was chugging a cup of lukewarm beer to shut up the second-string quarterback. ”
I close my eyes and sit up straighter, willing myself to press on.
“It wasn’t until the next week when I went back to school and saw the first recordings that I started to piece it all together.”