49. Simone #4
By the time I get up to my dorm, the adrenaline from the game and the drive has finally worn off, leaving this exhaustion behind. Still, I’m left smiling. Because maybe it’s not what my heart really wants…but it’s something close. It’s progress.
I unlock the door and step inside.
Then stop.
Because the first thing I see—right there hanging on the wall—is a…situation.
That’s the only way I can describe whatever that is.
Lani is standing in front of it—gluing another…um item to the board. I stare at it for a full five seconds before speaking.
“Can someone tell me,” I say slowly, “what exactly I’m looking at right now…”
Lydia turns, looking up at me and then over at Lani.
She immediately loses it. “Lani is finishing working on her…project,” she says through laughter.
“I know I slept at the Gamma house the last two days…but how did I miss—”
I wave my arms, gesturing at the…art?
Lani turns, placing the hot glue gun down on the desk. “It’s a sculpture.”
I take a few slow steps closer, hands on my hips. Mounted on the wall is what I can only describe as an art installation made entirely of…vibrators.
Different sizes. Different shapes. Different colors. Some sleek and minimal. Some are aggressively intimidating. Some that look like they came straight out of a sci-fi movie and are absolutely not meant for beginners.
I tilt my head. “Is this…a shrine?”
“It’s art,” Lani says defensively.
“For what class?” I ask.
“Advanced Contemporary Art.”
“Hm, yeah. That checks out,” I mutter.
Lydia is full cry laughing now. “She made a masturbation collage.”
I look back at Lani. “Of course you did.”
“It’s titled Re-clamation,” she says, crossing her arms.
“Should be called Re-climaxation,” Lydia quips.
I crouch slightly, inspecting it like it might explain itself if I get close enough. Then my voice drops. “Are these…used?”
Lani gasps. “No! What kind of freak do you think I am?”
I slowly turn my head toward Lydia, and Lydia slowly turns her head toward me. We lock eyes, and our mouths twitch.
Lani points at us. “Don’t do that.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I defend, raising my hands up.
Lani reaches into her tote and pulls out a folded-up sheet of paper. “There’s a poem that goes with it.”
I straighten instantly. “Oh. There’s a poem.”
“It’s…confessional poetry,” she says defensively.
“Please tell me it’s not erotic,” I say.
“It’s not,” she replies. Then pauses. “The opposite, actually.”
I plop down on the bed next to Lydia and pat the mattress eagerly. “Please. Read it out loud.”
Lani hesitates.
She’s suddenly quieter, a little less sharp around the edges now.
“You don’t have to,” Lydia says gently.
“No. It’s okay,” Lani tells her. “I should probably practice.”
She unfolds the paper, clears her throat, and then starts. “It’s titled ‘Your body was stolen.’”
“I learned as early as a child—earlier than I should have,
That being a girl was dangerous.
Being the weaker gender made you a target to boys and men who can’t control themselves.
They tell you that you need them to protect you, and then turn around and are the ones who do the hurting.
They even convince you that you wanted it.
But she didn’t understand what was happening.
How could she have wanted something she simply couldn’t comprehend?
Once you’ve been hurt, people look at you differently.
Like you’re used.
Like you had to have asked for it.
Like you deserved what happened because you should have known better.
Like you’re dirty now.”
Her voice is steady, but quiet.
“They tell you your body is yours,
Until it isn’t,
Until someone takes it without asking and ruins your innocence.
Then they tell you it’s your fault for not protecting it better.
But it was their job to be decent human beings and not steal what was never theirs to take.”
I feel something break in my heart listening to her, aching for every girl who has been hurt this deeply.
“I learned to be quiet.
To disconnect.
To pretend like it never happened.
Like I’m not actually broken like they tried to convince me I was.
I can’t be broken if I was the only witness and I say that I’m fine.”
Lani swallows, stopping for a moment to collect herself before continuing.
“Some of us chase affection, like it might save us from the way we’re drowning.
Some of us avoid it because being alone is safer than being broken again.
You see, this poem isn’t really about sex.
It’s about choice.
About taking back something that was never supposed to be stolen.”
She puts the paper back down on the desk and just stands there for a moment. It’s quiet, nobody saying anything yet, just letting the emotions from that sit and breathe.
I turn and see a tear slip down Lydia’s cheek. Without thinking, I pull her into my side, her head tucking against my shoulder as she sucks up her tears.
Lani sniffles. “Okay. I hate feelings.”
“Too late,” I say softly. “Come here.”
She hesitates for half a second, then crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed with us, stiff until Lydia reaches out and grabs her hand.
“This is the weirdest roommate moment we’ve had so far,” I murmur.
“I feel emotionally attacked by your art,” Lydia adds through her own sniffles.
Lani lets out a watery laugh. “That’s kinda the point, I guess.”