“He was going to rape me?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. But you’re safe now, okay?” I said, wrapping my arm around her shoulder as I spoke to the dispatcher.
I watched Ashley climb into the cab before going back inside. I had to pee, the irony being that I had hung out in the bathroom all evening. I rounded the corner and smacked into Tim. He laced his fingers with mine in one deft movement and pulled me down the hallway. I looked like his reluctant date, digging in my heels. I should have screamed then, but I was too surprised at the turn of events. I had planned on sneaking out of the theatre without him ever spotting me.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded, dropping my hand and backing me into the corner of the hallway.
“I’ll scream to high heaven if you do anything,” I warned.
“Is there a reason you keep fucking up my dates? I mean, who are you anyway?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
Tim snorted. “You think I’m stupid or something? I saw you send Ashley off in a fucking cab! Did I do something to you that I can’t remember? You got some vendetta with me? What the hell did I do to you?”
I wanted to tell him it’s not what he did to me; it’s what I knew he’d do to Ashley. It’s what I knew he did to Amelia.
And then the righteous anger bubbled up, and it spilled over at the wrong time with the wrong words.
“I know,” I said so softly I thought he wouldn’t hear.
Tim reared back as though I slapped his face. He stumbled into a couple on their way to Theatre 5. He mumbled an apology while rearranging his stunned face. And then he leaned into me once more, hands on either side of my head.
“Oh, you know?” he asked. It came out as a sensual whisper. “What is it you think you know?”
He was taunting me, raking his eyes up and down my body. Suddenly I wasn’t brave anymore.
“I . . . I know y-you’re trouble,” I stuttered.
“You’re right,” he cooed. “I am trouble. So you better watch out.”
“Don’t threaten me,” I said. I was so happy I got the words out without faltering.
“Oh, I’m not threatening you. I don’t have to threaten little girls like you because you’ll do what I say,” Tim said.
I trembled now from outrage and humiliation. I wasn’t some “little girl”.
“Fuck you,” I spat, and pushed against his chest with all my might. He could have kept me pinned in the corner easily, but he moved aside, allowing me the illusion that I’d pushed him away with my strength.
“Stay away from me, bitch,” I heard Tim say as I booked it down the hallway.
***
“So, what trouble have you gotten yourself into lately, Brooke?” Dr. Merryweather asked.
I tensed.
“Hey, take it easy. Everything in here is confidential. Remember?” she said good-naturedly.
“No trouble,” I lied.
“Brooke. You know the drill. If you don’t open up to me, then my hands are tied. I can’t help you the way you need, so you’ve gotta trust me. Remember all this?”
I nodded.
“Okay. So tell me about these nightmares.”
“Wait. How do you know about my nightmares?” I asked, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.
“Are you serious? Your dad called. He set up this appointment. You think he didn’t tell me what was going on?” she asked. She wrote something down on her pad of paper, and I thought she was taking notes about me. I imagined they read, “Dip shit.”
“I’m not a dip shit,” I muttered.
“That’s not what I wrote, Brooke,” Dr. Merryweather said patiently.
“Whatever.”
She smiled pleasantly and showed me her pad. She was right. She didn’t write “dip shit.” She wrote my name and birth date.
“Oh,” I said. I tried for an apologetic smile. “My bad.”
“So what’s got you all upset that you’re having nightmares?” Dr. Merryweather continued.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said airily. “I sneaked around with my best friend’s boyfriend. We had sex behind her back. Then she killed herself because she got raped. Now she’s haunting me in my dreams and telling me I deserve to have bad shit happen to me. Oh yeah. I’ve discovered a group of boys at school who fuck girls and score themselves on it.”
I leaned back in my chair feeling smug. Take that, Doc! And here you thought I was just sad about my mommy moving away.
“Maybe all that combined has something to do with it,” I concluded for good measure.
Dr. Merryweather drew in her breath. “Well, it looks like we’ve got some work to do.”
“Evidently.”
“Brooke?”
“Hmm?”
“Perhaps you’ve considered that it’s not your friend who’s haunting you? Rather, it’s you who’s haunting you?”