I fought ferociously, certain he would drown me. I hadn’t the opportunity to take a breath before being plunged beneath the surface, and already felt my chest burning for air: just one small breath of life.
Tim eased up, and I shot out of the water breathing in hungry gulps of wetted oxygen.
“What are you doing?!” I screeched, pulling away the matted hair from my face.
“Playing around,” Tim replied. “Jeez, we’re just having a little fun. Take it easy,” and he plunged me beneath the surface once more.
I dug my fingernails in his wrists, but it did nothing to loosen his grip. He was holding me down longer, I could tell, as my chest began burning urgently, demanding the oxygen I couldn’t provide. I wriggled this way and that to no avail, feeling the urgent burning move down into my belly, through my legs to the tips of my toes. My body was screaming silently, and I couldn’t save it.
Tim hauled me out of the water, and I clung to him on instinct, breathing deeply between coughs and splutters. He took advantage of my vulnerability by wrapping my legs around him, settling me on his hips so that I could feel his arousal. I tried to break free, but he held me tightly in his arms, shaking his head at my silent plea.
We were at the shallow end of the lane, a place where he could firmly plant his feet and move us round and round in small circles. I thought he was trying to lull me into a false sense of safety, and I had no choice but to cling to him harder, praying he wouldn’t dunk me under the water again.
“Did you have fun?” he asked.
I felt the tears spill over to those words as I shook my head. I imagined I looked a mess with wet, matted hair and black mascara running down my cheeks. Not only was he successful in making me feel weak and helpless, but also in making me feel ugly.
“Brooklyn,” Tim said. “It was only a little bit of fun. Why are you upset?”
He slid his hands over my bottom, and I squirmed.
“Keep doing that,” he said, and I stopped.
“I hate you,” I sobbed quietly.
“Brooklyn, you don’t hate me. But I should hate you. Why are you spreading rumors about me at school?”
“I’m not spreading rumors about you,” I choked.
“You’re not? Then why did Ashley think I was a rapist?” Tim asked.
“You are a rapist,” I said, trying once more to free myself from his grasp.
“Stop struggling,” Tim ordered. “Now, lucky for you she believed me when I told her you were a crazy psycho bitch ex-girlfriend. And lucky for you, she got her friends to believe me, too. So you get a free pass this time, huh?”
He slipped his hand between my legs. “But just this once. Now give me a kiss, and I’ll let you go,” Tim said.
I shook my head.
“Just one little kiss,” Tim cooed.
“Hey, man, what’s the deal?” Cal asked, hovering above us. “Give her to me.”
I can’t believe I wanted to be passed from one predator to the next, but in that moment I thought Cal was the good guy. He was my rescuer.
“Chill out, man,” Tim said, releasing me. I reached for Cal who pulled me easily out of the water. He wrapped a towel around me and held me close.
“Not cool, dude. She was scared to death,” Cal snapped, running his hands roughly over my arms to warm me up. “You can’t rough house with girls like you can with guys, you douchebag.”
He walked me over to my book bag then out of the pool area to my car. If I were in my right mind, I would have noticed two things: first, Cal never jumped into the water to come after me. He was no rescuer. And two, he had a towel in his arms ready for me. I pictured him, watching the entire scene then strolling lazily to the towel rack before intervening.
Later that night as I lay in my bed shaking with fear and anger, I realized they planned it. There was no real swim practice. They lured me to the pool under false pretenses, then to the edge of the water for Cal to look at the pictures I took. And Cal stood there and watched as Tim pushed me underwater, forcing me to endure minutes of torture that felt like hours. He let Tim grope me before feigning outrage. Throughout the entire ordeal he was silently telling me one thing: “Don’t fuck with me. Don’t fuck with my friends.”
I pulled the covers over my head and burst into tears. I wouldn’t mess with him anymore tonight. The truth was that I was genuinely afraid of him for the first time. So I chose to entertain the fear, let it grip me and manifest itself in the sounds of quiet, desperate sobs. But I would only let him do this to me tonight. Tomorrow the fear would be gone.
***
“Jessica Canterly,” Terry said on our way to the parking lot.
I whirled around to face him, stopping cold. “Yeah?”
“In and out of psych wards since tenth grade. Family moved out of state after her freshmen year. Serious shit. She did everything. Cut herself. Developed every eating disorder in the book. Pulled her hair out,” Terry said. “I’m talking serious shit.”
“I knew it,” I whispered.
“Now, hold up,” Terry replied. “Just because she has all these psychological problems does not mean she was raped.”