“He’d just turned sixteen,” Lucy said.
“Sixteen in ninth grade?” I asked. “That’s kind of old. Did he start school late? Was he held back a grade or two?”
Lucy sighed, then smiled. “Brooke, do you have ADD?”
“Huh?”
“Who cares that he was driving? The point was that he was driving.”
I nodded and refocused.
“Anyway, we’d sneak out of the prom occasionally so that I could have a couple of sips. By the end of the night I was hammered. But I mean really hammered, like something-doesn’t-feel-quite-right hammered.”
I looked at her dubiously.
“Okay, I know that being hammered never feels ‘right.’ What I meant was I think he drugged the champagne. I mean, yes, I drank a lot of it, but I’ve had champagne before, and it’s never made me feel like that. Really sluggish. Out of it. Like my arms were heavy weights or something.”
“I see.”
“I remember very little about that evening. I remember making out and getting naked. I was okay with that because we’d gone there before, but then he started getting forceful.”
I tensed.
“And there were others.”
“What?” I was in the middle of sipping my coffee, choking down most of the liquid while some dribbled down my chin. Lucy handed me a napkin.
“I remember that there were others. I don’t know how many, but they were talking and laughing.” She thought for a moment. “And then they argued for awhile.”
I stared at her wide-eyed, one term repeating over and over in my head: gang-raped.
“The last thing I remember was a bunch of hands all over me before I passed out.”
We sat in silence. I didn’t know what to do, so I finished off my coffee. Lucy was no longer interested in hers. She preferred to watch the young couple holding hands and giving each other occasional pecks.
“Lucy, I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
She turned in my direction. It was a reluctant turn, like she didn’t want to take her eyes off of the cute couple. Like she wanted to linger in their fantasy a little longer.
“You didn’t do anything, Brooke,” she replied. “Why are you apologizing?”
I had no response to that. Why was I apologizing? I didn’t rape her. But that’s what you said when you heard bad news. It was standard. You say you’re sorry, like you’re apologizing for the wrong or apologizing on behalf of the people who inflicted the wrong.
I shrugged.
“I woke up the next morning wearing my prom dress. It was speckled with blood. I was a virgin, you see, so I figured I must have been raped. But it’s kind of hard to make the claim when you can’t remember shit.”
“What about your parents?”
Lucy snickered. “Well, according to them, Cal brought me home drunk. They got in a huge argument and said he wasn’t allowed to date me anymore. Then they got mad at me for being irresponsible about alcohol. Somehow it became all my fault.”
I shook my head in disbelief.
“The best part is what happened at school,” Lucy went on. “Monday morning I confronted Cal about that night. I wanted to know what happened. Of course, he told me I was crazy. And then he told me he wanted nothing more to do with me, that I was a crazy psycho lush. He spread all kinds of nasty rumors about me. I lost my friends. I quit cheerleading. Somehow, I turned into the psycho bitch at school. People were actually afraid of me. Of me!”
Lucy burst out laughing, her fragile frame shaking uncontrollably. “Are you looking at me, Brooke? Are you seeing this?” she asked between giggles. “How could anyone be afraid of this?”
“Lucy . . .”
“I weigh a hundred pounds, Brooke! A hundred pounds! I can’t even walk my Saint Bernard because I’m not strong enough! I don’t have a mean bone in my body! I don’t even know how to be mean to other people. How do they do it, Brooke? How are people mean, ‘cause I’d really like to know? I mean, if people are gonna be afraid of me and all, then I’d like to know how to be a fucking bitch!”
Several patrons turned in our direction, and I instinctively jumped from my seat. I put my arm around Lucy and led her out of the coffee shop to my car.
“I mean, if I’m a fucking psychopath lush bitch then I need to know how to act the part!” she screamed in the parking lot. There was no more laughter, only angry tears coursing down her cheeks.
I helped her into the passenger seat of the car and fastened her seat belt.
“He ruined my life!” Lucy dug her hands into the sides of the seat. “And I can’t do anything about it! Not a thing!” And then she let out a long, mournful wail. I thought I’d heard it before: complete and utter wretchedness, but I realized I hadn’t. Even I, in all my misery and guilt over Beth, had never made a sound like that.