“We both were,” she says. “But I still told you to stop. And you raped me anyway.”
I recoil at her use of the term, unable to comprehend that what had happened between us could be construed that way. For almost five months, I’d told myself that it happens all the time—these drunk hookups between men and women, both of them remembering different versions of the truth, the woman later regretting the decision and crying rape to make herself feel better. But I couldn’t imagine Amber being vindictive like that. Even if my memories of that night were foggy, I couldn’t imagine she’d make something like that up. I couldn’t believe she’d lie. Still, I can’t help trying to explain away what led us to that moment, to justify it, somehow, to prove that the sex had been something we both wanted. I keep going back to how we danced, how we kissed, and how, no matter what she says now, I never heard her use the word “no.”
We drive along in the pitch black for another half an hour, until we reach the logging road that will lead us where Amber wants to go. Much of the paved road between the town of Index and the Bryants’ property had been washed away by flooding on the Skykomish more than a decade ago, and since it wasn’t exactly a priority for the state to repair, the only way to access the cabin is to go up and over the mountain, adding an extra hour or more to the route. “You sure this is safe to do at night?” I ask, knowing the terrain is uneven and the road often cuts close to the edge of a steep, treacherous drop.
“I don’t care,” she says. “Put on your high beams and drive.”
I do as she asks, keeping my speed low, staying jutted against the left side of the road as best I can.
“Does Daniel know where you are?” I say as we bump along. I’m trying to get her to talk to me, to make her realize that what she’s doing is crazy.
“Daniel and I broke up in July.”
“Oh, wow. Sorry,” I say, shocked to hear this, but then realize that if they were still together, Daniel would have more than likely shown up at my front door to kick my ass.
“No, you’re not,” she snaps. “Just shut up. I don’t want you talking about him.”
I comply, and a silent hour later, we reach the main gate of the property. Amber jumps out of the truck to unlock the gate, and as she pushes it out of our way, I am briefly tempted to throw the truck into reverse and leave her there, alone, in the woods and the dark. But even now, I don’t want to put her in danger. Part of me feels responsible for her pain. At the very least, I am responsible for the annihilation of an important and meaningful friendship.
Amber climbs back into the cab, and I drive us over the narrow bridge that leads to the cabin. The ground is covered in a few inches of early November, slushy snow, but my truck’s four-wheel drive easily gets us through it, and a few minutes later, I pull up into the one parking spot at the top of a small incline, at the bottom of which is the cabin. I turn off the engine, and almost immediately, the chill from outside begins to seep through the windows and eats up the remaining heat in the cab.
“What now?” I ask Amber, who hasn’t said a word since she told me to shut up about Daniel.
She shifts her head and looks at me, her hazel eyes dark, the bruised spots beneath them making it appear as though she has been beaten. “You’re going to admit what really happened,” she says. Her voice sounds detached, far away from her body, and I worry that she might be having some kind of serious mental break. Even though I could overpower her if I wanted to, I can’t help imagining the kind of white-hot agony she must be in to have taken things this far. However much has broken between us, I still love her. I probably always will.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I say, feeling helpless.
She finally looks at me, the dim light from the moon catching the shine of tears in her eyes, turning them into impossibly deep, swirling pools of green and gold. “What you meant doesn’t matter,” she says. “You still need to pay for what you did.”
Amber
The moment Tyler was finished, he rolled off me and passed out with one of his long arms thrown across my body. I couldn’t look at him. All I could feel was the burning between my legs, the knots in my stomach, and the tears running down my cheeks. I felt paralyzed, as though the entire weight of him was still pinning me to the bed, pressing all the air from my lungs.
Loud music blasted out on the patio, punctuated by the occasional firework. I heard laughter and happy, shouting conversation—the world had gone on, continuing to spin on its axis, even as mine had slammed to a jarring, neck-snapping halt.
I didn’t know what to do. I was still drunk. Tyler had driven me to the party. How could I get home without him? That was all I could think to do. Get home. Climb in the shower. Scrub away the stain and smell of him from my skin. Never see him again.
I could feel his hot breath on my bare arm as he slept. Light snores escaped him as I forced myself to get out from under his touch, shifting oh so slowly, terrified of waking him. My head ached, my insides felt as though they’d been stirred with a hot poker. My body moved like it was full of heavy, wet sand.
When I finally managed to sit upright on the side of the bed, more tears filled my eyes and a sob seized my throat. I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep from making a sound. Get away . . . don’t wake him were the only thoughts in my head. My chest heaved a few times as I swallowed back my revulsion and grief, and as soon as I could, I leaned over and grabbed my underwear, pulling it up as I stood. A warm, sticky liquid oozed between my thighs, and in response, I gagged.
I need to get to a bathroom. I grabbed my sandals from the floor and tiptoed as quietly as I could out of the room, closing the door behind me. I stumbled down the stairs, grasping the railing so I wouldn’t fall. The small powder room I’d been in with Gia was empty, so I locked myself inside it, turned on the light, and forced myself to clean up as best I could. I let loose a few hiccuping sobs as I finished, pulling up my panties again, flushing the toilet, and then stood in front of the mirror, not recognizing who I saw. My hair was a tangled mess and my eyes were smudged with mascara; black streaks ran down my cheeks. My bottom lip was swollen and had a cut, either from Tyler’s forceful kisses or from my teeth biting into it. The girl I’d been just an hour ago was gone; she’d been obliterated. I had no idea who I was now.