Now, I remembered feeling relieved when I’d finally locked the door behind her, despite the fact that sex with her was the best remedy I’d ever found for the anxiety that coursed through my blood. And then it hit me—I had used her. I’d taken advantage of her age and compliant nature and said all the right things, whatever it took to get her to sleep with me. I’d done exactly what I’d watched my father do with women for years. Realizing this made me stop running. I stood in the middle of the sidewalk, breathing hard, terrified to think I was capable of that kind of behavior—that, despite my best efforts, I might still be like the man I sometimes hated. If I’d basically manipulated Whitney into having sex, did that mean I was capable of forcing myself on Amber, too? No, I thought. No way. I love her too much. I would never do that. We were both drunk, and we both wanted it. I am not my father. Having sex was her decision as much as mine.
On my way back home, I made those last two sentences my mantra. I repeated them as I showered again and then forced myself to eat a peanut butter sandwich, along with two more big glasses of water. I checked my phone for a message from Amber, but there was only a short text from Mason. “You hear from Amber yet?” it said, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth. If I said that she still wouldn’t talk with me, he might take it to mean that she really did have a reason to be scared. That maybe I actually did force myself upon her.
Having sex was her decision as much as mine. This was the only thought I could allow myself to have. Anything else was too horrifying to comprehend.
I watched a little television, trying to get lost in the convoluted plotline of a stupid movie, and finally, around six o’clock, I felt drowsy enough to pull down my room-darkening shades and collapse into bed, still fighting the lingering aftereffects of my hangover. Mason and I weren’t back on shift until the next evening, so I planned to get all the sleep I possibly could to make up for the alcohol I’d had to drink. Sleep would let me escape. It would erase, at least temporarily, the look of terror that had taken over Amber’s face when I stepped inside her room. It would silence the sound of her screaming, and I could pretend, at least while I slept, that my life wasn’t about to fall apart.
? ? ?
I didn’t wake up until seven the next morning, when the sound of my phone ringing served as an annoying alarm. Amber was the first thought in my head, so I scrambled to answer the call, disappointed when I saw my mom’s face on the screen.
“Good morning,” I said. My voice was more graveled than usual, so I coughed to clear it.
“Honey,” she said, not bothering to greet me. “Did something happen between you and Amber? I went over there last night and Helen wouldn’t even let me inside.” She paused. “She was so upset, Ty. I’ve never seen her like that. She could barely look at me. When I asked her why, she said I should talk to you.”
I froze, not knowing how to tell her everything that happened. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words “She thinks I raped her” to my own mother. I couldn’t imagine saying them to anyone.
“Tyler,” she prompted. “For god’s sake, tell me what’s going on!”
“I’m not really sure,” I said, thinking that this was actually true. Amber hadn’t accused me of anything. Not yet. I still didn’t know what she was thinking. “We got drunk at the party we went to, and Mason and Gia ended up driving her home.”
“What? Why?”
“I overdid it,” I said, trying to be as honest as I possibly could. “I passed out.”
“Oh, Tyler,” my mom said. “What were you thinking?”
“She was drunk, too,” I said, realizing that I sounded like a child again, trying to defend myself by saying, “She hit me first!”
“That doesn’t matter,” my mom said. “You were her ride, and it sounds like you basically deserted her.” She sighed. “But why would Helen be so angry? Amber got home okay, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t want to think about any of this. I just wanted to go back to sleep. Having sex was her decision as much as mine.
“Did anything else happen? Did you and Amber have a fight?”
“Not exactly,” I said, realizing that there was no way I could avoid telling my mom what really happened. If I didn’t, I knew Helen eventually would. At least if the story came from me, I had a chance to explain my side.
“Then, what?” she asked, exasperated. “Helen’s my best friend, Tyler. If she’s angry enough to barely speak to me . . . to not let me inside her house . . . then she must think something awful happened.” She waited for me to fill in the blanks.
“I’m not sure,” I said, again, another honest statement. “Amber’s been flirting with me since she got home from school, Mom. We’ve been flirting with each other. And at the party . . . well, we got pretty close. When we were dancing, she kissed me.”
“She what?” my mom exclaimed. “Amber wouldn’t do that. She’s engaged!”
“I know that. But it’s what happened.” That’s right, I told myself. Amber started this. I only followed through on what she made it clear she wanted. I took a deep breath, and then spoke again. “We ended up having sex. And now I think Amber regrets it or something. I don’t know, for sure.”
“Why don’t you know?” my mom asked, dragging out the words.
“Because I went straight over there when I left the party the next morning to make sure she was okay. I was worried when I woke up and she wasn’t there. But when I tried to talk with her, she basically kicked me out. I have no idea what she told her parents.” There, I thought. I’m not lying. Every bit of what I just said is true.
“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” my mom said. “You need to go back over there and straighten things out.”
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”
“If it was just between you and her, I would agree with that, honey. But she obviously told her parents something that made Helen angry enough to turn me away. I can’t possibly think what could be so bad . . .” She trailed off, and I waited for her to draw her own conclusions so I wouldn’t have to say the words myself. “Oh no,” she finally said. “Do you think she told them that she didn’t want to have sex with you? That you forced her?”
And there was Amber’s voice again, inside my head: Tyler, wait! I closed my eyes and suddenly flashed back to the moment when she put her hands on my chest and attempted to push me off of her. The way she started to cry. Fuck. I rolled onto my back, throwing my one free arm over my forehead. “It crossed my mind,” I said to my mother. “But you know I would never—”
“Of course you wouldn’t!” my mom said, cutting me off. “That’s just insane. Helen has to know that. Tom, too. I mean, good lord. You’re not a rapist. You’re a paramedic. You save people’s lives.”
I nodded, not sure, exactly, what one thing had to do with the other, but still desperate to allow my mother’s words to make me feel better. She was right. I wasn’t a bad person. Yes, I’d treated Whitney poorly, but I wasn’t the kind of man who stalked women, then hid in the bushes, waiting for the right opportunity to attack. I only did what millions of other guys my age are known to do—I got drunk with a girl at a party, and we ended up having sex. I didn’t tie Amber up or hold a knife to her throat. Even if she regretted it, an accusation of force would be almost impossible to prove. Everyone saw how she was dressed, how we were drinking and kissing and dancing. They saw us go inside the house, holding hands.
“Have you talked with your dad?” my mom asked.
“No,” I said. “Why?”