I held the trophy up a second longer, then threw it on the floor. It broke.
“Get out of my house, Lillie. I’m the one who’s been assaulted here. Maybe I’ll call the cops on you.”
“Fuck you,” I said.
“No, you fuck me,” he said, and his voice was sharp and cruel. He reached up and tried to grab me again, and the terror roared back. Get out, get out, get out, a voice was saying, and I was so certain he would win this time, and this time he wouldn’t coax, he’d just rape me, and it would be brutal, and he’d stick a sock in my mouth and tie me up, and . . .
I wrenched back, fell on my butt and scrambled up. Then I was running out of his room, down the hall, down the stairs so fast my feet blurred. I slid down the last three steps but managed to keep my feet under me. “Looks like someone was having a good time,” said a guy.
“Beth!” I yelled, but my voice was just a squeak.
Get out, get out, get out.
I burst outside, gasping and panting. There was a huddle of guys smoking weed in the driveway, blocking my path to the car. Chase’s friends. They gaped at me, then laughed, and I turned and ran. No. I flew across the Freemans’ wide lawn, toward the water, toward the town cove. I fell off the drop-off into the muck, the stiff reeds scratching and stabbing my legs. I was gasping for air and shaking hard.
Hide.
I crawled further into the tall reeds until I felt hidden in the marsh.
I covered my mouth, trying to quiet down, because I was gasp-sobbing. Then I looked down, and a little mewl of dismay escaped me. My shirt and bra were still undone . . . everyone had seen my breasts. My hands shook so hard it took me four tries to do up my bra. I buttoned my shirt and wrapped my arms around myself. Mud seeped into my skirt and panties, and there were dark smears of muck on my sleeves.
The anger was gone, and all that was left was fear. Fear, and utter disdain for myself.
How could I have been so stupid? How? Our health teachers had warned us about drugs and date rape and not leaving your friend alone at a party since fourth grade, yet here I was, sitting in the mud, hiding, shaking like a terrified Chihuahua, trying not to scream or cry.
I didn’t have a cell phone. They were expensive, and we didn’t have a lot of service anyway, not out by the kettle ponds. Dad had said maybe for Christmas.
I was alone here. But at least it was dark, and I was hidden. The air was cold and clear, and I remembered that I loved nature, and I would be okay, out here in the marsh, smelling the sea.
Then I heard voices. Chase and another guy, maybe two. A flashlight swept across the reeds and I froze.
“She ran across the yard,” a male voice said.
“Well, if she calls the cops, I’m fucking dead. This will fuck up Harvard, too. My dad will kill me.”
They were looking for me. Jesus God, they were looking for me. And what if they found me?
I froze. Even the shaking stopped, and my breath quieted. I put my hands into the mud and smeared my face with it, slowly, silently camouflaging myself so my skin wouldn’t catch the beam of light. Thank God I was wearing black. My legs were already filthy with marsh muck.
I was a girl from the woods of Wellfleet. I knew how to be quiet. I told myself it was just like standing in the water of Herring Pond, being so, so still that a heron would walk right past you, that the fish would swim between your feet and nibble at your skin, that you were part of the landscape. I pretended that I was part of the marsh, invisible, safe.
“I don’t see her,” one of the other boys said. Camden from the lacrosse team, also a senior. “She probably caught a ride home. It’s better this way. Everyone saw her slutting it up in there, Chase. Nothing happened. She left. Story over.”
The flashlight beam swept past me again, and I closed my eyes.
Then it was dark again, and the boys’ voices grew fainter. I stayed where I was. What were they going to do if they found me? What was my punishment going to be? The words gang rape floated in front of my eyes. Slut. Easy. Whore. Drunk. Stoned.
I sat there for hours, my knees pulled to my chest, afraid to leave in case I was seen. At some point, the voices moved outside. Engines started, kids laughed, cars drove off. I sat there, praying that Beth would come, that I’d hear her voice and could run to her and be safe again.
How could she have let me go off with Chase? Wasn’t that the cardinal rule of parties? Never let your friend go off with a slimy rich boy.
But then I remembered that she didn’t know. Sitting there, sobering up in the mud, I remembered the details. I had told her I was thirsty and had gone into the kitchen. I’d pulled a Coke out of a cooler, said hi to Jessica, who was making out with her boyfriend and didn’t pause. Then I turned and found myself face-to-face with Chase, and he asked me to dance. We did, and after a little while, he said, “Want to see my room?” and I said yes.
I said yes.
Oh, God. It was my word against his. It was.
Then I heard Bethie’s voice. “What time did Lillie leave?” she asked, and her words carried easily across the lawn. Thank God! I started to stand up, then froze mid-crouch.
“She didn’t feel good.” Chase’s voice. “Bruce said she called someone and left. Dunno what time.”
“Weird. She didn’t even find me. Well, this was wicked fun, Chase! Thanks!”
No, Beth! No! It wasn’t fun! It was horrible! I peeked through the reeds, waiting for Chase to go inside. He didn’t. He stood with his arms crossed, and then, as if he sensed my presence, turned his head toward me. I sank back down, fresh terror zinging through my limbs. I wanted to run out, run to my best friend, collapse in her arms and sob out my all-too-predictable story, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. It wasn’t just fight or flight. It was fight, flight or freeze.
I froze. Then came the familiar roar of Beth’s car starting, and it was too late for her to save me.
I waited there, achingly cold now, tears slipping down my cheeks, until Chase’s house went dark. Then I waited more, praying to Saint Anthony of Padua, patron saint of Portugal and fishermen, that Chase wasn’t standing in his dark house, waiting for me to show myself.
Finally, my legs numb from crouching, I crept out of the reeds. Onto the lawn of the house across the street from the Freemans’, staying behind the trees, trying to be a shadow. I passed Chase’s driveway, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it slamming against my ribs.
Then I ran. I ran down the twisting road as fast as I could, my breasts bouncing painfully. I hated my body now, hated it for not being faster, for being the kind of body that attracted male attention, the kind that couldn’t handle weed or beer. I would go on a diet. I would become as slender as a willow. My chest would flatten and my ass would become small, and I’d dress in oversized clothes, I would never have another drink or do drugs, and this kind of terror and loss of control would never happen again. I would never be that stupid again.
It was probably less than an eighth of a mile to Route 6, but it felt like a marathon. Once on Route 6, I kept running, past the road where the Captain Freeman Museum sat like a smug, overweight senator. Past Governor Prence Road, which led to Fort Hill. Route 6 was a two-lane highway, and it wasn’t very safe running in the little bike lane this late. Anytime a car passed, I jumped off the road, hiding in the bushes or behind a tree in someone’s yard, afraid it would be Chase. All the houses were dark. Of course they were. I had no idea what time it was, but it was clearly well past midnight. Maybe even close to dawn. I didn’t know.
I passed the tiny Eastham Tourist Information house, the gas station. Was it the residual beer and weed in my system that made it feel as if I’d been running for hours? I kept going, kept running, kept hiding. Almost there. Almost there. Almost there.