Page 35 of The Writer

You’re lucky if you have just a handful of days like that in your life, days where it feels like the entire world is at your fingertips. It’s the kind of effervescence Marley exudes now, the type of power I once possessed.

But with that promise comes naivety, and I can still remember the moment it all came crashing down, when I was made aware that the world is never as beautiful and promising as it might present itself to be.

I’d made a last-minute decision to accompany some classmates to a fraternity party. It was out of character because, typically, I only went out with my closest friends. However, one was visiting with a friend out of town, and the other had a date, so instead of staying alone in the apartment, I tagged along.

The girls I went with were nice, but I barely knew them. Good for conversations and laughs and drinks, but as the night wore on, we’d gone our separate ways. I spent most of the evening leaned against the wall of the fraternity house, wishing I’d never come at all.

Untilhestarted talking to me. He offered me a drink, then another, all while entertaining me with light conversation. That’s all it was. Idle chatter and party talk. Nothing flirtatious or romantic, and yet, that’s the point of the night when my memory starts to get fuzzy, hazy, like my vision was pulled underwater and I couldn’t see through the waves and ripples.

What happened next came in flashes, sensory interruptions that brought me out of that haze and back to the present.

We were in a different room, and it was dark. Music continued to blare, but it was far away, beneath me, or so it felt. I was on something soft, a bed or sofa. My breathing was short and heavy. And I could feelhishands on me.

In the next second, my brain would fizzle out again, remembering nothing.

Then, like a ride I couldn’t abandon, I’d be back. Dark room, soft bed.Hishands on my body. I felt him tugging at my clothes, and I couldn’t understand what was happening, how we’d even gotten here. Hadn’t we been in the basement, surrounded by Christmas lights and people, moments ago?

A single word escaped my lips in a whisper. “No.”

Then I was out again, back in that state of nothingness.

When I returned to the present, the room was no longer so dark.

A bright light shone inward from the hallway. And I was no longer alone with him. There were other people in the room. Shouting.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Get out of here, creep.”

“Are you okay?”

I could do little more than nod my head. Everything felt heavy. It was hard to move.

And then there was water going down my throat, washing life into my body. It came back just as quickly, sickening bile rushing out of my mouth and landing in a commode. How had I even made it to a bathroom?

“You’re going to be okay. He didn’t do anything to you,” a voice said. Now that my senses were coming back, I recognized her as one of the girls from my class. “Thank God someone came in.”

“I only had two drinks,” I said, my stomach reeling at the thought. My body braced for another round of regurgitation. “I don’t know why I’m so sick.”

“Someone must have slipped you something,” she said. “It happened to me once, and I was a mess. Just like you.”

I had the sudden desire to leave, but when I tried to stand, my legs were like gelatin, wobbly and useless. It took two people—I’m not sure who the other person was—to hold me up. Time has eroded my memories of the rest of the night, but, somehow, I eventually made it home, to the safety and comfort of my bed.

The next morning, when my roommates returned home, I didn’t say anything to them about it. And I’ve tried to stop thinking about that night for the past ten years.

Until I started writingThe Mistake.

“I’m not sure why I decided to write about it now,” I admit to Victoria, shutting my eyes to hold back the tears. “I’ve been struggling with writer’s block lately, and out of nowhere, it all came back to me.”

“Trauma has a way of doing that,” she says. “It can lie dormant in the body for years, then return with a vengeance.”

“It’s why I don’t want to continue writing it,” I admit. It’s true, although the other reasons I want to drop the story, I can’t tell her. “You think the others picked up on it, too?”

“Probably not,” she says. “Like I said, I think I’m more attuned to those things after years of being on campus. I wanted to check on you. I know the only thing worse than experiencing an assault is feeling like you have no one to talk it over with.”

“I appreciate you coming to me,” I say. “Please, can we keep this between us?”

“Of course. I’d never tell a soul,” she says. “Besides, I have plenty of drama in my own life that needs sorting.”

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