Page 18 of Saving Barrette

But on Tuesdays at seven thirty, I attend a support group for rape victims that’s across campus and I don’t walk. I hate going to the support group because it’s another reminder of something that was taken from me. I hate even being in the same room as others who have been through it because it’s a reminder that this happens to so many people.

I didn’t want to go to support groups. I didn’t understand the purpose to them, but I have met two friends while attending them. Joey, a girl who might just be my soul mate, and Waylon. Waylon, he’s… gay. Not that it matters, but when I think about being raped, the naïve part of me thinks it only happens to women. That’s not the truth. It doesn’t matter who you are. There’s no demographic that’s targeted despite what people make you believe. Yeah, the majority are women, believe it or not, there is no specific gender or race that’s targeted. It can happen to anyone.

Joey, she proves that size doesn’t matter. The man who raped her… he didn’t care that she was a size eighteen or that her hips and stomach were covered in stretch marks. She was an easy target. As he held her down with a knife to her throat, he told her, “You should be begging me for it.”

Rape doesn’t happen to the prettiest, skinniest, or most likely. It happens in the wake of weakness.

The therapist who leads the group sessions is Maggie. I kind of like her. She’s blind in her left eye. Her rapist took her sight with a rock. But still, she’s here, giving us support. She said to us once that her boyfriend at the time told her, “You’re sick and you need help,” when she couldn’t have sex with him. They’re no longer together, but she went on to say, “Being raped isn’t a sickness. It’s a circumstance. A torn page from a chapter I’d like to forget. But I can’t because it’s my book and part of my journey. It’s not his, it’s mine.”

I lean into Joey, who’s beside me. “Do you ever think to yourself I’ll never be whole again?”

She smiles. “No, not really.” She cups her double-D breasts with both hands. “I feel pretty whole.”

“You know what I mean.”

Joey rolls her eyes. “I guess I do, and no, I probably won’t be. But I’m too stubborn not to try.”

Laughing, I think about what Maggie said.It’s not his journey, it’s mine.Immediately my thoughts drift back to Asa. You’re probably wondering about him, aren’t you? You’ll see him soon, I’m sure, but it’s her words that resonate with me. This, my life now, his, it might be my journey, but he’s just as much a part of it as me. He was there. He held me through the panic attacks and the nightmares. Never once did he leave my side the months following the incident. Until he had to leave for football camp, but until then, hestayed.

Outside, Joey smiles at the poster of Asa on the walls of the building. It’s the one of him throwing a touchdown in the championship game freshman year. “What’s with you and Lawson?”

I smile. “He’s my friend.” And I’m in love with him. I leave that part out because she already knows it.

Teasingly, she bites her lip. “I’d be his law-abiding citizen any day.”

You’d think someone who went through a sexual assault wouldn’t say things like that, right? Not Joey. She uses humor to deal with the pain. She’ll laugh, joke, even tease about her attacker as a way to overcome it. In her eyes, they didn’t win. She did because she lived through it.

I stare at the poster, thinking about her words and wishing I had Joey’s confidence. And then I let my thoughts drift to Asa and how good he looks. He looks like a king up there and I’m never going to compare. I’ll never be his queen. I’m the sad girl in the shadows of his greatness, forever tied to him by one night.

Waylon offers to walk me back to my dorm after the group session. He claims he doesn’t want me walking alone.

“I brought my bike,” I tell him, smiling.

He shrugs. “I don’t care. I’m walking with you.”

Waylon is on the football team with Asa. He’s become a good friend and it makes me sad to think that if this hadn’t happened to me, I wouldn’t have met him or Joey. They’re part of my book now. A journey I never thought I’d find myself on, but slowly navigating through it.

“How are you doing?” he asks, walking beside me as I peddle slowly.

“Fine, I guess,” I assure him, trying to appease him. He knows I’m lying.

“Are you though?” He shifts his eyes to mine.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be fine again.” The cool crisp fall air hits my face.

The longer we walk, the more my mind drifts. We pass by Madrona Hall where Asa lives. I check the time. Nine. He’s probably home.

When I count over from the far left to find his window, I see his light is on. I let my mind drift as I inhale and sit down on the concrete bench outside. I kind of feel like a stalker for a half a second.

Then I remember why I do this. I miss his smell and the warmth of his body. I misshim. It’s hard to say why I can’t let him go. It’s because I need the connection. After that night, I was lost in more ways than one. I’ll be the first to admit a part of me died on that rocky shore and the other part, she might as well have.

Waylon touches my shoulder. “C’mon. I’ll walk you home.”

“It’s fine. You live here.” I motion toward Madrona Hall and then place my hand on the seat of my bike. “I’ll be fine. Got my bike.”

He’s hesitant and gives me a nervous smile. “I sorta promised I’d make sure you got home, and the last person I want to piss off is Asa.”

I snort, hanging my head. Staring at the peddles of my bike, my heart thumps wildly in my chest at the mention of his name. My gaze travels lower from my ripped black Pearl Jam T-shirt to the black jeans that fray at the heels. “Fine. Walk me home.”

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