Page 23 of Saving Barrette

12:16 a.m.

Turning over toward the wall, I stare at the chipped paint where I threw my phone at it the trying not to call her in the middle of the night when I wanted to see if she made it back to her dorm.

I look at the clock again, watching the hours count down.

1:29 a.m.

With my hectic class schedule and football, I need my sleep. I do. So why can’t I get any? Barrette.

2:18 a.m.

She’s destroying me. I hate to say it, but she is. She’s all I think about when I’m not on the field, and sadly, it’s spilling over to the moments I am these days.

Rolling on my back, I throw my arm over my face. When that doesn’t work, I roll on my stomach and squeeze my eyes shut until they burn. Maybe if I squeeze them hard enough, I won’t see images of her or look at my phone.

Doesn’t work.

My hands slide up the bed and under my pillow, wrapping around my head. Maybe if I suffocate myself, I won’t call either?

There’s an idea.

I don’t. I look at the fucking clock instead peeking one eye open.

3:04 a.m.

I hate this. I fucking hate it. You know what I hate most? She still hasn’t fucking reported it to the police. Seventeen months have gone by and whoever destroyed her, he’s still out there, probably destroying other lives.

I see a therapist once a month. Football coach demanded that I do, for obvious reasons. You know what he told me? The therapist that is. He said rape destroys boundaries. Think about in terms of football. You’re at the ten-yard line and you fumble the ball and give the control to the opposing team. That’s what rape does to victims. It takes someone’s ability to control the world around them and gives it to the opposing team. He told me I shouldn’t insist she do anything. I should listen.

But at some point, she has to make a decision to want more. From life, school… and me. She’s gone in the sense that she’ll never be the same. But I can’t let her go no matter how hard I try. And no matter how much I try, I can never forget the night that changed us forever. I can’t stop seeing it. It’s a horrible nightmare that we will never forget. When I have nightmares about it, gasping and struggling to breathe, I feel like that breath I need is never granted.

GETTING UP AT5:00 a.m. for most is too early. For me, my day starts at three most mornings, watching Barrette finally fall asleep. From there, I go to the gym with the rest of my team. Most days I’m running on very little sleep, but that’s nothing new. I’m a disaster in more ways than I can say.

I’m playing football at the University of Washington and the starting quarterback for the Huskies. Some think I’m this golden boy with the perfect life who is living the dream. Sure. They can say any of that, but I have to disagree. And sure, I’ve been on the cover ofSports Illustratedmy senior year of high school and offered a full ride to any college I wanted, but if it was so damn good, I’d have the girl I want and someone behind bars.

I’m none of that. Ihavenone of that. What I have is right now. Barrette asked me last night why I don’t live for the moment. It’s all I do. At this point, I don’t know any other way.

I take my time getting over to the stadium. It’s unreal the facility we have here and it makes me feel like I’m playing for a pro team every time I step foot in here. We have everything from state-of-the-art training equipment to personal iPads to flat-screen televisions everywhere, and even a barbershop.

A barbershop.

It’s insane.

As I’m changing into my shorts and T-shirt, I hear bits and pieces of conversations around me. I’m the quiet one on this team. I don’t talk much because all these guys are talking about is pussy and football. Sure, I’ll talk football all night long but not pussy. It’s none of their fucking business. And sadly, I’m not getting any so there’s nothing to talk about.

Once in the gym, I’m a little on edge listening to their bullshit and lifting weights relaxes me. I’m exceptionally tense these days. There’s this nagging feeling in my gut since the season started. Maybe it’s the pressure getting to me. It’s Wednesday and we have a Friday night away game against the Bears.

Coach Benning, the offensive coordinator for the Huskies, takes me aside. He immediately starts going over plays while I continue to lift; it leaves little room for confusion or questions. He’s thorough and I appreciate that. I never have to guess, and he trusts me on the field. There’s this saying that coaches make decisions, players make the plays. I believe that. They let me do what I do, and I respect them enough to do what they ask.

I train a lot with the other two quarterbacks on our team and it’s clear I’m the tallest of the three, 6’2”, and I think that gives me a good advantage over the other two players. My height lets me see more of the field. It’s definitely held some advantages for me because I was the first freshman to start in twenty years at this college as a quarterback. I’ve been the starting quarterback ever since. I’m watched by the NFL, talked about as being nominated for the Heisman Trophy and contacted by teams as well as promised the world.

If I play well.

If.

That’s a lot of fucking pressure for someone who isn’t even twenty-one yet.

Playing college football is different from high school. Everything is more pressure, harder hitting, and fast-paced. Even with all that, I led our team to a 12-1 season. I threw 2677 yards on 230 of 336 passing attempts. I threw for thirty-two touchdowns with only six interceptions. Yeah, it was a good season and I’d earned the team’s respect. We’re four games into our season, and for the most part, we’re looking pretty good.

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