Page 63 of Serena
Last fall, Mr. Lobo called to inform me that I.V. Bar had burned down with the owner inside. There wasn’t much of an investigation. The owner was always suspected of being involvedin what happened to me, but it was hard to prove. The case was closed, and everyone moved on. Almost everyone.
I take a deep breath. I need to calm myself. The scent that’s become my favorite over the last couple of months surrounds me. I sense him behind me, watching me. This is different; this is the warmth from a fire. This is a blanket of darkness. It envelops me—comforts me. My step falters.
“I got you, baby.” I look up to see him. He’s here. Ian—he’s here. In the place where my nightmare began. How did he know where I was? I haven’t responded to any of his messages. I told Yuri not to tell anyone where I was.
“Ian, what are you doing here?” My voice is panicked. I’m not ready for him to know this part of my life. I feel like I’m going to be sick. I turn, and the little contents that were in my stomach are now all over the sidewalk.
“Shit, Serena.” I feel his hand on my back. Rubbing circles, comforting me. “Let’s go sit down.” He leads me to a bench I hadn’t noticed was there. Looking around, I see a car parked on the sidewalk close to me. Fuck, I hadn’t heard him arrive.
With panic in my voice, I say, “What are you doing here? And how did you know where I was?” His hand moves a lock of hair behind my ear. I’m pretty sure there’s vomit all over me. I cringe. His touch is so tender, it eases some of my inner turmoil.
“You were avoiding me. I had to see you. As far as knowing where you are. Well…” He pulls out his phone and shows me. “I’m tracking you.”
I’m pretty sure I misheard him. “You’re tracking me?”
“Yes.” That’s it, no further explanation. The fucking balls on this man. He makes me so mad, but I don’t yell or scream. Because deep down, I know I need someone here with me. That someone needed to be him. Otherwise, I would never share this side of me. This is the push I’m giving myself. “Why are you here, Ian? After the party…”
“You know why I’m here, but if you need to hear it, I’ll tell you.” He turns my face to him. His eyes are soft, unlike days ago. “I can’t stand the idea of being away from you. I’m going crazy without you near me. If you don’t want to speak to me, so be it. Just let me be near you.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m going to protect you, so if you get mad about me tracking you, I don’t care. You can shoot me, stab me. Whatever you want, but I’m not sorry. I need you to know that you pushing me away is a moot point. Get that through your head once and for all.”
I’m so mad at him. The curated persona that I have worked so hard to maintain is being stripped away. A part of me resents him for it. Another is thankful.
The tears break free, but I’m too proud to seek refuge in his arms, and he knows. So he does it for me. He wraps his arms around me and just holds me while the dam breaks. “I’m always going to be here for you. Yes, I’m a jealous asshole. I know you don’t feel you can tell me things. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to let me in.”
I sit in silence for what seems like hours. Then the words start to pour out.
“The summer before my senior year of college, a group of us went out for a girls’ night. We wanted to celebrate the beginning of our senior year and just blow off some steam. At some point in the night, the group separated. I sat at the bar while Angie and Yuri went to look for our friends. I didn’t notice when a guy sat next to me. I recognized him from my English Lit class. His name was Kyle. I can’t really remember what we talked about. Kyle bought us a round of drinks. I was always very cautious about having others buy my drinks. I’d heard horror stories. I hesitated, and he noticed.” I can feel Ian’s hand holding mine. His body is so still, like a statue. Showing no emotion. But unlike a statue, his hands are warm. It’s that warmth that keeps me grounded. So I continue, “He switched our drinks, trying his bestto make me feel at ease. It worked. I took his, and he took mine. I can’t recall how much I drank. When I looked at him, he mumbled the word “Sorry” and looked at the drink. I immediately knew something was wrong. I ran to the bathroom and tried to make myself throw up, and I did, but not enough. Somehow, I dropped my phone, but the drugs were taking effect, so I couldn’t find it. Everything was hazy from that point on. The doctors later told me that throwing up helped me stay alert longer. I only remember bits and pieces. I remember a man coming into the bathroom stall, telling me, “We’ve been looking for you.” He took me out the back of the bar. I know myself, and I know that I fought. There was the sound of shattering all around me. I didn’t realize what it was until my back hit the floor. That’s what the scars are. Jagged pieces of glass that I landed on.” I close my eyes because I can’t bear to face him with the next words. “I remember my shorts being pulled down. My attempts to scream were muffled. I was crying and begging him to stop. Kyle appeared, but instead of helping me, he pinned me down. He couldn't even look at me. He placed his jacket over my face. The music from the bar was so loud. It made it impossible for anyone to hear my screams. My shorts came off and, well, I felt the tip of a knife on my skin. He said, ‘X marks the spot.” There was a smell, I don’t know where it came from, but it was strong. The man between my legs was inside me, but he didn't finish. There was a commotion. Then I felt something in my neck and warm liquid dripping down. I knew it was blood. I tried to stay conscious. I looked at the stars and tried to count them to stay awake. As I lost consciousness, I heard screams. It was my friend Angie. She found me lying in a bed of broken glass with a large shard penetrating my neck. I later found out that Kyle covered me with his jacket before leaving me for dead. As if he were saving some of my dignity. I woke up a couple of days laterin the hospital. The shard of glass narrowly missed the artery. I was lucky. If you can even call it that.” I can feel his hands trembling.
“Is that why you don’t drink out of open containers?”
“Yes, so you picked up on that? Most people don’t. Yuri and I have gotten really good at covering that up. I only trust certain people to make my drinks. It’s the group of people who know what happened to me.”
“Did they ever find out who did it? Did anyone see anything?”
“At first, no one would come forward. Yuri’s dad helped my family hire a lawyer to press charges against the bar. All that happened was victim-blaming at its best. They tried to paint the picture that I willingly consumed the drink. Therefore knowing what I was doing.”
“What about Kyle?”
Just hearing his name makes me sick. “He came forward during the investigation. The guilt was eating at him. That’s what changed the narrative. With the rape kit and his testimony, the police were able to find the man, Lester Moore.
“Kyle told the police he was offered money outside the bar. The deal was to slip me the drink, and he’d get a couple of thousand dollars.” I feel the tears warm my cheek. “That’s all it took for my world to be turned upside down. A couple of thousand dollars. He was found dead a few weeks after. He’d overdosed. Lester wasn’t cooperating. While awaiting trial, he was killed in a prison fight. Something gang-related.”
“What happened after that?” I can feel his darkness take over him, and it’s comforting.
“I was in the hospital for weeks recovering. I missed a whole semester of school and transferred to online classes. I was due to start my internship that year, but I couldn’t. I didn’t leave my room; I was paranoid. It was bad. Yuri's dad recommended me to his friend, who was head of the accounting departmentat the Penger office here in town, and I was able to finish school. Graduated and got the fuck out of here. We sued the bar for negligence, and we won. I didn’t want the money, but my parents convinced me to keep it. When I met Nina, I donated all the money to her nonprofit. My parents weren’t happy about it. Truth be told, they aren’t happy with anything related to me. My parents grew up very traditional. So, how do you tell your family that your daughter was raped and left for dead outside a bar?”
“Serena. Baby.”
“Please don’t look at me with pity or as a victim. I managed to survive. Although with scars and a lifetime of issues. There are people who don’t get a second chance.”
I have to tell him this. It needs to be said. It may not be what he wants to hear, but he needs to hear it. This animosity he holds toward Elias has to stop.
“Before Elias permanently moved to Veridian Bay, he would visit us. On one of his visits, he and Yuri got into a huge fight, and she left. She was secretly dating someone, but she didn’t want anyone to know. That was part of the reason they were arguing. The secrets she was keeping. I wasn’t doing well. My mental health was shit. My anxiety was high. My panic attacks were frequent, and I had nightmares. I was full of shame. Even though we knew who was responsible, I still blamed myself for what happened and for what it did to my friends. Especially Angie, who found me. She was so scared to leave the dorm rooms after my attack. Fearing she was a target. Putting myself and my friends in that situation. If it’d been them that this happened to, I don't know what I would have done. So, to say it was bad—that is an understatement.”
“Where is this going, Serena?”
“Just listen, please.” He’s silent, so I continue. “That night it was bad. I’m ashamed to admit, I thought about ending it all. I broke down. Elias found me on my bathroom floor. Sobbing.Broken. I knew he was going through something as well. At that moment, I just needed to feel something. Something that wasn’t despair and shame. It’s what he needed too. It lasted three weeks. We both knew it meant nothing and that it was leading to nothing. The day after he left, I sought help and found a therapist. She helped me find a way to cope.”
I put my hands on his face. “I know you’re upset about Elias and me. I’m sorry you found out the way you did, but I can’t regret it. He saved my life. Those three weeks were meaningless and meaningful at the same time. The sex meant nothing, but to know that I was more than just a victim left to die. Sharing our pain made me feel less alone.”
