The guidance counselor had hoped that I’d come back all healed and recovered. That the land of woo-woo would have helped me commune with my inner goddess or something, but that had not happened. Not even nearly.
She’d been disappointed, to say the least, with my lack of progress. The job in the library was a bone the administration had tossed me to keep me busy, and I really needed the money, so I couldn’t complain. Well, I could, but I shouldn’t.
“Hello? Where do you want these?” I said to the empty office.
Silence met my question.
Oh well. I tried.
I dumped the books on one of the desks with little grace. God, they were heavy. There had been a time once when I wouldn’t have found such a small stack a burden. I’d been young and strong, my body honed by cheerleading.
Remembering those days felt like a joke now.
I left the office and glanced along the hallway.
There were more doors farther down the hall. What was down there? I couldn’t help but be curious. The one thing I’d done in California that had been positive in any way was join a drama club. It had met in the local church’s rec room, right after Girl Scouts and before AA meetings. I’d started to go hoping that one day, I might just stay in my seat and see what the meeting after was like, but I’d never gotten that far. I hadn’t expectedto find peace in the acting class, but then I shouldn’t have been surprised that pretending to be someone else felt like a relief.
It had been a humble place. Squeaky metal chairs, and a video camera that was older than me. The group had been eccentric as well, but I hadn’t minded that.
It was nice to be the less weird one in a group. A refreshing change.
But we’d never had scripts, or costumes, or auditions, even.
I walked along the hallway, checking the signs on the doors as I went. I spotted a large dressing room, full of mirrors and vanities, plus a few individual ones, and one with a star on the door. Was that for the lead?
Next, the wardrobe room. I pushed the door open, just as a soft cry met my ears.
I jerked to a stop, panic flaring and turning my muscles to stone.
A vaguely familiar girl stood in front of a garment rack packed with costumes.
Her soft brown skin glowed under the spotlights set in the ceiling, her jet-black hair caught up in an intricate braid.
A man stood over her. He had one hand on the rail, and the other on her arm.
“I told you, you got my measurements all wrong. Those pants have way too much room in them… you need to get it right. Feel for yourself,” he was saying.
They weren’t naked, and he wasn’t touching her anywhere but her arm, and yet, the threat of violence hung over the room like a shroud.
Run. Get out of here. Save yourself. You can’t survive it again.
Ice suffused my muscles. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could only watch. Just like in my darkest memories, when the worst happened… I couldn’t do anything. I was waiting for it to happen. Shame and guilt and fear so thick it choked me crowded my head. I blinked tears from my eyes.
Then the girl’s dark eyes met mine. I felt the zap of her scared energy run right down my spine. A moment of kinship and understanding, mighty enough to shake me from my incoming panic attack. The screaming in my head dulled to a whisper, and I could move again. Like always, the anger hit next, the guilt and frustration at my own weak response. I took a second to find my voice, straighten my spine, and take a deep breath.
“Sorry to interrupt, but did you just admit to having a small dick?” I said to the guy.
He flinched and turned, throwing a filthy glare at me. Luckily, turning meant that he had to drop the girl’s arm.
She stepped to the side immediately, moving out of his reach. Good girl.
“What the fuck did you say?” he asked.
I slid my hand into my handbag and faced him down.
“I mean, I’m no seamstress, but if there’s too much room in your pants based on standard measurements, I’d say your dick is smaller than average, no?” Facing off with a predator successfully meant keeping your nerve. Confidence, even a flimsy pretense of it, was important. I’d learned it too late, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t use it now that I knew.
His face twisted in embarrassment and anger. “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.
