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‘So, Sasha,’ I say with an encouraging smile, ‘I want you to take me through the incident you’ve mentioned, as specifically as you can, and I hope you won’t mind me asking you some questions to clarify certain points. And, of course, if you need a moment or a break, we can accommodate that.’
‘Okay.’ Sasha gulps, looking terrified. ‘Like I told you, it started before New Year’s…’ She talks again about the Dobson account, the late nights, and then mentions one night when she and Mike were working alone.
‘When was this, as specifically as you can remember?’
‘Umm… right before Christmas? Before the Christmas party…’
Qi Tech has a company-wide Christmas party that I generally only attend for an hour or so. It tends to get a bit raucous, and it’s really not my scene. ‘Okay.’ I make a note. ‘And what happened on that evening, Sasha?’
‘It seemed innocent enough at first,’ Sasha says, and I hear Lara give a barely audible snort, which makes me grit my teeth. ‘We were both tired, we’d been working a long time. He came up behind me and started to rub my shoulders.’
‘And that made you uncomfortable?’
‘Well, I mean, it felt nice,’ Sasha says uncertainly, ‘but I was a bit creeped out because it seemed, well, inappropriate, you know?’
I make another note. ‘Did you tell him that it made you uncomfortable?’
‘No… I thought it would have been awkward. I just moved away, after a bit.’
‘All right.’ I can picture it all so perfectly – the dim lighting, the discarded containers of takeaway, the clock ticking towards midnight. He comes up behind her, rests his hands on her shoulders. His breath fans her ear.
You’ve been working so hard…
With a jolt, I realise I am not picturing the IT department with Sasha and Mike, but something else entirely. I’m picturing my own story, the one I have tried to bury, the memories I do my utmost to forget because they fill me with so much corroding shame. For a second I can’t think, can’t breathe; it’s as if my own life has been thrown up on a big screen in front of me, and I am living out its worst moments.
‘Should I go on?’ Sasha asks after a few seconds, and I make myself nod.
‘Yes, please.’ My voice is a bit croaky, and I clear my throat. ‘What happened then?’
‘I started noticing how he’d accidentally touch me. Just brushes, a hand on my shoulder or our hips nudging as we stood next to each other. I felt as if I was making a big deal of it, that I was imagining things.’
That you’d feel ridiculous if you said anything. People would roll their eyes, laugh, sneer: Seriously, Anna?
I swallow hard. ‘Did you say anything to him about how you felt?’
‘No.’ She bites her lip. ‘I didn’t feel I could. He might not have even meant it, you know? And then I would have created this whole awkwardness…’
Yes, exactly. That is exactly why you stay silent, except there is a part of you that is thrilled with the attention, even as it makes you feel sick. There is a part of you that will always feel guilty and ashamed, like there is a stain in your soul that will never go away.
‘Yes, I can understand why you might have felt that way.’ I try to smile encouragingly, but my stomach is churning as the memories come back to me in flashes – the dark room, the grimy bathroom, the car. His breath. I always knew you wanted it.
But I didn’t, I wanted to cry. I didn’t even think it until you touched me.
I clear my throat again, and then run my palms down the sides of my skirt. My breathing sounds uneven. ‘So what happened then?’
‘Nothing, that night. But then a few days later I was in the breakroom and he… he came in and stood behind me. Close.’ She blushes and gulps. ‘And I could feel his, well, you know, his erection.’ She looks away, and I struggle to keep my expression neutral.
‘All right,’ I say after a pause. ‘That must have been very distressing for you.’ Lara makes a tsking noise which I ignore.
‘It was.’
‘Did he say anything to you then?’
‘No. He… he breathed in my ear. A bit heavily, you know? And I just… stood there, really. I didn’t know what to do. He sort of… ground into me, a little.’ She looks down at her clenched hands in her lap, trying to compose herself. ‘And then someone else came in and he moved away.’
‘Okay.’ I make some more notes, my hand trembling a little. ‘Thank you for sharing all this, Sasha. I know it can’t be easy.’ She nods, wiping her eyes. ‘Did anything further happen?’ I ask, when I feel she has composed herself enough. I am holding onto my own composure by a thread; this feels so raw, so real. I am fighting the urge to get up and walk out of the room, to get out of my head, if only I could.
Sasha gulps and shakes her head. ‘No, after that he backed off. But a few weeks later I wasn’t picked for a project, and it made me wonder. And then the same thing happened again… I’ve been given the most basic work since that time in the breakroom.’ Her chin lifts. ‘And that’s discrimination, as well as harassment.’
