I guess it’s a Chinese artichoke, but it looks like a bug, and I draw the line at eating creepy crawlies.
Peaches
Noted.
Peaches
I appreciate the change oftopic.
Me
You’re welcome.
Peaches
I didn’t thank you.
Me
But you thought it, didn’t you?
When Layla doesn’t respond, I laugh heartily. Going toe-to-toe with her is fucking fun, and the most enjoyment I’ve had in quite some time.
If only I wouldn’t dream about her every night.
I’m subduedthe majority of the time in Dallas. All of my interactions with Max have thrown me for a loop. He seemed so angry about Javier Morales, and I don’t truly understand why. All I mentioned was an ostrich egg, and Max homed in on it so quickly, immediately recognizing there was more to the story.
I can only hope he never finds out.
I was brand new to Atlanta, and Javier flirted with me relentlessly. Like every team in the League, there are strict fraternization rules about staff and players, but Javier didn’t care. He’d approach me often, begging me to spend one night with him. I always turned him down, citing the contract I signed, but it only seemed to fuel him even more.
A few years my senior, Javier was gorgeous. He knew how to bat his dark brown eyes at women, thickening his accent when he wanted to sound especially sexy. He’d lived in the US for close to fifteen years, moving to Miami specifically for baseball, and at times his accent was almost nonexistent. I’d recognized he’d make it sound more prevalent when he was really trying to gain a female’s attention. It worked often enough, but he took offense to me not giving in.
After a full season of Javier badgering me about sleeping with him, I finally approached our Human Resources manager about it. I loved my job. Loved living in Atlanta and was incredibly fond of the bond I’d built with the players. I wanted to stay there, but I knew I couldn’t take another season of Javier constantly harassing me.
Instead of anything being done in my favor, the coach and Javier were told about my report. Javier cornered me as I was entering my hotel room, barging in behind me. He called me every nasty name he could think of, including some in Spanish that I chose not to Google. He forced me onto the bed, unceremoniously ripped off my pants, and proceeded to rape me. He covered my head with a pillow so I couldn’t scream, and held my hands behind my back. I guess I’m lucky I could even breathe.
Afterward, he smiled creepily at me and told me it was my own fault. He didn’t like bad girls. They had to be taught a lesson. If I’d just said yes months ago, I would have enjoyed it. He then waltzed out of my hotel room, whistling. The way he’d snarled that I was a bad girl … it’s why I have a visceral reaction to the term now. Before then, I could have laughed at being called a bad girl. Found it humorous or silly. Javier made me feel disgusting. I doubted myself. Maybe it truly was my fault.
There is nothing more humiliating than trying to find a pharmacy in a different town, grabbing a Plan B, and having to think about tests for sexually transmitted diseases.
I didn’t tell a soul, not even my mother. I felt humiliated. Dirty. Horrified. I was tempted to quit my job with the team, but with student loans eating away at my income each month, I knew I couldn’t go more than a month without a steady job. Heading into the offseason, I was thankful Atlanta didn’t make it into the playoffs, and I hoped I’d be able to avoid interacting with Javier while I searched for a new job.
No such luck.
While a lot of players head to their hometowns during the winter months, Javier stayed in Atlanta. He proceeded to make mylife miserable. He requested an entirely new dietary plan focusing on new proteins, needed weekly meetings to go over everything he ingested, and daily meetings to handle his supplements. Javier claimed he couldn’t “remember” how to take his supplements correctly, and requested I hand-deliver them every morning. The stupid ostrich egg was when he expected I’d cook them in multiple ways, in his home, showing him how to replicate it on his own time. When I asked the Coach for a reprieve, he got an attitude with me and threatened to fire me on the spot.
The morning that he answered the door completely naked was the morning I decided to quit. Conveniently, it’s also the morning I received an interview from Baltimore. While I didn’t know if I’d get the job, I couldn’t stay on with Atlanta. Thankfully, Baltimore offered me the position the following day, and I took it immediately.
I considered leaving without ever speaking to the HR team in Atlanta, but decided to file one last report about every single thing that happened with Javier over the previous year. On the off chance that anyone else would be hurt by Javier and come forward, I wanted there to be evidence that not only had he violated me, but the Atlanta HR department and management team had both completely ignored it.
Finally, I went to the Atlanta police, who bluntly told me I didn’t have any evidence, and if I moved forward with any charges, I’d be obliterated in the press. On that wonderfully optimistic note, I hightailed it out of Atlanta.
I don’t know if my report is why Javier was traded to Houston not too long after that, but I felt that the timing was too close to be coincidental. When he wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone, I changed my number, and blissfully lived peacefully.
Until now.
Javier was out most of last season with an ACL tear that required surgery, and he didn’t travel with the team when they played Baltimore. But Max is right. We play Houston in a fewweeks, and I may come face-to-face with him. At least I can report he didn’t give me herpes, so I guess that’s good.
