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I ran my hand along the side of our bus as I came up to the passageway into the square on my left. I made the turn, taking the narrow way through, remembering with a smile how Dale had carried me out and had his way with me. And vice versa. Platinum. Double platinum! I was still so excited I could hardly contain it. I couldn’t wait until after the show so we could really celebrate.
Maybe I would even let Ben stay. Time had softened my heart a little. Not much, but a little bit. I had so many questions, but I was afraid of the answers. And worse—I was afraid of the lies. Could I trust anything he said? I was doubtful.
I blinked in the low light, looking for someone, anyone. The bus lights were dark. There was no one here, of course. The band was on stage and the crew was too.
“Sara.”
I froze. The voice came from my left and I knew it instantly. I turned and ran. If I hadn’t put my hair up that morning—I was too tired and it was too late in the day to fix it up by the time Dale and I were done in the shower—if I hadn’t had a nice, neat little handle on the back of my goddamned head, I would have been free.
“Where do you think you’re going, little girl?”
I screamed. The stepbeast had me by my hair, pulling me back, dragging me back, because I was clinging to the front of the bus, looking for hand holds. I had my fingers hooked into one of the recesses for the lights for a moment before he yanked me free and I stumbled back into the square.
The first blow hit me like a memory. I don’t think I even felt it, but I tasted blood. I just knew I had to scream and kick and fight for my life to get out of his grip. I didn’t have time and I knew it. If he got me down, I knew I’d never get up again. I screamed for help, I screamed for Dale, I screamed and lashed out with every limb, gouging his skin with my nails every time I came in contact with it. In the end, he was just too strong. He overpowered me, forcing me to the asphalt.
I had absorbed most of the fall with my hip and I struggled to stay on my back instead of letting him roll me to my stomach. His full weight was on me and he panted with the effort, grabbing my arms by the wrists and pinning them over my head. His face hovered over mine in the dark. I smelled his fetid breath, cigarettes and beer and a wasted life.
“Listen here, bitch.” He spat the last word, spraying spittle on my cheek. “We’re gonna have a little fun before we say goodbye. We can do this easy or we can do it hard. It’s up to you.”
How old had I been the first time? I was still a virgin, certainly. I remember that much, having to throw away the bloody sheets I couldn’t get clean. I washed and washed and washed them like Lady Macbeth, but the blood never did come out and my mother complained about my missing sheets for a month.
We can do this easy or we can do it hard. It’s up to you.
When I finally, tearfully confessed to Dr. Jarvis—it was probably six months or more before I admitted the truth—it was my fault, really. He had given me the choice and I had chosen the easy path. Two roads diverged and I let my stepfather rape me. Dr. Jarvis didn’t placate me. He didn’t tell me it wasn’t my fault. He asked me a question.
What do you think your stepfather would have done if you’d put up a fight?
And I sat with the question a long time.
He would have raped me anyway.
But wasn’t it still at least, a little, partially my fault?
If I had fought, if I had screamed, if I had run away…
And then Dr. Jarvis had said something that changed my life.
Let’s take emotion out of it for a moment. Let’s say we’re doing an experiment. I want to cut the tail off a mouse. Yes, I know, it’s horrible to think about. But this is our experiment. This is our goal. Our aim. Our objective is to cut the tail off this mouse. What can the mouse do to stop it?
Run away. Bite you. I don’t know…
So what if give this mouse a choice? Let’s say we have a very smart mouse—a circus mouse. He can understand me and I can understand him. So I say to this mouse, Mouse, you have a choice. You can either sit and be quiet and calm while I cut off your tail, or you can struggle and fight me and perhaps hurt yourself or someone else in the process, while I cut off your tail. Which will you choose, Mouse?
…
Do you see, Sara?
I’m the mouse.
Is that all you see? What was your stepfather’s aim?
He wanted to rape me.
Yes. Now why did he want to rape you?
I don’t know! What kind of question is that?
Why would anyone cut the tail off a mouse?
