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"Fuck, Val. I'm sorry."
"I said it again, but without all the politeness, and it was like something snapped. He became this other person. This scary person. He pushed me onto the bed and he put his hand over my mouth and I just… he wasn't a big guy." She looks to me. "Shorter than you. Not nearly as muscular. He probably weighed less than I do, but he overpowered me easily. And after, he asked if I had a good time. He called the next day. He told me he was excited about our next date. Like what happened was normal, like my protests were part of some silly mating ritual."
"That's bullshit."
"He was so sure I believed him too. I thought maybe he was right. Maybe he saw something I didn't. Maybe, deep down, I wanted it. I deserved it. After all, I kissed him. I touched him. I came. Did I ever tell you that part? That I came?"
No. And I hate hearing it. But not for the reason she thinks. Because I hate knowing anyone hurt her this way. I hate that I can't find the bastard and kill him. But I love that she trusts me with this. And I need, so badly, to be the person she trusts, to be what she needs right now. "That doesn't change anything."
"For a long time…" She looks around the big, bright room. "I believed it." She digs her fingers into my wrist, reaching for me, trying to find some steadiness. "Can we go home?"
"Of course."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up. I just—"
"Don't be sorry."
"But you… I know what you want to ask about…" She doesn't finish the sentence.
She doesn't need to finish. Whatever happened last night, it doesn't matter. It's nothing compared to this. "It's not important." I take her hand and lead her outside.
She relaxes as we step onto the busy street. She's no longer surrounded by symbols of easy pleasure. Or more difficult pleasure.
What's it like for her to see a display of restraints after some guy held her down?
Does she hate that people love it? Totally fail to understand?
Or does some part of her find it thrilling?
She didn't tell me this when it happened. And we both know why. Partly, because she wasn't ready.
But because I wasn't ready to hear it either.
That changed a lot for her, but it changed a lot for me too. Before, I was living in blissful ignorance. Sure, I thought about how my dad was a pig. I aspired to treat women better than he did. But I didn't realize what that meant, not really.
I didn't know so many women go through shit like this.
I tried my best, yeah, but it wasn't good enough.
"Val?" I pull her closer as we cut through the crowded street.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for telling me that."
"You don't want to say anything? About how I should have known better?"
A part of me does, sure. A part of me wants to chide her for making bad decisions. Because she's my friend, and she's smart and she knows better. "But I know better too. Even if that's true—and I'm not saying it is—it's not on you. It's on him."
"You really believe that?"
"Don't you?" I want her to believe it. I would do anything to help her with this, to repair her relationship with sex. But it's not my battle. And I know better this time. I know I need to give her space.
"Usually, these days. But not always. I… I never told you, you know? That I'd been with him before."
No, she didn't, and a few years ago, I would have been pissed. Not at her behavior. Not because she'd been with him before. Because I felt entitled to the entire story. Now, I know better. We never get the entire story. Only what someone sees, only what they feel comfortable sharing. That needs to be enough. I need to trust her to share when she's ready. And I do.
"Are you mad?"
"Not at you." Finally, we get past the crowd, stop at the streetlight. "At him, yeah? But you? No."
"You promise?"
"Of course." The light turns. I lead her across the street, through the pigeon-covered park, along the block. "He stopped when you said you wanted to take it slow, right?”
She nods. "Yeah, he fixed my jeans and said he'd keep it 'above the waist.' It was kinda cute. I thought I must have read him totally wrong, if I thought he was pushing too hard. 'Cause what college student says 'above the waist'?"
"He got it. He said yes, to get your guard down. Even if you hadn't said no, and you did, he wore you down on purpose."
Finally, I get to the apartment. I buzz the code; I open the door for Val; I follow her inside.
We climb the stairs slowly. The entire time, the question bounces through my brain.
