DISCLAIMER: This entry involves experiences of bullying, sexual misconduct and/or assault, and self-hate and could possibly trigger a reader who may have (or is still) struggling with any of those issues. Please be cautious.
As with all of my entries and stories, each piece of writing I post here is from my personal perspective, experience, logic, and truth. I do not, and nor will I ever claim, that I know best, or all there is to know, about any topic or experience another individual may have experience(d). These are my words, my thoughts, my feelings, my truth.
After the boys left, Maggie came out of the room. She looked like hell. Her mascara was all over her face, and her shirt had been torn. I couldn’t remember if it had been like that earlier or not. I wanted to ask her if she was ok, but it seemed ignorant and stupid to do so. I don’t recall either of us saying another word as we left the house and walked back to hers.
Her house was dark when we walked up to it. We quietly went to her room, closed the door, and Maggie crawled into bed. I went to the washroom. I washed my face, hands, arms, whatever I could with just a cloth, and brushed my teeth. When I came back into her room, her eyes were closed. I wanted to believe she was asleep, but she likely wasn’t. I climbed in next to her and moved closer. I wrapped my arm around her, but she didn’t move. I still don’t know if I was looking for comfort, or trying to give it. Probably both.
Maggie and I only hung out a few times after that. We’d pretended like what had happened was no big deal. I remember trying to pass it off as though KC had been so overcome with passion he couldn’t help himself. It was ludicrous. But Maggie said nothing. She never told me what happened in the room with Karl, and I don’t remember asking. At least, not in the right way. In trying to rationalize what happened to me, I tried to rationalize her experience too. I’d ask things like “Did you and Karl make love too?”. How fucked up is that? I just wanted it so much to be what it wasn’t. I wanted it to be love, so I called it as such. She never replied to me with anything more than “something like that”.
We finally stopped hanging out because neither of us could take it anymore. I convinced myself that we grew apart, though in reality it devastated me and the truth was, we simply reminded each other of that night and couldn’t get passed it. The last time we hung out we got really drunk, and I remember her saying, “We should’ve left. You should’ve left with me.” And that was it. Those are the last words that ring in my mind in Maggie’s voice. I missed her a lot for a while. I wanted her, I wanted us, to be ok. But I don’t remember attempting to keep her in my life.
Six or so years later, I got a call from her dad. He was looking for answers. He didn’t know what had happened to his baby girl and why she’d committed suicide. I hadn’t even heard she’d died. I think we talked for 10 minutes or so, or at least, I listened. He was beside himself and wanted to know if I could recall anything about her being unhappy or needing help. I wanted to tell him about his parade of women and the flashing sex life he had subjected her to. I wanted to tell him about that night too, but I couldn’t. My experience with having told people about that night up to then had been terrible. I was called a liar, an attention seeker, a drama queen, and more. I honestly didn’t think his finding out would help him either. But selfishly, I didn’t want the questions. I didn’t want to open up about it again. So, I convinced myself that it was best to simply deal with the fact that she was gone. He was polite, didn’t press anything, and I never spoke to him again. A few years later, I would hear of his own suicide.
As for KC and Karl, Maggie and I only saw them once more, at a party… at Robs. There weren’t any plans to see them. In fact, I don’t remember ever making any attempt to see them after that night. Maggie had certainly never alluded to wanting to see Karl, and though I wanted to, I never vocalized wanting to see KC. There was a sick need to make what had happened ok. If we were still dating, and he still loved me, then what had happened would be ok. At least, that’s what I told myself. But when KC and Karl showed up at the party, they were with two girls. I saw them first and pointed them out. Maggie just laughed and walked away. She clearly knew, or felt, something I didn’t. She ignored them the rest of the night, and I wish I could say I did the same. I wanted to be cool like Maggie, but I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to make sense of things. When I felt as ready as I could be, I went over to talk to him. This I remember, not verbatim, but I can put into words how I remember the conversation went and what it felt like for me.
He was sitting on a chair, alone, drinking a beer and rolling a joint. I walked over to him, trying to look confident, and I sat on the armrest of his chair. He looked up at me, smiled, but didn’t say a word. I took the beer out of his hand and took a big swig.
”Why don’t you get your own,” he said and I smiled.
”I like yours.” He went back to rolling his joint. “How you been?”
“Real good,” he answered and then proceeded to ignore me.
”You gonna share that with me?” I asked and pointed to the joint. He shook his head, no.
”It’s for me, Karl, Jen, and Lynn.” I knew he was talking about the girls they’d come in with and I immediately crumbled. Clearly, I’d been replaced. I chose to ignore it and leaned down to kiss him. I wrapped my arm around his neck and tried to pull him close, but he pulled away. “What the fuck?” I asked, kinda loud. He didn’t respond. I felt a sudden deep desperation and shrugged it off, faking a laugh. I placed my hand on his shoulder and then lowered it to his groin. He looked at me, a look of ‘are you kidding me’ on his face. “What?” I teased. “You don’t want me?” He quickly grabbed my hand and forcefully pushed it back at me.
”No.” I was confused and angry.
”I don’t get it.” Silence. He finally looked at me after he finished rolling his joint. His eyes were basically empty. I couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t we shared something? Didn’t he love me? I wanted to say so many things but could only come up with: ”You said you loved me.” I must have sounded so pathetic and stupid, especially to him. He turned to me and pulled me onto his lap. I allowed him to and smiled, hoping it was all still a game. He took my face in his hand and kissed me, then moved to whisper in my ear.
”I’m sure you thought what we had was special, but it wasn’t.” Or something like that. And then he moved to stand, forcing me off of him. I almost fell to the floor but quickly balanced myself to stand. “That’s it.” And he walked away. I watched him walk away and felt the world crumble and explode all around me. I was devastated and broken and didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t stop the tears from coming and was soon embarrassed and tried to find a quick way out. I began looking for Maggie. I had to find her. I felt like all of the eyes in the house were on me. And I swear, to this day, I heard someone ask another person what was wrong with me, and they responded, “KC broke up with her or something and she’s freaking out.” I wanted to scream. But I knew there was nothing I could say. Even if I tried to tell others about what had happened, I would seem like the crazy ex-girlfriend with a grudge. I looked for Maggie for a little longer and when I couldn’t find her, I left. I never went back there again. And unfortunately, I never saw Maggie again either.
Years later, oddly enough in the same year I heard of Maggie’s death, I saw KC on the city bus. He looked exactly the same, though skinnier, and I felt as though I was going to have a heart attack. By then, I’d finally come to terms with what he’d done to me. By then, I’d acknowledged he’d raped me. So many emotions and thoughts ran through my head. My heart was racing. My blood was pumping. It felt as though my head was aching. Every iota of me that wanted to jump up, call him out for what he’d done and hurt him, also wanted me to get the hell off of that bus and run. But, as though paralyzed, I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I didn’t do a thing. He didn’t even see me. He never even looked my way. And while at the time, I was relieved, especially after he got off the bus, for years I wondered what would have happened if he had. What would have happened if I’d confronted him? Probably nothing. I probably would have been surrounded by people who were asking themselves if I was crazy. Again. But who knows?
Truth is, there was (and is) still a part of me that feels sorry for KC. I saw him on that bus and he looked ragged. I don’t know how his life turned out, but if one were ever to judge a book by its cover, KC wasn’t worth reading to anyone. He looked as though life were tearing him apart, ravaged with pain he likely internalized and self-medicated as often as he could. Perhaps there’s just a part of me that wants to see it that way so that I can forgive and move on. Because I have forgiven him. I forgave him a long time ago. Not for him, but for me. For a number of years I was angry. At him. The world. I was angry he was free and never had to suffer any consequences for what he’d done. But perhaps he has. I don’t believe in pure evil. I believe in pain, trauma, and damage. And for KC to have done what he did, there must have been loads of it. And when one is so immersed in pain, trauma, and damage, if they don’t know how to process and deal with it, they simply pass it on. Usually to a person they feel safe with. And I know I provided that for him. I was safe. And perhaps that’s why he couldn’t face me afterwards. In some small way, I think he knew what he’d done. He knew it was wrong and he’d hurt me in unimaginable ways when all I’d ever done is care for him. And that killed him and only added to the trauma. So in ways, I hurt him too. And so the cycle continued…
Stay tuned for PART FIVE
Ⓒ March 2022. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.
Comments