She blinked at me, long slow blinks, as if she was just coming back from somewhere else, and began to shiver when I reached for her. She let me take her hand and pull her behind me. The guy was still there when we rounded the corner. I must have kneed him harder than I thought because it looked like he had completely given up on trying to stop the blood flow coming from his nose and was focused on holding his family jewels. I scowled at him as I pulled the girl behind me and into the empty bathroom before slamming the door closed behind us and locking it. I turned back to her, but she wasn't looking atme.
Her pale face was turned towards the row of mirrors on one side of the bathroom and she stepped towards them, her hands gripping the short dress she wore. I began to wonder if I was too late, if the guy had already done something before I arrived. I hesitated, still standing in front of the locked bathroom door. There were voices outside after a while. Someone had found the pervert. I listened as two guys talked, asking him questions that he didn’t answer. After a while they sighed, and I listened as they hauled him up and carted him away, musing aloud about how stupid people get when they weredrunk.
It was several minutes after they had left that I finally moved towards the girl as she stared at her reflection. When I stood behind her, her eyes flickered towards me before she finally spoke. "Thanks," she rasped, turning her gazeaway.
"You're welcome," Ireplied.
Something told me not to turn around and walk out. She was fine now; the guy was gone. Still, I hesitated. Whoever had carted him away had surely made him leave the club entirely. But I couldn't force myself to leave her to what felt like a private moment. I also knew that I couldn't force her to talk. I took a breath and I moved towards the back wall where a small settee was shoved next to the furthest sink in an effort to make the bathroom look more elegant. It didn't succeed, but at least it gave me somewhere to sit while Iwaited.
I watched the girl stare at her own reflection. Her face was tired, though still beautiful. She looked like a watered down regal queen. No one could deny the elegance of her movements, the way the light fell across her perfectly symmetrical face. Despite that, there was a darkness in her features. She stared at herself for a long time, hands white, fists knotted. I didn’t know if she recognized that I was there or if she just didn’tcare.
After her initial bout of thanks, she didn't say anything more. She moved closer to the sinks and I watched as she gripped the edge with both hands, her knuckles turning white again. As if realizing for the first time that she wore a tiny purse attached to a gold chain that was slung over her shoulder and rested over her flat chest, the girl began fumbling with the small purse, trying to get it open. I waited a few beats before offering my assistance and she managed to pry it open. Her trembling hands reached inside and retrieved an orange and white pill bottle. I frowned but didn't say anything as she yanked it out and popped it open, slapping a few of the little white pills into her mouth. She turned on the sink with jerking movements where she cupped her hands beneath the running water, and lifted it to her mouth to help herswallow.
"Why are you still here?" she finally asked, her voice sounding slightly stronger than it had earlier. "What do youwant?"
I shrugged. "To make sure that you'reokay."
"I'mfine."
I waited in silence before sighing. "You don't seem fine," I admitted. "I... don’t know exactly what to do in this situation, but I thought maybe you'd want to talk. So,I'm– "
"I don't want to talk," she cut meoff.
Our eyes met, and I knew she was lying. Her face was pale, her hands still shaking even as she put away the suspicious pill bottle. What was I supposed to say? Could I call her out onit?
"Why are you still here?" she snapped again after a few moments more. "I told you I'm fine and I don't want totalk."
"Why don't you leave?" I countered. Her eyes narrowed, and she straightened herposture.
"Fine," she said. "I will leave." She turned to go, and I jumpedup.
"No!" I called after her. "I'm sorry, you don't have to go. I'll leave. I'll let you...um...do whatever." I couldn't take away this private, safe place for her. It didn't feel right. I moved to the door despite everything inside of me telling me that I should stay. I couldn't force anything out of her if she wasn't willing. As soon as my fingers brushed the lock above the door knob, shespoke.
"He didn't..." she began. "If that's what you're thinking...he didn't do it...he hadn't gotten that far,yet."
I turned back to her and I leaned against the door with wariness in my expression. Our eyes met and held for several moments. Then, without much fanfare, she turned and moved towards the settee. I relaxed slightly when she sat down and turned to face the door. I let my shoulders sag as I leaned fully against the cold bathroomwalls.
When the sniffling started I kept my gaze trained forward, sure she didn’t want me to see her with tears in her eyes. I waited patiently, knowing that if I did so, she might finally open up. I was a stranger to her. Sometimes, it was easier to tell someone you didn’t know the darkest parts of your life. It was getting easier to talk to the guys because they were becoming more important to me, but not everyone operated like Idid.
“Sometimes, I can’t talk,” she finally admitted. “It’s even harder to talk around guys.” I wanted so badly to look at her, but I didn’t want her to stop talking. “I don’t know why it happens,” she continued. “I just can’t seem to open my mouth. I shut down and I goaway.”
“Somewhere inside?” I asked. I had taken a beginner's human psychology course in high school. I remembered discussing coping mechanisms of people who had experienced some sort of trauma. I felt, more than saw, hernod.
“I can’t...stop myself…” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I can’t stop anyone else. I just...want to close my eyes and pretend nothing’shappening.”
I finally chanced a glance at her and my heart squeezed at the tears on her cheeks. That red-hot rage from before barreled straight back through my chest again, making me want to both hit something and cry. I held my breath for a beat or two, hoping that it would disperse. The girl cracked when I looked at her, a rushed sob escaping from her chest. I jerked when she leaned over and shuddered as she placed her hands over her face. Her whole body shook with the burden of her grief and pain. My skin felt electrified. I wanted to touch her and comfort her; it was what I knew how to do, but if she had been...raped...I knew she wouldn’t want a stranger to touch her, right? I thought I had read that before in class. An articlesomewhere?
My mind drew a connection – thinking of Mr. Spencer and his stepdaughter, of everything I had talked to Marv about. This girl wasn’t acting out. She was coping, or trying to, at least. I wondered if I should mention the pills. Something told me that even though they came in a prescription bottle, they probably weren’t meant for her. If she was here, in a dance club, where guys like the perv I’d left outside the bathroom could corner her and hurt her, I wondered if she had sought any kind of professional help. I decided toask.
“So,” I began, “am I the first person you’ve talked to about this?” She nodded, her sobbing easing minutely. “Have you thought about talking to atherapist?”
“My parents have suggested it,” she admitted, sniffing hard. “God, my mom would be so fucking pleased if Idid.”
“Maybe you should,” I replied. “Talk to someone, Imean.”
"I can't," shesaid.
"You're talking to me," I pointed outgently.