She shook her head quickly. "No, this is different. You don't know me. If I told a therapist everything, they'd...well, the police would get involved and I can't...they can't..." Her breath came faster, and she hiccupped once before closing her mouth and breathing heavily through her nose, trying to calm herself. She was hyperventilating, Irealized.
"Why would the police get involved?" I asked. "Is it because...of the person who hurt you?" I hoped I wasn't botching my attempt at being understanding and gentle. I had no clue how to comfort someone like this. I couldn't touch her, hold her, hug her. My arms hurt from trying to keep myself from doing so. That’s what I knew. This wasn't. I had no clue how to help except to just bethere.
"Yes," she said. "Sort of. I–" She paused and looked at me. I think this was the first time that she actually met my gaze and I realized her eyes were the palest shade of blue. Her face was blotchy from crying, but her eyes were extraordinary – like colored diamonds set into the saddest of faces. "You're not going to tell anyone," she stated firmly. I don't know if she was trying to convince herself or if she was giving me an order. I hadn't said anything about keeping her secrets, though it was an unspoken trust she put in me and I knew that. Unless it was absolutely necessary to break that trust, I would keepthem.
She took a long shaky breath and then sat back, leaning against the wall like I was, clutching her purse in her lap. "My family's rich," she said. "They're not Bill Gates rich or anything like that, but I won't have to worry about college–" She flinched before continuing. "If I even go to college, but if I do, I won't have to worry about it. We go on vacations once or twice a year. Last winter..." she paused again, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "I can't look at you while I... whileI..."
"It's okay," I assured her. "Iunderstand."
She nodded once. "Last winter my mom sent me to this debutante prep course. She's a southern lady, born and raised – my mom. It was supposed to be this two-week course for how to eat, sit, and dance properly in front of gentlemen. It's one of those old etiquette things, you know?" She kept talking, not waiting for me to answer. My heart rate picked up the moment she said the word "etiquette" and I knew whatever she was hiding – or revealing – was important. This was too coincidental, I thought. There was noway...
"Ms. Enders' is supposed to be this elaborate camp meant to churn out debutantes and social elites. I didn't care for it, but my mom was ecstatic that I even got in. It's very difficult. I couldn't sayno."
My blood turned cold and as I stared at her, all I could see were the edges of my vision turning steadily darker. I sucked in breath after breath. Her words poured into me as she kepttalking.
"Everything was fine," she said. "For the first week, everything was great. The other girls were surprisingly nice. It's a smaller group in the winter course. Most girls take the summercourse."
She seemed to be rambling, telling me every little detail as it came to her. She took a pause that echoed throughout the cold bathroom. The silence was stifling and overwhelming. A part of me wanted to stand up and leave. Just unlock the door and slip away and forget she ever existed. I didn't want to stay to hear what happened to her. I knew it wouldn't be good, and like a child watching a horror movie, I wanted to close my eyes and plug my ears and still pretend like the world was a safe place. My hands shook, and I squeezed them together so hard that my fingers turned pale against the dark fabric of myshorts.
“It was the last night there,” she said. “There’s always a big party on the last night. It’s supposed to be a practice cotillion because a lot of girls leave and go off to become debutantes. Those things are big with debutantes – the cotillions, I mean. Those dresses…” she trailed off, pinching her lips closed in an effort to hold back a stronger emotion. A shadow crossed over her expression and I knew it was something dark. It takes her another moment before she’s able to continue. “The dresses are to represent young women being presented into society. Ready for marriage.” She spat the last word as if it was vile and distasteful in hermouth.
I looked down at her clothes and noticed for the first time that she wasn’t wearing a speck of white. No filigree or embellishments on her dress, no pinstripes, and nothing on her heels. Everything she was wearing was dark colored and, somehow, I knew that waspurposeful.
“About halfway through, I started not feeling well. They let girls have sparkling water and juices for the most part, but some of the girls that were there spiked their drinks and I had some. I thought I had just had too much. One of the guys – a couple of family members of the girls and, I don’t know, sons that were from wealthy families were invited. They escorted some of the girls. My escort took me back to my room and I fellasleep.”
“Or so I thought. I had the worst nightmare.” Her breath sped up again and this time, I reached over to take her hand. She squeezed it in hers, not bothering to look at me, and clutched at it like it was the only thing keeping her in the present. It felt good to finally be able to do something for her. “Someone came in,” she inhaled deeply, “and he undressed me. I-I couldn’t really move my legs or arms. My escort had practically had to carry me to my room. I was so limp. He just pulled down the top of my dress and slid the bottom up until I wasbare.”
My eyes burned and then it was I who was squeezing her hand. I held her like my own lifeline as she did me. Two girls sitting in a dance club bathroom each holding onto the other like we were all that was left in the world. There was something beautiful in our connection in that moment as more tears sprang to her eyes and began to roll down her cheeks once more. Something beautiful...and somethingtragic.
“I faded,” she admitted, “I don’t remember most of it. I didn’t see his face. It was dark in my room. Usually, I would have kept it locked, but Cal – my escort – he didn’t have the key to lock it from the outside when he left. I laid there and sometimes I could feel cold hands on my thighs, around my neck...on my…” She gasped, her chest shuddering for air, and I couldn’t resist anymore. I grabbed her shoulders and jerked her towards me. She collapsed with heaving sobs against my chest, clutching at my shirt, at my hand. “I-I didn’t remember his face,” she cried. “I thought it was just a bad dream, a nightmare.” I leaned my head back and closed my eyes as I held her. “I wish it hadbeen…”
Her last words broke my heart and scattered the pieces over the bathroom tile. I clenched my teeth so hard, my jaw hurt. My nostrils burned. My eyes watered. I needed to ask her the question hanging in my mind...there was somethingmissing.
“How did you find out it wasn’t adream?”
She was quiet. So quiet, I thought she wouldn’t answer. Then, in the smallest voice, she whispered, “They sent mepictures.”