A construction crew had decided to move into Caitlin's head overnight. They were pounding mercilessly on the inside of her skull, preventing her from drifting back into sweet sleep. She opened her eyes a bit and then squeezed them tightly shut as the bright light drove a lance right into her aching head. The sudden scrunching must have irritated one of the tiny people who began hammering with greater gusto.
She tried to move, but her entire body felt as if it were made of lead and the effort produced another painful protest from her head. Instead, she just lay there, hoping for oblivion to overtake her once more. Gradually, she became aware of the sound of ocean waves. She had a vague, slippery thought that the sound was important. Other sensations slowly filtered in. Her mouth felt like she had gone to sleep with cotton balls in it. There was a sickly sweet and smoky smell in her nostrils, which she gradually identified as stale beer and woodsmoke. A mild breeze played across her legs, giving her goose bumps, and the sand was comfortably cool beneath her and scratched lightly on the side of her face. One arm was numb from a warm, soft weight on it. David's skin pressed against her own and…
David. Sand. Beer.
Oh, God.
Forcing her eyes open against the light, Caitlin lifted her head. She winced at a sudden pounding onslaught, and pulled her free hand to her head, hoping to keep it from splitting open. David was still asleep, his face only inches away, and his head rested on her arm. One of his arms was folded between them, the back of his hand nestled between her breasts. His other arm draped limply over her waist. Their legs were still slightly tangled together. And through the throbbing pain and blinding light, it suddenly dawned on Caitlin that she was naked except for David's army jacket draped over her. And David was wearing even less.
Panic swept through her and her adrenalin surged, a cold tight shiver that swept aside the fog of her hangover. She frantically scrambled up to her knees, pulling her arm quickly from under David's head, dropping him to the sand with a soft plunk. He made a sound of discomfort, and for a moment she worried he would wake. But he only mumbled something and rolled towards her, seeking the warmth of her body.
Caitlin's breath was coming fast as she tried to remember why she was here. She pulled David's jacket closer around her, scanning around the large inlet cavern. Her eyes fell upon an empty can, half-buried in the sand. A fire still smoldered. A ping-pong ball was half melted at the fire's edge. The visual clues merged with her hazy memories and certain things came rushing back. There was a party. Ty's party. There was a bonfire, and she suddenly had an image in her mind of Aura trying to throw a ping-pong ball into a cup of beer, some sort of game. She and David had come together, but they had stayed back from the crowd a bit.
Then what?
Another game. She and David sat it out, laughing and whispering together, stealing the occasional tentative kiss. David had mixed drinks for them, something strong and sharp. They'd gotten bored watching the others, so David took a bottle, and they stole away to sit in the surf. She remembered talking, making out, and at some point, they were all alone. And then...
Nothing. Just a gulf in her memory, a hole that was quickly filling in with shameful possibilities.
Caitlin cursed, her panic growing even stronger.
David mumbled something as Caitlin rose to her feet, her knees shaking slightly. She staggered toward the beach, tripping in the loose sand. She snatched her bikini up and struggled to get it on, still feverishly thinking and rethinking the events of the previous night, trying to recall the details that had gotten her swimsuit off, and what had followed after.
He Said, She Said
Moderator: Student Council
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Candlestick
- Posts: 20
- Joined: Tue Apr 15, 2008 11:07 am
Re: He Said, She Said
The air thundered as the Rikti bomb exploded suddenly, carving a crater into the street and throwing debris in all directions. Mome Wrath simply phased from existence, hunks of concrete and twisted pieces of iron passing right through him. Jenny Wren leapt high into the air, flipping backwards to avoid the largest pieces of the shrapnel. Cheshire Cat wasn’t so lucky, and he was thrown back as a foot-wide chunk of cement caught him in the side. He sputtered up blood and tried to rise, but crumpled to the street again.
With a shout to his fallen friend, Jack Be Nimble broke off his attack against the Rikti, rushing to the Cat’s side. Candlestick began to move from the alleyway, but falling masonry forced him back as a passing dropship reigned down fire on the buildings above him. Its bay doors were open, and another salvo of bombs fell.
From behind the twisted metal wreck of a car, David watched the events unfold, a dim horror creeping over him. He knew what happened next. His father, distracted by the Cheshire Cat’s injuries, would not see the falling ordinance. Mome Wrath and Jenny Wren had already rallied to the Turtle; they would not see them either. Candlestick was pinned down by the tumbling debris, and he too would not see the falling bombs in time.
But David saw them. He could stop what was coming.
He started to rise from behind the car when someone grabbed his hand. “David, no.”
David turned and looked down at Caitlin, sitting quietly in the sand. She smiled at him. David stared at her for a moment, then looked back through the back of the cave and out onto the street of Founder’s Falls. The bombs were still falling. There was still time.
Caitlin pulled on his hand, beckoning him to sit again on the sand near her. “David, no,” she repeated. “Stay with me.”
“Caitlin,” David replied, “I can stop this. I can stop it.”
The bombs were still falling.
Caitlin’s eyes grew soft and wet as her mouth twisted into a frown. “But I love you,” she said simply.
David’s eyes snapped open. For a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was, and the sand he felt under him only served to perplex him further.
The beach? The bombs!
In panic, he jerked his head up from the sand to see if he could still stop the bombs, but all he saw was the back of the cavern. Founder’s Falls was gone. Confused, he rolled onto his side and turned his head into the daylight. The sun shone brightly, reflecting off the ocean beyond the mouth of the cavern. Silhouetted against the glare, a slim figure was moving on the beach.
He slowly rolled onto his knees, putting a hand to his head briefly. What’s happening? Was I dreaming? Am I still dreaming?
David struggled to his feet, his head aching distantly. Sand clung to him, and he began to brush it off when he realized he wasn’t wearing anything. Still unsure if he was awake or not, he regarded the situation with a kind of dim acceptance. Nearby, he saw a towel half buried in the sand, and he shook it off briefly before wrapping it around his waist. The sand still trapped in the towel scraped against him painfully, finally deciding the issue: he was awake. Having resolved the question of his somnolence, David quickly started to remember where he was and how he’d come to be there.
Ty’s party, and a bottle of rum. Yo ho ho, David mused.
He and Caitlin had stolen away to the beach. They’d talked and drank and laughed. She’d teased him about how he’d never gone skinnydipping, and that settled it—the gauntlet was thrown, and then they’d both swum in the moonlight. He remembered how cold the air was when they came out of the waves, how they’d sat by the dying fire and rekindled it. He gave her his jacket, and she wrapped it around her bare shoulders. He’d told her he loved her and she didn’t laugh. Soon after, Caitlin fell asleep—or passed out, David wasn’t sure— curled up by the fire, and David remembered snuggling up next to her just as the sky began to lighten at the horizon.
Where is Caitlin? he asked himself. It took him a moment to connect the absence of the girl with the figure he’d glanced on the shore.
David turned again to the beach and narrowed his eyes against the glare. He watched as the silhouette plucked something from the sand. David took a few steps towards the beach. “Caitlin?” The figure stiffened, then quickly moved, stepping each foot through the fabric in its hand. David grinned and looked away: clearly it was Caitlin, hurriedly dressing.
Still averting his eyes, David continued. “Cait? You okay?”
With a shout to his fallen friend, Jack Be Nimble broke off his attack against the Rikti, rushing to the Cat’s side. Candlestick began to move from the alleyway, but falling masonry forced him back as a passing dropship reigned down fire on the buildings above him. Its bay doors were open, and another salvo of bombs fell.
From behind the twisted metal wreck of a car, David watched the events unfold, a dim horror creeping over him. He knew what happened next. His father, distracted by the Cheshire Cat’s injuries, would not see the falling ordinance. Mome Wrath and Jenny Wren had already rallied to the Turtle; they would not see them either. Candlestick was pinned down by the tumbling debris, and he too would not see the falling bombs in time.
But David saw them. He could stop what was coming.
He started to rise from behind the car when someone grabbed his hand. “David, no.”
David turned and looked down at Caitlin, sitting quietly in the sand. She smiled at him. David stared at her for a moment, then looked back through the back of the cave and out onto the street of Founder’s Falls. The bombs were still falling. There was still time.
Caitlin pulled on his hand, beckoning him to sit again on the sand near her. “David, no,” she repeated. “Stay with me.”
“Caitlin,” David replied, “I can stop this. I can stop it.”
The bombs were still falling.
Caitlin’s eyes grew soft and wet as her mouth twisted into a frown. “But I love you,” she said simply.
David’s eyes snapped open. For a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was, and the sand he felt under him only served to perplex him further.
The beach? The bombs!
In panic, he jerked his head up from the sand to see if he could still stop the bombs, but all he saw was the back of the cavern. Founder’s Falls was gone. Confused, he rolled onto his side and turned his head into the daylight. The sun shone brightly, reflecting off the ocean beyond the mouth of the cavern. Silhouetted against the glare, a slim figure was moving on the beach.
He slowly rolled onto his knees, putting a hand to his head briefly. What’s happening? Was I dreaming? Am I still dreaming?
David struggled to his feet, his head aching distantly. Sand clung to him, and he began to brush it off when he realized he wasn’t wearing anything. Still unsure if he was awake or not, he regarded the situation with a kind of dim acceptance. Nearby, he saw a towel half buried in the sand, and he shook it off briefly before wrapping it around his waist. The sand still trapped in the towel scraped against him painfully, finally deciding the issue: he was awake. Having resolved the question of his somnolence, David quickly started to remember where he was and how he’d come to be there.
Ty’s party, and a bottle of rum. Yo ho ho, David mused.
He and Caitlin had stolen away to the beach. They’d talked and drank and laughed. She’d teased him about how he’d never gone skinnydipping, and that settled it—the gauntlet was thrown, and then they’d both swum in the moonlight. He remembered how cold the air was when they came out of the waves, how they’d sat by the dying fire and rekindled it. He gave her his jacket, and she wrapped it around her bare shoulders. He’d told her he loved her and she didn’t laugh. Soon after, Caitlin fell asleep—or passed out, David wasn’t sure— curled up by the fire, and David remembered snuggling up next to her just as the sky began to lighten at the horizon.
Where is Caitlin? he asked himself. It took him a moment to connect the absence of the girl with the figure he’d glanced on the shore.
David turned again to the beach and narrowed his eyes against the glare. He watched as the silhouette plucked something from the sand. David took a few steps towards the beach. “Caitlin?” The figure stiffened, then quickly moved, stepping each foot through the fabric in its hand. David grinned and looked away: clearly it was Caitlin, hurriedly dressing.
Still averting his eyes, David continued. “Cait? You okay?”
Re: He Said, She Said
"I've gotta get back," Cait babbled out rapidly, finishing her fight with the skimpy fabric. She scooped David's swimsuit from the beach. "I've been gone all night. Oh, God, I'm in so much trouble. I have to get back." She hurried back to him, her gaze fixed on the remnants of the fire. David turned as she approached and smiled at her. He ran a hand through his hair. She glanced at him long enough to confirm that he looked about as bad as she felt and, with a wince, jerked her head away before their eyes could meet and confirm her fears about what had happened between them.
"Here. Put these on." She refused to look at David, staring fixedly at the charred wood and holding his trunks at an arm’s length in his direction. She felt him take them from her, and then she turned abruptly.
"Uh, Cait?" She caught a glimpse of David, seemingly confused, as she looked for her backpack. He seemed to be trying to catch her eye, probably to talk, but that would make everything so much worse. "I had a really great time last night," he offered.
"I have to go," she snapped, immediately regretting her tone. She took a deep breath to steady herself. "I can't. I have to… Just not now. Maybe later." Caitlin kept talking, feeling her face start to burn in embarrassment, not even entirely paying attention to what she said. She just wanted to get out of there. No awkward explanations. No excuses about the booze. No apologies for who took advantage of whom. For a moment, the thought chilled her.
She was pulling on the clothes she retrieved from her bag, still rambling on with her back to him. When she stopped to take a breath he broke in. "Cait? I want you to know I don’t regret—"
"I have to go!" Caitlin cried, whirling to face him, hoping her face wasn’t as red as it felt. "David! I really have to go! I can't stay."
He looked confused, almost as if she had slapped him. "Caitlin, no," he said quietly. He walked towards her, reaching a hand out to her. He smiled, but his eyes looked uncertain.
She hesitated for a moment, long enough to look at the outstretched arm. Then she stepped back, shaking her head. Panic was sweeping through her.
"Caitlin, no," he repeated. "Stay with me."
Somehow his words seemed familiar, but Caitlin shrugged off the sense of déjà vu. "No," she said. "No. I can’t." She sprinted up the stair-like rock formation, trying hard not to look back.
At the bottom of the stone steps, David watched Caitlin vanish over the crest of the hill. His face felt hot as his mouth twisted into a painful frown. "But I love you," he said simply.
"Here. Put these on." She refused to look at David, staring fixedly at the charred wood and holding his trunks at an arm’s length in his direction. She felt him take them from her, and then she turned abruptly.
"Uh, Cait?" She caught a glimpse of David, seemingly confused, as she looked for her backpack. He seemed to be trying to catch her eye, probably to talk, but that would make everything so much worse. "I had a really great time last night," he offered.
"I have to go," she snapped, immediately regretting her tone. She took a deep breath to steady herself. "I can't. I have to… Just not now. Maybe later." Caitlin kept talking, feeling her face start to burn in embarrassment, not even entirely paying attention to what she said. She just wanted to get out of there. No awkward explanations. No excuses about the booze. No apologies for who took advantage of whom. For a moment, the thought chilled her.
She was pulling on the clothes she retrieved from her bag, still rambling on with her back to him. When she stopped to take a breath he broke in. "Cait? I want you to know I don’t regret—"
"I have to go!" Caitlin cried, whirling to face him, hoping her face wasn’t as red as it felt. "David! I really have to go! I can't stay."
He looked confused, almost as if she had slapped him. "Caitlin, no," he said quietly. He walked towards her, reaching a hand out to her. He smiled, but his eyes looked uncertain.
She hesitated for a moment, long enough to look at the outstretched arm. Then she stepped back, shaking her head. Panic was sweeping through her.
"Caitlin, no," he repeated. "Stay with me."
Somehow his words seemed familiar, but Caitlin shrugged off the sense of déjà vu. "No," she said. "No. I can’t." She sprinted up the stair-like rock formation, trying hard not to look back.
At the bottom of the stone steps, David watched Caitlin vanish over the crest of the hill. His face felt hot as his mouth twisted into a painful frown. "But I love you," he said simply.
Re: He Said, She Said
The door, once inviting, once welcoming is cold and forbidding. I can’t help staring at the handle as I wipe my eyes, wondering if they’re red enough to give me away. Who’s on the other side, I wonder? Sam was in there when I went in to grab something clean to wear. I didn’t see Aura or Joni, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention.
I have no idea what time it was or how long was I in the shower. I told myself I just needed to wash the sand off. It was more than that, but you can’t really wash that sort of thing away with mere soap and water. I just ended up sitting on the hard tile in the water and steam crying for I don’t know how long.
I can’t stand out here forever. It’s just a door.
It opens slowly at my gentle prodding. I’m not in a hurry. I really don’t want to face whoever’s on the other side. Why can’t I be home, where my own room is, where there’s nobody to ask questions? I try to lean around the door to check the room. Sam is the only one there, sitting at a desk with a book of some sort in front of her and a pencil in her hand. She looks up and smiles with a friendly “Hey, Cait.” I try to smile back, but it feels forced, and I have to seek refuge in looking at the floor.
It occurs to me when I reach my bed that I still have an armload of clothes, the darker blue bathing suit mingling with the lighter blue shirt. I dump them on the floor, figuring I’ll deal with them later, and crawl across the bed toward the wall. My head finds my hands and I try to rub away the ache with my palms.
"You, uh, OK bud?"
Sam’s voice startles me out of drowsiness. Why’s she looking at me like that? What do I say? “What?” Does she know? It’s all over my face isn’t it? “Oh, yeah… I don’t know. Not really.” Brilliant, Cait. Don’t look. Don’t let her see. “I’m fine.”
I can see Sam nod out of the corner of my eye, but she doesn’t say anything. She just taps her pencil on her book. Say something. Anything. Or go back to your to book. Please.
"Well, you don’t look so fine. Not saying you look like hell or anything, but that's mostly on account of I don't so much know what hell looks like. You wanna talk about it?"
Anything but that. No, I don’t want to talk about it. I want to forget that it ever happened. Just… go back to what you were doing. I’m fine. Really. I am. But she doesn’t. When I look up, she still sits there, watching me, waiting for an answer. I’m fine. But I’m not fine, and I have to blink a few times to keep my eyes from welling up. I don’t know Sam that well, but I know she’s tough. Crying would just look pathetic. There’s a lump in the back of my throat that I have to swallow. I’m fine, but I’m not, and I have to say something.
Before I realize it, I’m telling Sam the whole story. Only it’s not me. It’s like I’m frozen in horror, hearing this girl with my voice talking about things that had happened to me, and I can’t believe it. I can’t do a thing about it. Everything comes out. The party, the booze, the beach. Making out. Waking up. What must have happened in between.
"Huh. Well… I dunno. That’s sort of…" Sam seems to be trying the find the right words. Sitting here while she’s judging me is torture. I want to escape, but it’s far too late for that. Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut? "Huh. How much did you drink?"
"Uh... I don't know." Now I’m sure she must think I’m an idiot. "A few drinks David mixed." Immediately I regret the attempt to concentrate, as it emphasizes the dull throb behind my eyes, but I need to put the images in sequence. "Maybe four? Then David took a whole bottle of something and we shared it. I think we finished most of it? I don't remember how much was there when we started."
"David mixed the drinks?" Sam repeats with a hint of mistrust in her voice.
Again, I’m too ashamed to look her in the face. He tried. I wouldn’t have known how much to mix either.
Sam’s pencil hits the desk and she rubs the back of her neck. With a quiet scuffing sound, she moves her chair closer to my bed. "So what are you gonna do?”
I can barely find my voice to say, “I don’t know.”
"Well... you really like David, right?" Sam asks.
That’s not what I expect. Condemnation, ridicule, I’m even prepared for a lecture. "Yeah? I think so? Yeah." Wait. I think so? Of course I do. I adore David. Don’t I?
"I mean, we talked before prom, and you said he was a great guy and all, and he really likes you and all right?"
"Well, yeah?" I have to push the hair out of my eyes so I can look up at Sam.
She just continues on, sounding hopeful, "I'm just saying it's something. I mean... you don't remember anything? At all? Maybe you both passed out is all?"
Maybe? But there was too much gap between where I found my bathing suit and where I woke up. "No. I don't know. I mean, we got as far as... well, our clothes. And... and that was down by the beach." No. That wasn't what happened. It couldn’t have been that innocent. "Then we were up by the fire."
Sam is still undaunted. "Well, I know this one time me and Eddie were real tired and we fell asleep on this boat over in Founders, but we didn't mess around or anything. I mean, I know it's different, we were sober, and we were dressed and stuff, all I can say is I dunno. I mean, I'm just saying David doesn't come across as the kind of guy who.... I dunno. Maybe nothing happened."
"What else could have happened?” I wail in frustration. "I can't remember! I mean, I don't think he'd do that, but... but I just, I don't know! It… It had to…"
"Did David say anything? Remember anything?" Sam asks. "Or did he black out too?"
"He tried to tell me he had a great time. And he told me he didn't regret anything." I blurt out, as if it’s conclusive. "See? Something must have happened!" Otherwise, what’s to regret?
Sam sighs a little, somehow still looking doubtful. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and figure it would've been your first time?"
My voice fails utterly as I looked down helplessly at the bedspread I found myself twisting in my hands. I can only nod twice without looking up.
There’s another pause. "Yeah... well here's the thing," Sam began. "You gotta ask yourself what would be worse... talking to David about it, or... never talking to him again.
"I..." What? Never? Where is Sam going with this? "But I can't talk to him about it. I just… can't. I mean, what would I say? And what would he say? And it would get all weird, and…" And? And what? "I don't know what to do."
"Give it some time, Cait. I didn't mean you had to decide right now or nothing." Sam advises. "You need anything? Can I get you something? Water? Aspirin? I don't have any hair of the dog that bit you, but I got some hard candy, get rid of that taste in your mouth like you're chewing on a wool sock if you want it."
"Yeah. Yeah, that would help," I nod and answer without really thinking. Allowing myself to fall against the wall in a slouch, I wonder at Sam. She doesn’t really know me, either, and it occurs to me that I’ve just dragged her into the whole mess. "And... I'm sorry, Sam. This isn't your problem."
"Sure it is," she replies with a small smile. "You're my roommate and all, right? Something's bugging you, it bugs me. If you don't want to see David, I'll run interference. And I mean, if it turns out he was a jerk and got you drunk just to have sex with you? Then he's in for a world of trouble."
"No! No, he…" I started, surprised at the defensiveness in my own voice. Sam looks back from returning her chair to its original spot as I stop, biting my lip in confusion. David would never do that. Would he? For some reason, I’m not sure any longer. I’m not sure about much apparently. I know David, don’t I? As much as I don’t want to believe it, what if he had? A vivid memory pops into my head, throwing myself at David. What if that’s backwards? What if I took advantage of him? "I don't think so..."
I can’t get it all straight. Time. I need time to figure it out. Interference? "But maybe... for now, if he's looking for me... yeah, just tell him I'm out, OK?"
"All right, I'll cover and stuff." Sam bustles around at her end of the quad, stopping her gathering long enough to send an apologetic smile my way. "And for what it's worth? I'm sorry."
I manage a smile, one that feels real this time. "Thanks, Sam. Thanks a lot. You know, for all of it."
"No worries, bud." Sam comes back to the bedside with her hands full. Like a motherly nurse she hands over each item: some aspirin, a bottle of lukewarm water she had retrieved from her backpack, and a small sampling of Jolly Ranchers candy. "You need anything, let me know, okay? For now, try and get some sleep, sleep helps a bunch for getting rid of a hangover."
After downing the aspirin, I realize how thirsty I am. Half the water is gone before I lower the bottle. "Yeah. Sleep sounds good." It’s hard to concentrate on much of anything right now. Last night is still so jumbled. What I can actually remember of it anyway. And there are too many questions. I can’t hold on to any image or thought before it slips away to be replaced by another.
I snap back to the moment to see Sam nod a bit sympathetically. "You get some rest, and then maybe... whatever it is, s'gonna be okay, alright?"
I nod my thanks back, and for now, it feels like a huge weight has been lifted. "Alright." The anxiety was the only thing keeping me going. With it soothed I have no energy left. I pull my pillow in close, wrapping my arms around it for comfort. Sam is here. As my eyes close, I think to myself that she’ll keep me safe.
As if through a fog, "S'gonna be okay" drifts through the air just one more time.
I have no idea what time it was or how long was I in the shower. I told myself I just needed to wash the sand off. It was more than that, but you can’t really wash that sort of thing away with mere soap and water. I just ended up sitting on the hard tile in the water and steam crying for I don’t know how long.
I can’t stand out here forever. It’s just a door.
It opens slowly at my gentle prodding. I’m not in a hurry. I really don’t want to face whoever’s on the other side. Why can’t I be home, where my own room is, where there’s nobody to ask questions? I try to lean around the door to check the room. Sam is the only one there, sitting at a desk with a book of some sort in front of her and a pencil in her hand. She looks up and smiles with a friendly “Hey, Cait.” I try to smile back, but it feels forced, and I have to seek refuge in looking at the floor.
It occurs to me when I reach my bed that I still have an armload of clothes, the darker blue bathing suit mingling with the lighter blue shirt. I dump them on the floor, figuring I’ll deal with them later, and crawl across the bed toward the wall. My head finds my hands and I try to rub away the ache with my palms.
"You, uh, OK bud?"
Sam’s voice startles me out of drowsiness. Why’s she looking at me like that? What do I say? “What?” Does she know? It’s all over my face isn’t it? “Oh, yeah… I don’t know. Not really.” Brilliant, Cait. Don’t look. Don’t let her see. “I’m fine.”
I can see Sam nod out of the corner of my eye, but she doesn’t say anything. She just taps her pencil on her book. Say something. Anything. Or go back to your to book. Please.
"Well, you don’t look so fine. Not saying you look like hell or anything, but that's mostly on account of I don't so much know what hell looks like. You wanna talk about it?"
Anything but that. No, I don’t want to talk about it. I want to forget that it ever happened. Just… go back to what you were doing. I’m fine. Really. I am. But she doesn’t. When I look up, she still sits there, watching me, waiting for an answer. I’m fine. But I’m not fine, and I have to blink a few times to keep my eyes from welling up. I don’t know Sam that well, but I know she’s tough. Crying would just look pathetic. There’s a lump in the back of my throat that I have to swallow. I’m fine, but I’m not, and I have to say something.
Before I realize it, I’m telling Sam the whole story. Only it’s not me. It’s like I’m frozen in horror, hearing this girl with my voice talking about things that had happened to me, and I can’t believe it. I can’t do a thing about it. Everything comes out. The party, the booze, the beach. Making out. Waking up. What must have happened in between.
"Huh. Well… I dunno. That’s sort of…" Sam seems to be trying the find the right words. Sitting here while she’s judging me is torture. I want to escape, but it’s far too late for that. Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut? "Huh. How much did you drink?"
"Uh... I don't know." Now I’m sure she must think I’m an idiot. "A few drinks David mixed." Immediately I regret the attempt to concentrate, as it emphasizes the dull throb behind my eyes, but I need to put the images in sequence. "Maybe four? Then David took a whole bottle of something and we shared it. I think we finished most of it? I don't remember how much was there when we started."
"David mixed the drinks?" Sam repeats with a hint of mistrust in her voice.
Again, I’m too ashamed to look her in the face. He tried. I wouldn’t have known how much to mix either.
Sam’s pencil hits the desk and she rubs the back of her neck. With a quiet scuffing sound, she moves her chair closer to my bed. "So what are you gonna do?”
I can barely find my voice to say, “I don’t know.”
"Well... you really like David, right?" Sam asks.
That’s not what I expect. Condemnation, ridicule, I’m even prepared for a lecture. "Yeah? I think so? Yeah." Wait. I think so? Of course I do. I adore David. Don’t I?
"I mean, we talked before prom, and you said he was a great guy and all, and he really likes you and all right?"
"Well, yeah?" I have to push the hair out of my eyes so I can look up at Sam.
She just continues on, sounding hopeful, "I'm just saying it's something. I mean... you don't remember anything? At all? Maybe you both passed out is all?"
Maybe? But there was too much gap between where I found my bathing suit and where I woke up. "No. I don't know. I mean, we got as far as... well, our clothes. And... and that was down by the beach." No. That wasn't what happened. It couldn’t have been that innocent. "Then we were up by the fire."
Sam is still undaunted. "Well, I know this one time me and Eddie were real tired and we fell asleep on this boat over in Founders, but we didn't mess around or anything. I mean, I know it's different, we were sober, and we were dressed and stuff, all I can say is I dunno. I mean, I'm just saying David doesn't come across as the kind of guy who.... I dunno. Maybe nothing happened."
"What else could have happened?” I wail in frustration. "I can't remember! I mean, I don't think he'd do that, but... but I just, I don't know! It… It had to…"
"Did David say anything? Remember anything?" Sam asks. "Or did he black out too?"
"He tried to tell me he had a great time. And he told me he didn't regret anything." I blurt out, as if it’s conclusive. "See? Something must have happened!" Otherwise, what’s to regret?
Sam sighs a little, somehow still looking doubtful. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and figure it would've been your first time?"
My voice fails utterly as I looked down helplessly at the bedspread I found myself twisting in my hands. I can only nod twice without looking up.
There’s another pause. "Yeah... well here's the thing," Sam began. "You gotta ask yourself what would be worse... talking to David about it, or... never talking to him again.
"I..." What? Never? Where is Sam going with this? "But I can't talk to him about it. I just… can't. I mean, what would I say? And what would he say? And it would get all weird, and…" And? And what? "I don't know what to do."
"Give it some time, Cait. I didn't mean you had to decide right now or nothing." Sam advises. "You need anything? Can I get you something? Water? Aspirin? I don't have any hair of the dog that bit you, but I got some hard candy, get rid of that taste in your mouth like you're chewing on a wool sock if you want it."
"Yeah. Yeah, that would help," I nod and answer without really thinking. Allowing myself to fall against the wall in a slouch, I wonder at Sam. She doesn’t really know me, either, and it occurs to me that I’ve just dragged her into the whole mess. "And... I'm sorry, Sam. This isn't your problem."
"Sure it is," she replies with a small smile. "You're my roommate and all, right? Something's bugging you, it bugs me. If you don't want to see David, I'll run interference. And I mean, if it turns out he was a jerk and got you drunk just to have sex with you? Then he's in for a world of trouble."
"No! No, he…" I started, surprised at the defensiveness in my own voice. Sam looks back from returning her chair to its original spot as I stop, biting my lip in confusion. David would never do that. Would he? For some reason, I’m not sure any longer. I’m not sure about much apparently. I know David, don’t I? As much as I don’t want to believe it, what if he had? A vivid memory pops into my head, throwing myself at David. What if that’s backwards? What if I took advantage of him? "I don't think so..."
I can’t get it all straight. Time. I need time to figure it out. Interference? "But maybe... for now, if he's looking for me... yeah, just tell him I'm out, OK?"
"All right, I'll cover and stuff." Sam bustles around at her end of the quad, stopping her gathering long enough to send an apologetic smile my way. "And for what it's worth? I'm sorry."
I manage a smile, one that feels real this time. "Thanks, Sam. Thanks a lot. You know, for all of it."
"No worries, bud." Sam comes back to the bedside with her hands full. Like a motherly nurse she hands over each item: some aspirin, a bottle of lukewarm water she had retrieved from her backpack, and a small sampling of Jolly Ranchers candy. "You need anything, let me know, okay? For now, try and get some sleep, sleep helps a bunch for getting rid of a hangover."
After downing the aspirin, I realize how thirsty I am. Half the water is gone before I lower the bottle. "Yeah. Sleep sounds good." It’s hard to concentrate on much of anything right now. Last night is still so jumbled. What I can actually remember of it anyway. And there are too many questions. I can’t hold on to any image or thought before it slips away to be replaced by another.
I snap back to the moment to see Sam nod a bit sympathetically. "You get some rest, and then maybe... whatever it is, s'gonna be okay, alright?"
I nod my thanks back, and for now, it feels like a huge weight has been lifted. "Alright." The anxiety was the only thing keeping me going. With it soothed I have no energy left. I pull my pillow in close, wrapping my arms around it for comfort. Sam is here. As my eyes close, I think to myself that she’ll keep me safe.
As if through a fog, "S'gonna be okay" drifts through the air just one more time.
-
Candlestick
- Posts: 20
- Joined: Tue Apr 15, 2008 11:07 am
Re: He Said, She Said
David was breathing hard, pinned down by a barrage of incoming attacks. Nearby, Andrew Everly was running towards him, trying to block the volley that came at him. For a moment, it looked as though he might succeed, until an unexpected blow connected with his left leg and sent him spiraling to the ground. David twisted sideways as a shot passed inches from his face. Behind him, he heard Bobby Park cry out in pained surprise.
They were dropping fast.
For a moment, there was a pause in the attack, and David looked around desperately for a place to hide. Panic swept through him. His vision swam for a moment. Before he could make a plan, however, he was knocked to the ground by a sudden impact to his gut. As he struggled for breath, he heard a cheer go up as a shrill whistle split the air.
“Nice work, boys,” Coach Waters said. “That’s it for today.”
David staggered to his feet as Tommy Gerber sauntered past him, an impossibly wide grin on his face. “Too bad, Red,” the older boy mocked. “Better luck next time.”
“I hate dodgeball,” David mumbled to himself as he headed towards the showers.
Passing through the swinging doors, David was enveloped in the hot, moist air of the locker room. The scent of sweat and deodorant was strong, and on both sides of him, the boys of Saint Joe’s were talking, laughing and roughhousing. David waved at Jeffery and James Chandler, who were jostling to get into the showers before everyone else. They smiled back, then resumed elbowing their way towards the stalls. David made his way to his locker and opened the combination lock with a few twists on the dial.
As he opened the locker door, he heard a snide chuckle behind him. “So what’s the story, stud?” David turned his head and saw that Tommy wasn’t alone. Hovering nearby were Keith Bastian and Steven Knight.
“Yeah, Candlestud,” Steven sneered.
“Crimson Dynamo,” Keith offered.
They laughed. The trio were obviously feeling good about themselves.
David frowned. “Excuse me?”
“That’s what she said,” Keith said. Tommy and Steven laughed, and Steven gave Keith a high-five.
David’s brow furrowed as he turned to face them. “Yeah, okay,” he said, “so you got me out in dodgeball, Tommy. Congratulations.”
Tommy grinned. “Why, thank you, sir,” he said with mock modesty, his arm suddenly swelling impossibly large as he pretended to flex. “But this,” he said, gesturing to himself and his friends, “is not about that.”
David turned away again, trying to disguise his irritation. He pulled his shirt off over his head as he said, “well, then you’ve got me stumped, Tommy. What’s it about?”
Keith whistled low. “Whoa, hot bod,” he said contemptuously, as David stuffed the shirt into the laundry bag in his locker. “She must have liked that,” he said with a smirk.
“Yeah,” Steven replied.
Tommy stretched his neck out and snaked his distended neck across the aisle, bringing his head alongside David’s. “C’mon, Red, don’t make us beg—we want all the gory details.”
David turned his head sharply and looked into Tommy’s face. “Tommy, what are you even talking about? Leave me alone.”
“That’s what she said,” Keith repeated, eliciting a slightly less enthusiastic chuckle from Steven.
“No use denying it, Red,” Tommy said. “Weekend before last. We already heard all about it: the music, the moonlight, the hot cherry pie,” he continued, drawing out his words in a sarcastically romantic way.
“More like lemon meringue,” Steven suggested.
David felt his face flush, and was suddenly grateful that his face probably didn’t change color. “Nothing happened,” he retorted quietly.
Keith made a dismissive sound. “Not what we heard.”
“Yeah,” Steven added, then asked, “so you gotta tell us, Dave: did the carpet match the drapes?”
David started, shocked. “That—that’s so totally not your business,” he managed to stammer. He immediately regretted that it didn’t come out quite as assertive as he meant it to, as the trio erupted in laughter.
“That sounds like a ‘yes’ to me,” Steven said happily.
Emboldened, Tommy pressed the attack. “Was she like, ‘oh! Oh, David, you stud!’” he cried, lifting his voice into a falsetto.
When David didn’t reply, Steven picked up the attack. “Oh, yeah, she was totally like ‘take me, man-meat!’”
Keith joined in. “No, no—she was like, ‘give me your candlestick!’”
“And you better believe he did,” Tommy replied with a sordid grin.
“That’s not what happened,” David said again, clenching his jaw.
“Dude,” Keith complained, “you’d think he’d just be glad that we’ve confirmed he’s not a fag.”
“Seriously,” said Steven. “Dave, you oughta be proud you tapped that ass.”
Tommy’s head swung a little closer on his elongated neck as his elastic features twisted. “Aww, come on,” he coaxed, “you gonna tell us she didn't cure your yellow fever?”
Reflexively, David turned and threw a punch at Tommy’s face, his fist wrapped in flames. It was a futile gesture, as Tommy’s neck twisted away effortlessly, and David’s fiery fist met only air.
Tommy laughed. “You’re gonna tell us,” he said with playful menace, his right hand swelling into a cartoonish hammer. “You may not wanna, but you’re gonna give it up.”
“And,” Keith chimed in with a tone of inevitability, “that’s what she said.”
Suddenly, Tommy’s distended hand shrunk, and his head snapped back to its rightful place. The flames around David’s hand flickered and went out.
“Gerber! Andrias!” bellowed the coach, who had appeared at the end of the row of lockers.
Tommy and his friends fell silent, though they still smirked. David turned back to his locker, grabbing hurriedly at his school uniform—any thoughts of taking a shower were gone now. He just wanted to leave. The coach took another step forward. “What’s going on here, gentlemen?” he asked.
“Nothing, coach,” Tommy said easily. “just getting some cooking advice from Dave here. From what I hear he knows how to spread the mustard,” he continued with a loathsome smirk.
Coach Waters frowned, but clearly did not understand the comment. Instead, he looked at David. “Andrias? Anything you want to add?”
Gritting his teeth a little, David answered, “no, coach.”
“All right then, gentlemen. Gerber: hit the showers.”
“Sure thing, coach,” Tommy said, as he and his friends moved off. “We’ll catch you later, stud,” he added, grinning at David as they passed the coach and walked to the corner of the lockers. As they passed from sight, Keith turned back and made a V with his fingers and held it to his face, flicking his tongue between his fingers obscenely. Then they were gone, but their laughter echoed through the tiled locker room.
The coach lingered for a moment as David pulled on his pants and threw his jacket on. “Everything all right, Andrias?” he asked again.
David hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he lied, walking away the coach and hurrying towards the door. Coach Waters frowned, but said nothing as David left.
Passing out of the locker room and into the hallway, David hurried towards the lobby of the athletic center, his thoughts racing. What were people saying about that night? he wondered. What had Tommy and the others heard? And had Caitlin heard it too?
They were dropping fast.
For a moment, there was a pause in the attack, and David looked around desperately for a place to hide. Panic swept through him. His vision swam for a moment. Before he could make a plan, however, he was knocked to the ground by a sudden impact to his gut. As he struggled for breath, he heard a cheer go up as a shrill whistle split the air.
“Nice work, boys,” Coach Waters said. “That’s it for today.”
David staggered to his feet as Tommy Gerber sauntered past him, an impossibly wide grin on his face. “Too bad, Red,” the older boy mocked. “Better luck next time.”
“I hate dodgeball,” David mumbled to himself as he headed towards the showers.
Passing through the swinging doors, David was enveloped in the hot, moist air of the locker room. The scent of sweat and deodorant was strong, and on both sides of him, the boys of Saint Joe’s were talking, laughing and roughhousing. David waved at Jeffery and James Chandler, who were jostling to get into the showers before everyone else. They smiled back, then resumed elbowing their way towards the stalls. David made his way to his locker and opened the combination lock with a few twists on the dial.
As he opened the locker door, he heard a snide chuckle behind him. “So what’s the story, stud?” David turned his head and saw that Tommy wasn’t alone. Hovering nearby were Keith Bastian and Steven Knight.
“Yeah, Candlestud,” Steven sneered.
“Crimson Dynamo,” Keith offered.
They laughed. The trio were obviously feeling good about themselves.
David frowned. “Excuse me?”
“That’s what she said,” Keith said. Tommy and Steven laughed, and Steven gave Keith a high-five.
David’s brow furrowed as he turned to face them. “Yeah, okay,” he said, “so you got me out in dodgeball, Tommy. Congratulations.”
Tommy grinned. “Why, thank you, sir,” he said with mock modesty, his arm suddenly swelling impossibly large as he pretended to flex. “But this,” he said, gesturing to himself and his friends, “is not about that.”
David turned away again, trying to disguise his irritation. He pulled his shirt off over his head as he said, “well, then you’ve got me stumped, Tommy. What’s it about?”
Keith whistled low. “Whoa, hot bod,” he said contemptuously, as David stuffed the shirt into the laundry bag in his locker. “She must have liked that,” he said with a smirk.
“Yeah,” Steven replied.
Tommy stretched his neck out and snaked his distended neck across the aisle, bringing his head alongside David’s. “C’mon, Red, don’t make us beg—we want all the gory details.”
David turned his head sharply and looked into Tommy’s face. “Tommy, what are you even talking about? Leave me alone.”
“That’s what she said,” Keith repeated, eliciting a slightly less enthusiastic chuckle from Steven.
“No use denying it, Red,” Tommy said. “Weekend before last. We already heard all about it: the music, the moonlight, the hot cherry pie,” he continued, drawing out his words in a sarcastically romantic way.
“More like lemon meringue,” Steven suggested.
David felt his face flush, and was suddenly grateful that his face probably didn’t change color. “Nothing happened,” he retorted quietly.
Keith made a dismissive sound. “Not what we heard.”
“Yeah,” Steven added, then asked, “so you gotta tell us, Dave: did the carpet match the drapes?”
David started, shocked. “That—that’s so totally not your business,” he managed to stammer. He immediately regretted that it didn’t come out quite as assertive as he meant it to, as the trio erupted in laughter.
“That sounds like a ‘yes’ to me,” Steven said happily.
Emboldened, Tommy pressed the attack. “Was she like, ‘oh! Oh, David, you stud!’” he cried, lifting his voice into a falsetto.
When David didn’t reply, Steven picked up the attack. “Oh, yeah, she was totally like ‘take me, man-meat!’”
Keith joined in. “No, no—she was like, ‘give me your candlestick!’”
“And you better believe he did,” Tommy replied with a sordid grin.
“That’s not what happened,” David said again, clenching his jaw.
“Dude,” Keith complained, “you’d think he’d just be glad that we’ve confirmed he’s not a fag.”
“Seriously,” said Steven. “Dave, you oughta be proud you tapped that ass.”
Tommy’s head swung a little closer on his elongated neck as his elastic features twisted. “Aww, come on,” he coaxed, “you gonna tell us she didn't cure your yellow fever?”
Reflexively, David turned and threw a punch at Tommy’s face, his fist wrapped in flames. It was a futile gesture, as Tommy’s neck twisted away effortlessly, and David’s fiery fist met only air.
Tommy laughed. “You’re gonna tell us,” he said with playful menace, his right hand swelling into a cartoonish hammer. “You may not wanna, but you’re gonna give it up.”
“And,” Keith chimed in with a tone of inevitability, “that’s what she said.”
Suddenly, Tommy’s distended hand shrunk, and his head snapped back to its rightful place. The flames around David’s hand flickered and went out.
“Gerber! Andrias!” bellowed the coach, who had appeared at the end of the row of lockers.
Tommy and his friends fell silent, though they still smirked. David turned back to his locker, grabbing hurriedly at his school uniform—any thoughts of taking a shower were gone now. He just wanted to leave. The coach took another step forward. “What’s going on here, gentlemen?” he asked.
“Nothing, coach,” Tommy said easily. “just getting some cooking advice from Dave here. From what I hear he knows how to spread the mustard,” he continued with a loathsome smirk.
Coach Waters frowned, but clearly did not understand the comment. Instead, he looked at David. “Andrias? Anything you want to add?”
Gritting his teeth a little, David answered, “no, coach.”
“All right then, gentlemen. Gerber: hit the showers.”
“Sure thing, coach,” Tommy said, as he and his friends moved off. “We’ll catch you later, stud,” he added, grinning at David as they passed the coach and walked to the corner of the lockers. As they passed from sight, Keith turned back and made a V with his fingers and held it to his face, flicking his tongue between his fingers obscenely. Then they were gone, but their laughter echoed through the tiled locker room.
The coach lingered for a moment as David pulled on his pants and threw his jacket on. “Everything all right, Andrias?” he asked again.
David hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he lied, walking away the coach and hurrying towards the door. Coach Waters frowned, but said nothing as David left.
Passing out of the locker room and into the hallway, David hurried towards the lobby of the athletic center, his thoughts racing. What were people saying about that night? he wondered. What had Tommy and the others heard? And had Caitlin heard it too?