After Shock // (Veronica, Lamb, Keith) NC-17
What’s worse, I don’t even know what I want the answers to be. I want to believe that I kicked and punched and screamed for help through every second of it, that I beat the living crap out of him for doing this to me… but at the same time, I don’t want to picture myself being so terrified, and unable to stop what was happening to me. I want to believe that, futile or not, I did what I could to defend myself, but I also remember what we learned in health class about the kind of drug that was used on me last night…
About how it’s supposed to make you docile…
Willing.
Dammit.
Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit…
“Dammit!” I scream out loud, the word suddenly too large, too angry to be caged within the walls of my cranium. Abdominal muscles contracting, I curl into a tighter ball, knees almost knocking against my chest. “Fuck!” I scream at my bedroom wall, rattling the sheetrock with my rage. “Fuck!”
I’m sitting up now, clutching my bent legs, two rivers running down my cheeks. “I hate you! I hate you!” There’s no face in my mind when I yell these words, just the vague outline of a teenage guy.
I don’t know who he is, but I hate him. I despise every cell of his being.
Because here I am… I’m stuck with this rotting, vile tumor in my soul. This shame and horror.
Why did I fucking pick up that fucking cup and drink it?! I’m the Sheriff’s daughter. How did I not know better?
It’s with me for life. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, it’s going to be with me.
And him?
Fucker.
What’s his fate? He had sex last night. He had what for him was consensual sex last night. No shame, not even an inkling of having been violated. Just the knowledge that he got to put his happy bits somewhere warm and wet, then wake up the next morning and leave.
He’ll get to go on living his life. He’ll get to keep being whoever he was yesterday and the day before that.
He doesn’t have to live with this… this.
A sob pours out of me, and I’m laying on my side again, pillow thrown over my head as all sorts of noises stream from between my lips. Growls and screams. Frustrated moans and devastated, choking cries.
When I think I don’t have anything left in me… at the point when my lungs are burning and my stomach is sore from pushing the sounds out…
That’s when it happens.
I don’t know what causes it. Whether it’s endorphins or adrenaline or some wild combination of them or other chemicals in my body…
But it’s like I soak up the entirety of this last year, and I render it down. Fossilize it into a bright, shining gem. A moment when I let all of that anger and rage and hate flow through me. Let myself just feel it. Clear and undiluted. Directed at a few pinpoint targets. Ones that I blame for bringing my life to the place it is now. To the place it was just before I drank that rum and coke last night.
Duncan. Duncan Kane. I hate Duncan Kane.
God, this feels good. To just let it happen. Stop making excuses for him, stop worrying that maybe I’m being disloyal or unreasonable.
Duncan Fucking Asshole Goddamn Kane.
I hate him for breaking up with me the way he did. Correction- for breaking up with me without actually doing it. Wakes up one morning and decides that suddenly, I don’t exist anymore.
I hate him for that. After months together, after all that time of being deliriously happy together, I’m not worthy of an explanation. I don’t deserve to know why he ended things. I don’t deserve that closure… that enlightenment about what went wrong.
Instead, I’m just… disposable.
Like I was to the monster that raped me.
I hate him for walking around like a zombie this last year. For letting his friends treat me as sub-human.
I understand. My dad went after his dad for the murder of his sister. That’s a mind-fuck no matter which way it’s spelled out, and I can’t blame him if some his anger over the situation was directed my way.
But… really?
Did I, the girl he once loved, deserve to have every single one of my tires slashed on multiple occasions? To have the entire contents of my locker stolen and burned in the school parking lot? Was it okay for his friends to ‘accidentally’ upend a bottle of liquor over my head after word of my mom’s problem spread around town?
Was I worth so little to him that he wouldn’t even attempt to put a stop to the daily destruction of my dignity?
…And you know what? I wouldn’t even care if he did join in on the Let’s Hate Veronica campaign. If he put as much energy into shaming and humiliating me as Logan, Dick, and all the other 09ers do. At least then he’d be sending me a clear message. Drawing me a comprehensible blueprint of our present relationship.
Instead, he let’s them get away with it all, but still tries to toss a smile my way every now and then. Like all his friends have done is pull my pigtails or stuck a ‘kick me’ sign on my back.
Don’t lounge on the sidelines and watch what happens to me on a daily basis, and then pretend that in some way, we’re still friends. That I still mean something to you. Because there’s no way those two scenarios can coexist. They just can’t. Stand on my side… tear me down… it doesn’t matter. Just do something. Quit with the wishy-washy crap. Make a decision, and back it up.
Fuck you, Duncan Kane. Fuck you for being a coward.
Next on the list… my mother. Swirling around her isn’t so much a whirlpool of hate. It’s anger. Betrayal.
How could she just leave like that? Oh, sorry Veronica… things are a little too tough for me right now so I’ll just pack my things and go. In the middle of the night.
Did she even hug me good-bye? Give me a kiss before she walked out of my life and Dad’s?
Why hasn’t she called? It’s been months since I heard my mother’s voice. Okay, maybe she doesn’t want to be found wherever she’s gone. But pick up a damn payphone along the highway! Anything to let me know that you still care. That you miss me.
I’m angry at her for not being here. Right now. When I want, when I need my mother. I need the arms of the woman who gave birth to me. The soft, tender embrace that only a mother can offer. I need her to wrap me up and kiss me on the forehead and tell me that everything’s going to be okay. That she won’t tell anyone what happened if I don’t want her to, but she will be here for me. Always. My rock. The person who’ll help me make sense of the world on bad days, and brighten it up that much more on good days.
I need her here, and she’s… not.
She’s not.
Donald Lamb.
What kind of man, what kind of human being laughs when they’re sitting in the same room as a girl who’s just been raped? Even if you don’t believe her… a girl who looked like I did… ragged, crying, and folding into myself… that’s someone who needs comfort. A momentary lie, at the very least.
Yes, Veronica… we’ll do everything we can to catch him.
Yes, Veronica… we’re here for you. The authorities. Doctors. Psychiatrists. We’ll make this right.
Was that really too much for him to say? Too much for his gnarled black heart to handle?
Before I can continue my mental tirade, I start feeling myself running out of energy. Like a shooting star, my ball of rage burned bright and hot near the beginning, but is already petering out.
My mind is starting to get heavy. Overworked. Weighed down by all these thoughts and realizations and the knowledge of what’s happened to me.
I’m drifting. Down. Into my mattress. Into myself.
I woke up only hours ago, but now, I want to go back…
Back to my world of unconsciousness.
I want to go somewhere that’s… not here.
Away.
Anywhere.
Just… away.
|#|+---+---+---+---+|#|
A blueberry, mango, strawberry smoothie has spilled out across the sky. Swirls of whipped cream serve as a delectable topping for each layer of flavouring, tying them together. Warm air tickles me as it runs aground, startled by the sight of land after soaring a million miles across the Pacific. I close my eyes, letting it move not just over me, but through me. Hoping that perhaps it will pick up a few more molecules of the evil infecting my blood stream and carry them away by simple convection.
Yeah, so it would probably be defying a few laws of physics and reality itself, but who cares?
Beside me, the dried out, skeletal remains of some far-off tree are burning. Coughing up brilliant ribbons of orange and yellow that dance in a flurry of motion. Once every few seconds a spark escapes, hot and bright as it climbs triumphantly into the air. But soon its life force begins to drain, fading away much as the daylight is now, and it floats back down to earth as a delicate, blackened snowflake.
Roasting atop the little wooden teepee is my attire from last night. The choker. My white dress… the one that could probably be mended but never, ever cleaned. My underwear.
I know. I know it’s cliché and lame and a waste of things that don’t really have anything wrong with them, but…
How could I wear any of them again? Knowing what happened the last time they were flush against my skin…
How could I risk the chance that he might see me in the dress? No way do I want to give him that opportunity. To be reminded of last night, and relive it with a vivid visual aide.
Plus, it just feels good to know that in maybe another minute or two, the only physical evidence of what happened to me will be reduced to a pile of ashes that wouldn’t fill a coffee cup. Well, except for the sheets at Shelley Pomeroy’s house, but… I never have to see or touch those again.
Speaking of Miss Pomeroy…
Around two o’clock I woke up from my midday nap. Though I’m not sure I would label it a ‘nap’. It was more like a voluntary descent into unconsciousness. A concussion without the blow to the head. Either way, it had less to do with exhaustion, and more to do with my need to detach myself from reality for a couple of hours.
Wandering around my house in a directionless daze, my fingers eventually closed around my cell phone. Flipping it open, the display screen informed me that I had one new message.
From?
That’s right…
“Hi Veronica. It’s me. Shelley. Look, it’s lunchtime and your junk heap is still parked outside my house. Think you could come get it some time before next century?”
So polite.
By the time I got there, the profanities scribbled across my front and rear windshield had been doused with maybe a bucket of water or a few purposeful sprays from a garden hose. Apparently the Pomeroys didn’t think it was fair to make their passing neighbors be assaulted by the word ‘slut’ printed in two-foot capital letters. Made it a lot easier for me to drive through town to the nearest car wash, that’s for sure.
I had to force back the bubble of harsh laughter that threatened to pop out of my windpipe when my Dad got home and commented about how shiny she looked.
“I saw your car outside, Veronica. Looks nice. Almost brand-new,” he said with a smile, exaggerating for my sake. “Oh, honey. Don’t tell me you’re eating breakfast for dinner again.”
I looked down at the yellow sludge sitting in my bowl. Used to be Corn Pops. I was sitting on the couch, completely immobile before he came in. Encouraging myself to just pick up the spoon, scoop up a few sugary boulders, and put them in my mouth.
My stomach was hearing none of it though. Seemed to be wary of accepting any more inputs for fear that they might be laced with another poison. Any time I brought food within three inches of my nose or taste buds, it would start thrashing about in my abdomen. Kicking up a fuss, splashing acid around in its walls, getting my intestines all worked up. So I just sat there. Continuing to hope that my gastrointestinal temper tantrum would die down, but… no such luck.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” I said with a shrug, smiling up at him.
When he asked, I didn’t tell him how the party went. How it really went. At the time it seemed like a bad idea, and now… it seems like an even worse one.
What would be the point?
Rolling the debate around in my skull, I arrived at the difficult realization that Lamb was right. Asshole Devil’s Spawn Lamb… was right.
Even if the cops wanted to collect DNA samples from the bed… and if the Pomeroys let them… and if they came up with a positive match to just one male- assuming me and my mystery suitor were the only ones to use the bed last night… what could they do about it?
He would just lie, no doubt.
And me? What could I say to a jury?
I think I told him ‘no’…
I know I was drugged at the time, but…
I don’t know who put the drugs in my drink, or who handed me the drink…
It would just be my word against his. Against the hundred other people who were there that night, and who would no doubt stand on his side of the legal argument.
That was best-case scenario. Nothing would change. He would be found innocent, and I’d make the Mars family famous for a second time by bringing shame down on myself.
No thank you.
My Dad wouldn’t be able to do anything different. Except, his investigation would involve a few more broken noses. Several restraining orders. Maybe a couple lawsuits. He’d have to spend a few days or months or years behind bars, even, depending on what course his ‘investigation’ took.
Worse than all of that though, if I tell my Dad what happened to me, things will change between us.
I’ll lose him in all of the most important ways
The way he smiles at me? The way he did when I said good-bye to him last night and when he walked through the front door tonight? It’ll no longer be the bright, shining ball of sunlight that it is… instead it’ll dim down to the meager brilliance of a single Christmas tree light. Tinted by worry and guilt.
I won’t be his little girl anymore. Not completely. I’ll be his little girl who’s turned into a victim. Someone who’s damaged. Who needs to be protected now more than ever. Who he needs to be concerned for at all times.
I can’t do that to him. I can’t make his life Hell over something that he can’t fix anyway. And, although I wouldn’t be devastated to watch him hunt down the son-of-a-bitch that scorched my innocence and make him pay, I need things to stay the way they are with us. I need him to keep smiling at me the way he does, and to think of me as Strong, Independent Veronica. I couldn’t stand to see his eyes fixed on me, clouded with despair even when they’re laughing.
I need him to go on seeing me the way he does now… because it keeps me sane as much as it does him.
No. No, telling him will accomplish nothing good.
I sigh as a tear crawls down my cheek. They’ve been dropping like that a lot today. Never more than one, and always without a clear reason. I don’t fight them. Don’t bother figuring out their motivation anymore. I just let them fall, figuring they’re the byproduct of my subconscious processing everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.
Sitting out here, with nothing but the waves and the sand and my tiny little fire to comfort me, I come to a decision.
This isn’t going to own me. In any way.
I’m not going to entertain all those questions that rolled me up into a tight knot earlier today. About what it was like… whether I fought back… whether there was just one him. They’ll do nothing to help me get past this. Nothing but tow me down deeper into the black pit of anguish I woke up in this morning.
I’m not going to try and figure out who it was. Not yet, at least. Right now there isn’t a single soul at Neptune High who would help me find the truth. Every guy I ask will name a new suspect. Every girl will call me a slut, flip her hair and strut away. In either case there will probably be derisive laughter involved.
Someday, maybe I’ll have the chance. Maybe this shit storm of hatred that surrounds me will finally begin to dissipate, and I’ll regain a few allies amongst my peers. Maybe then I’ll be able to figure it out.
Until that happens though, I see no reason to bring it up. To myself or anyone else. To even acknowledge that it happened.
I’m just… I’m going to find a way for this to make me stronger, not weaker.
This isn’t going to destroy me. Isn’t going to affect me.
I’m not going to be what he would probably like me to be. Some whimpering, terrified little girl. Afraid of every guy that walks by me in the hall. Too ashamed to hold my chin up. Broken. Stuck forever in a vortex, replaying last night and today over and over again in my mind. Trying to figure out where I went wrong.
Maybe it’s not the best idea, or the healthiest idea, but I’m just going to let it slide. Away from me. Like I’m dropping it down into the ocean, sending it hurtling to the bottom of some thousand-foot trench where no one will ever see it again. I’ll attach a GPS locator on it, of course, in case the day does come when I need to find it again. But for now, that’s where it’s going to stay. Lost. Frozen beneath a billion tonnes of saltwater.
Because it’s not worth it.
It’s not worth losing my father, and the image he has of me.
It’s not worth losing myself, and the few tattered pieces of a life I’ve managed to sew back together since Lilly died.
Whoever did this to me. The slime ball. The chunk of sub-human, radioactive waste. Whoever he is…
He’s not worth it.
)) End ((
[ Still here? …Well, that was a long, tough road, I know, but I hope it was worth it. As always, I would love to hear what you thought. With this subject matter, I know it’s doubtful you ‘enjoyed’ it, but hopefully you got something out of it. Thanks for reading! ]