Fault Line (13 page)

22

I couldn’t find Beth’s cell phone number, so I called the number for her organization that I found on the website.

“Oh,” the woman on the phone said, “Beth’s one of our ER volunteers. She doesn’t work here. Is there someone else I can put you on the phone with? Or can I transfer you to our crisis hotline?”

“She doesn’t work for you?” What the hell?

“Well, she does, but as a volunteer. Most of our ER advocates are volunteers. If you’d like, I can let her know you called.”

“Yeah. Okay. Yeah.” Beth wasn’t even a real crisis counselor. She was a
volunteer
. God. No wonder she sounded like she was reading off a script. She wasn’t even really qualified to help me. My stomach bottomed out.

•••

“You’re a volunteer?” I said as soon as Beth called me that night. “Why did you act like you work for that rape organization?”

“Because I do. I take hospital ER shifts once or twice a month.” No apology. Just matter-of-fact.

“That’s bullshit. You acted like you had some experience. Like you knew what you were doing. Like you could actually help me.”

“I can help you. I’ve been trained as a volunteer. It was a really extensive training. They don’t just slot us in ERs and tell us good luck.”

It felt like coils of rope were being twisted around my body tighter and tighter until I couldn’t move. I had no one to talk to who knew anything about what happened. No one but Beth.

“How long have you been volunteering?”

“Six months,” she answered, and I felt the invisible ropes squeeze again.

“What do you do regularly? Like when you’re not volunteering.”

“I’m in school to get my social work degree.”

She was a student. Probably not that much older than me and Ani. I released a breath. Desperation plucked along my skin. I knew I should hang up. But the fear of being left utterly alone with Ani’s problems was too much.

“Ani’s messed up,” I finally told her. Part of me knew it was worthless. She couldn’t help. Probably wasn’t even supposed to be talking to me.

“Well, that’s not surprising, but what do you mean by messed up?” she answered calmly. “What’s going on?” She had her official counselor voice on and I almost hung up again, but I couldn’t stomach the idea of talking to a random, probably equally unqualified “volunteer” on the rape crisis hotline.

“She’s messing around with other guys.” I waited for Beth to respond, but she didn’t say anything. Were all counselors like this? Did volunteer training include the art of nontalking? All the long pauses and awkward silences were annoying. “She tried to break up with me.”

“And?” she prompted.

“I wouldn’t let her. But she’s messing around with other guys. I don’t know what to do.”

“It sounds like you’re not comfortable with that,” she said.

“Yeah, no shit. Of course I’m not comfortable with it. She’s my girlfriend.”

“Did you ask her why she was doing it?” Her voice was so mellow, I wanted to put my hand through the phone and squeeze her throat. Didn’t she understand what I was saying?

“She said it was her choice what she wanted to do with her body,” I answered through clenched teeth.

“And it is. But it sounds like there’s more going on with this. You know, promiscuity is a very common reaction in cases of rape.”

“Again with the common reactions to rape? Is everything a common reaction to rape? If I told you she stopped bathing and wore the same clothes every day, would that be a common reaction?”

“Sometimes. Why? Is that happening?”

“No, but she
is
messing around with other guys.”

“And that
is
a common reaction to rape,” Beth said again.

“So?” I didn’t feel better. I didn’t give a shit if it was a common reaction. My girlfriend was hooking up with
other
guys.

She took a deep breath. “So sometimes blatant sexuality is a form of self-destructiveness. And sometimes girls and women get their identity wrapped up in the rape and don’t see themselves as anything beyond a vessel for men’s sexual needs.”

“Oh, come on, Beth. A vessel for men’s sexual needs? Give me a frickin’ break.”

Beth released a sigh. “Okay, let’s just talk about Ani. Tell me, Ben, have you noticed a difference in her intimacy with you?”

“What do you mean?” I walked the length of my bedroom floor, scraping my feet along the carpet. Plush, ridiculous white carpet.

“Is she engaged? Is sex mutually beneficial? Is she looking to have her own needs met in the same way she had previously or is she focused on your needs exclusively?”

“In English, please.”

“When you’re together, do you make her feel good or does she make it all about you?”

Crap. Crap. My mind pulled at memories of the last few times we’d had sex. She seemed so into it at first, I hadn’t really thought about it. But I hadn’t gone down on her since the rape. She’d given me head a couple of times, but whenever I offered to reciprocate, she’d brushed me off. I figured she just wanted to get right to things. But after the last time, when she faked it, I didn’t know how to read her.

“We haven’t had sex in a while.”

“Okay. Well, was that her decision?”

Fuck. “No. It’s just that the last time, I realized she wasn’t totally into it.”

Silence.

“I—I didn’t rape her,” I stuttered. “It wasn’t like that. I just got the feeling she wasn’t really
with
me, you know?”

“So you haven’t been trying to connect with her in that way?”

“No,” I said at last, mentally cursing myself for being a selfish asshole. “She hasn’t been engaged or whatever. She faked it the last time. Maybe the last few times. I don’t know.”

“Did you talk to her about it afterward?” she asked, and I winced at the sympathy in her voice. I didn’t deserve it.

“Not really. I’ve tried to talk to her a bunch, but she doesn’t want to get into it with me.”

“Have you seen her with other guys? Or could it maybe just be rumors?”

I exhaled and stopped pacing my room to sit on my bed. “I heard it from a pretty reliable source.”

“Listen, this is just my opinion, but I think when girls get angry, they turn it in on themselves. Guys tend to fight other people, girls feel bad about their emotions and punish themselves for it. Maybe that’s what Ani is doing.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well.” She released a sigh. “I don’t know for sure since I haven’t spoken to her, but I suspect Ani feels responsible in part for what happened. Whether it was from the drinking or possible date rape drugs, she feels like she put herself in the situation to be raped. So instead of dealing with these feelings of shame and doubt, she’s becoming self-destructive. Doing something to numb the feelings. For her, it’s sex. For some survivors, it’s cutting or bulimia.”

“This all sounds like it comes out of a ‘very special episode’ of some crappy TV show. Seriously. Are you reading from a book? This is Ani. She’s not some poster girl for the damaging effects of irresponsible drinking or how rape can change your life. She’s Ani. My Ani.”

“Do you think she might talk to one of the counselors here?” she asked after several more seconds of silence passed. I wished she would. I was in way over my head.

“Probably not.”

“I’ll try calling her. Remind her that she can contact the hotline twenty-four hours a day. Have you decided what you want to do?”

I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything. I had hoped a conversation with Beth might help me figure things out, but now, I didn’t even know if she knew what she was talking about. Or if she was just faking it like me. Saying what she was supposed to say because that’s what they told her in some training.

I was confused and basically alone. Ani didn’t deserve for me to bail on her, but how much was I going to have to take?

“Stick with her, I guess,” I answered. “If she’s with me, maybe she’ll tone it all down, get back to herself. I’ll try to do that stuff you said. Serve her needs or whatever.” I never thought I’d be having this conversation. It was horrifying and humiliating all at once.

“Yes, if you decide to be intimate with her again, try to engage her,” Beth said, clicking back into counselorspeak. “Make sure she sees herself as someone you want to be with as a whole person, not just this part of her.”

Yeah, that’d be easy. Was I supposed to pull that off before or after she hooked up with the lacrosse team in the janitor’s closet?

“Ben,” Beth continued, “you know we have support groups for family and friends of survivors. We call it Healing Allies. The times for the groups are on the organization’s website if you’re interested.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that, but thanks anyway.”

I hung up and went online to read more about rape trauma syndrome. There were so many different kinds of sexual assault and so many different reactions to it that my head wanted to explode. I found myself in one of those survivor forums online and got in a chat with a seventeen-year-old girl who’d been sexually abused by her babysitter for years. She told me the best thing to do for Ani was support her and encourage her to talk to someone.

I checked out times for Healing Allies but didn’t think I could go. I imagined myself sitting with a bunch of parents and husbands of rape victims, and I couldn’t see me saying anything or telling Ani’s story.

The whole thing was stupid. I wasn’t a support group guy. Most of the girls in the forums probably thought I was some stalker. Maybe they hadn’t even been raped and were just on there for attention or because they were bored. Resentment made me worthless as a boyfriend, and I couldn’t figure out enough to make any kind of definitive move beyond trying to do what Beth said.

I went over to Ani’s after I got off the computer. I tried to talk to her without mentioning the lacrosse thing. I didn’t think I’d be able to even look at her if she tried to explain it. I wasn’t even sure I could get hard thinking about other guys’ dicks in her. Which made me feel like an even bigger prick.

Ani wouldn’t talk about anything anyway; she kept kissing my neck and moving my hands to her boobs.

“Ani, cut it out,” I finally said.

“What?” She pouted. “I just want to be with you. It’s been a long time since we’ve been alone together. Don’t you want me anymore?”

I took a deep breath and remembered Beth’s words. “Of course I do.” I rubbed my hands over her shoulders. “When’s your mom going to be home?”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite make it to her whole face. “Late. She’s preparing for her art class, getting supplies, and setting up the room. We have another two hours, at least.”

“Okay, take your clothes off.”

Her face didn’t react. She just shoved her clothes onto the floor like she was getting changed for work or something. I tried not to cringe. She tugged at my shirt, but I pushed her away.

“Lie down.”

She looked at me suspiciously.

“Please. Ani.”

She kissed me and pulled me toward her, while positioning herself underneath me on the bed. There were too many blankets on it, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to ruin things with questions about why her bed still looked like a fort.

I drew away and started to trace my hand slowly along her arms. I kissed her clavicle bone. She used to love when I dipped my tongue along the hollow skin and I’d always considered it one of the sexiest parts of her. She froze.

“Why aren’t you taking off your clothes?” she asked, stilling my kisses.

I slid my hands to her legs and traced small patterns along her thigh. “I will. In a little bit. I want you to feel good first.”

She shook her head and turned to her side.

“You need to be naked, Beez. And inside me. Now.” Her voice had a little tremor. I hated the guys who did this to her, so much. Anger was burning a hole inside me. I wanted to scream. Instead, I tried to pour all my emotions back into her. Fill her up with something that wasn’t pain and shit and other guys.

I rested my hand on her hip. “No. This is for you.” I tried to move my hand between her legs, but her knees shot up to her chest.

“I don’t want that.”

“Ani,” I begged, “please let me touch you.”

I started to massage her neck and kissed her shoulder blades. She was curled up like a marble statue covered in skin. She wouldn’t relax.

I moved my hand to her front and grazed my fingers across her chest. She’d always been one of those girls who liked me messing with her boobs, but instead of getting a response from her, I felt wetness.

I sat up. “Are you crying?”

Her hair hung over her face and she shook her head. I pushed a few strands back.

“Oh, Jesus, Ani. I just want to make you feel good. I don’t want you to cry.”

“Then stop,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to do this. This isn’t about me.”

I shot off the bed and ran my hands over my head. “Yes, Ani, it is. All of this is about you. What we do and what we don’t do. It’s been about you ever since the rape.”

Ani sat up and grabbed her shirt. She pulled it over her head and wrapped herself in a blanket. “Fuck you, Ben. Don’t throw that shit in my face. I’ve given you everything you wanted since then.”

“Everything except my fucking girlfriend back. You think I just want your body. What the hell? How can you think that? After all the shit I’ve put up with?” I was pissed. I needed to keep my mouth shut, but I couldn’t.

“Oh, poor Ben, you’ve had to deal with so much. It must be so taxing getting blow jobs. It’s not easy dating the Manhole, is it?” She pounded on my chest. “Well, fuck you, I gave you an out. You wouldn’t let me break up with you.”

My hands shook. Ani was so screwed up. There was nothing I could do. I stalked to her closet and threw open the door. I found the bag of pamphlets from the hospital and pulled out the card with the crisis hotline number.

“Call them. You need help for this.”

Ani turned her head into the pillow and screamed. I thought about the survivors online. They seemed so strong when they talked about what happened. So together.

I walked out the door like there was an eighty-pound weight on my shoulders. I got into my car and drove. I had no idea where I was going. I kept seeing Ani’s tearful face asking me to stop touching her. Why did I feel like such a dick for trying to please my girlfriend?