The Night Before Thirty (26 page)

We got into bed around eleven-thirty p.m. and started fooling around. I wasn't a virgin, but it was going to be the first time I ever slept with him, so I was nervous but excited. We'd just started kissing when the phone rang. Steve answered and the intensity of the conversation caused him to jump out of bed.

He hung up the phone and said, “We got some business we need to handle, and I need you to go with me.”

I looked at the clock. It was midnight. So I asked, “Can't I just stay here until you get back?”

“No, I need you,” he insisted.

I hesitantly got out of bed and got dressed. We jumped into the car and headed for the highway. Steve was speeding like a maniac.

I asked him where we were going.

He said, “Don't worry about it—you'll see when we get there. But we have about a two-hour drive ahead of us.”

I attempted to sit back and relax, since it was going to take a while to get to where we were going, but he wasn't having that.

“I need you to watch out for five-oh,” he said.

I sat up in the seat and tried to spot anything that looked like a cop.

I began to get nervous. “Why don't you slow down a bit?”

He shot a look at me that sent chills through my entire body. Then he said, “Why don't you shut the fuck up and watch out for the mother-fucking police, like I told you?”

I went from caring for him to being terrified of him. I didn't know where we were going or when I'd see Chicago again, and I was too frightened to ask. One thing was for sure, I knew that I needed to keep an eye out for the police. I spotted several along the way. I often wondered
what would have happened if we had been stopped by a cop, but we weren't.

Anyway, we pulled up to this warehouse, where two guys were waiting for us. Steve opened the car door and jumped out. He went around the corner with them. A few minutes later, they came back, each holding crates, which they put in the trunk of his car. Then they shook hands and dispersed. Steve got back into the car and said, “All right, we're headed home.”

Just like that—no explanation, nothing.

At this point, I was fed up with the secrecy and his domineering attitude. On the way home, we were driving fast, but not nearly as quickly as we had been, so I calmed down a bit.

“So what are in the boxes?” I asked.

“You ask a lot of questions,” he said.

“You got me up at all times of the night, speeding out of town, and now I'm riding around in a car with you and some boxes in the trunk. After all that, I think I deserve to know what's in the boxes.”

“You need to be careful about what you ask for,” he said. “Now, sit back. I got everything under control.”

We sat in silence until he was ready to talk.

“Don't be mad at me,” he said.

I didn't say anything. I realized that night that I didn't like him or anything he stood for. We couldn't get back to Chicago quickly enough. I just wanted to be away from him. I knew that something wasn't right about those boxes.

“Aw, so you're not talking to me!” he said.

“To say what?” I asked.

“Tell me how much you want me, just like you were doing at my place before we left.”

“I'm not feeling that right now,” I said.

“So what you trying to say?” he demanded.

“I already said it,” I replied.

“Nobody, and I mean
nobody,
acts like that with Steve! Don't you know I will bitch-slap you, bitch?” he yelled and threw his hand up as if he were going to, but stopped short.

I was shocked.

“Nah, nah. I ain't gonna hurt you,” he snickered slyly.

I didn't know what to think. We were about an hour from town, and I just kept telling myself to try to remain calm until I got home, then get the hell away from this fool.

The next thing I know he pulled off the freeway.

“Why are we stopping?” I asked.

“Because I need to show you something,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“You wanted to know what was in the boxes, right?” he said as he turned the car down a deserted, dark street.

“I did want to know, but I'm cool,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“No, you want to know, so I'm going to show you.” He turned off his headlights and kept driving slowly down the long street. It dead-ended to an area that looked like a park.

“Get out!” he yelled.

I sat there in shock.

“Get out!” he barked.

I opened the car door. I knew he was going to leave me there, but Steve got out of the car and walked around to me. I was shivering inside, but I tried to appear cool.

“Come on,” he said and we walked to the trunk of the car. He opened it and grabbed a screwdriver that was on the floor of the trunk. He used it to wedge open the top of the crate. He got it open—inside were countless numbers of guns.

“That's what's in the crates. Guns,” he said calmly. “Now are you satisfied?”

Steve put one of the guns in his hand and gripped it tightly.

“You're not angry with me anymore are you, baby?” he said.

I managed a smile.

“Let's just take a moment to get back to where we were back at my place.” He leaned in and started kissing my neck.

I was disgusted.

“You want me, don't you?” he whispered.

I couldn't answer. I didn't want him, and I couldn't form my mouth to lie. I tried to say “Yes,” but it wouldn't come out.

“You do want me, don't you?” he whispered again. This time he rubbed the gun on the side of my face.

I knew the gun was probably not loaded, but the idea that it was in
that crate and the possibility of a stray bullet being in there—on top of the fact that we were in the midst of a dark nowhere—freaked me out. I couldn't move. I was young, and I couldn't think. I didn't know what to do, so I stood there, speechless.

Steve started slowly unbuttoning my blouse. Then he pulled it down my arms. It was a fall night and kind of cool out. And that hawk attacked my bare skin. I was literally shaking. Then he pulled my skirt and my panties down to my ankles.

“Don't do this,” I cried. Tears began to stream down my face because I knew that this man was going to take me and that there was nothing that I could do about it.

He pulled his pants down. Then pointed the gun at the ground. “Lay down,” he said.

“On the ground?” I asked.

“Lay down,” he said again.

I slowly walked over to the grass and lowered myself onto the ground. I kept saying silently,
I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe this is happening!

I was being violated, raped; but it wasn't like on television, when some woman is caught alone and is struggling to get away from her attacker. I didn't fight him and there wasn't rage in his voice or his actions. The atmosphere was calm. I could hear crickets chirping. Steve slowly climbed on top of me. He actually caressed me. Then he stuck his dick inside of me, and as much as I loathed him and the situation, after a while it felt good. I had mixed feelings lying on that ground—one part of me wanted to throw up or scream for help, but there was something inside of me that was enjoying his slow, even-paced stroking.

Steve kept the gun right by my face.

“I wanted to be inside you since the day I met you, and I know you've wanted me too. I can tell by the way you touch me and the way that you look at me,” he whispered.

I was being raped by a man that at one time I wanted to be intimate with, and he was conjuring pictures in my mind of me wanting him. I had imagined what it would be like having sex with this man, and now he was raping me.

Then he started breathing really heavy and his rhythm became steady and his stroking began to speed up until he came. He fell limp,
and I felt limp. Tears streamed down my face. I had been gently raped by my boyfriend. How was I supposed to deal with that?

After a few moments, he got up and pulled up his pants. I just lay there. “Come on, we need to get back to town,” he said, and reached over to pick up his gun.

I got up and slowly, ashamedly walked over to the car and picked my clothes up and dressed. We rode back to town in silence. We even went back to his place. I didn't have a way home, so I stayed the rest of the morning with him, in his apartment, until Angel came to pick me up.

When I got in the car with her, I began to bawl uncontrollably, but there was nothing I could do and no way to prove that he'd raped me. I wasn't even supposed to be at his place that night.

It took me a while to get over that night, even though I never saw him again. He called a few times, but I kept the conversations brief and made excuses to get off the phone until he stopped.

“THE QUESTION I
drew was 'What was your most costly experience?' My answer is getting involved with a guy I knew from the start was not right for me.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away.

“I did it then, and I'm doing it now. Lashawnda, you're doing the same thing.”

“We're basically thirty years old, and I'm still trying to find out who I am. If we don't really try to figure it out, we'll stay right there in that cycle of attracting men—or women, in your case—who are wrong for us. Not just wrong for us, but bad for us. I, for one, deserve better. I know I do.”

HE WOMEN FINISHED
their dinners and then exited the hotel for a short stroll down Ocean Drive. They wanted to get a taste of being on the famous street and experiencing the excitement of its nightlife.

“Oh, it feels so good to be here,” Alecia said as they made their way from Collins Avenue to Ocean Drive. “South Beach is one of my favorite places,” she said.

Everyone looked at her, surprised. She hadn't said much the entire trip, and most of her comments had been of a condescending nature.

“I do like it here. I have some good memories of this town,” she said, and sighed.

“Oh yeah!” Louisa smiled.

“Do tell,” Jessica said.

“Well, I've had a few memorable dates right here on this very street with some good guys, men I probably should have been nicer to.” She dwelled a bit on her comment. “Plus, we had our senior skip day here in Miami, remember, Louisa? It was the best time I've had in a very long time.”

“Oh yeah, I remember,” Louisa said.

“You two went to school together?” Lashawnda asked.

“Yes. We've known each other since elementary,” Alecia said proudly.

“So are you an imposter or is your birthday really on December first?” Lashawnda questioned.

“Oh, she shares our birthday, and she wrote in,” Louisa confirmed.

“I'm just checking, because we've been putting up with your little prissy butt all night, and I just want to make sure there's some justification in it,” Lashawnda, who'd had a little too much to drink, blurted out.

“Oh, believe me, spending the day with a lesbian hardly qualifies for one of my most enjoyable moments,” Alecia retaliated.

“Fuck you,” Lashawnda said, rolling her eyes and her hands and then stumbling and struggling to catch her balance.

“I'm going back to the room,” Alecia said, and turned to walk back.

Louisa stopped her and pulled her off to the side. “Now, you know she's had a little too much to drink, and you're not sober your damned self. So just shake it off,” she said. “And you do need to apologize.”

“For what?” Alecia snapped.

“You did call her a lesbian. You know she's dealing with her sexuality as it is,” Louisa said.

Alecia folded her arms and huffed.

“Alecia,” Louisa said firmly.

“Oh, all right, but only because you asked me to,” she said.

They walked back over to the group.

“Lashawnda, I'm sure if I'd thought about it longer, I would have been able to come up with something nicer to call you than a lesbian,” Alecia said nonchalantly.

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” Lashawnda walked in front of Alecia and put one hand on her hip while the other swayed to the side.

“Yes, Lashawnda, I'm apologizing.”

“Aw, girl, I know you didn't mean it. If I'm a lesbian, then I'm cool with it, but if I'm not, I'm sure I've been called worse.” She turned around and started walking with the group.

Alecia followed but felt guilty. She was sure that Lashawnda meant what she'd said—she probably
had
been called worse names—but that didn't mean it was okay for her to add to the list. Alecia wanted to do a better job of apologizing, but she wasn't sure how, or if it would even be worth it to bring it up again.