Going Under (35 page)

“Why are you doing this?” I cried. My heart
thumped painfully, and I knew in a few minutes he’d get exactly
what he wanted. I couldn’t fight it off much longer.

“Because afterwards, I’m gonna make it all
better. I’m gonna fuck that sweet little cunt of yours until you
pass out all over again.”

“I hate you!” It came from deep within my
chest, one last burst of energy. I screamed at the top of my lungs,
loud and long, burning my throat until it went hoarse. I screamed
for the girls who endured this torture in the past. I screamed for
Beth who couldn’t survive it. I screamed for my uncertain future,
my rights that were being violated, and dropped to my side, passing
out at the height of my terror, heartbeat pulsing fast and hard
into starry blackness.

I awoke again but didn’t open my eyes.
Actually, I couldn’t open my eyes. My lids were too heavy, so I had
to rely on my ears to help me discover where I was. My arms were
lifted over my head, wrists secured together with something thin
and tight, and I vaguely remember feeling it once before.
Somewhere, a long time ago. I tugged on my arms but couldn’t pull
them down to my sides. Only then did I realize my shirt and bra
were missing, leaving me half naked on an unfamiliar bed.

“You sure she’s drugged enough?”

“Dude, she’s out of it. I slipped a pill in
her drink earlier and gave her another half just a few minutes
ago,” Cal said.

“I thought we said two pills.” I recognized
the voice. I just couldn’t match it to a name.

“I didn’t want to take the chance. People
die from that shit all the time, you know,” Cal said.

“So?”

The question sent a shiver down my
spine.

“Look, I was all over her tits and she
didn’t feel a thing. Relax. If she wakes up, she’ll still be too
out of it to really know what’s going on,” Cal said.

“She seemed to know what the fuck was
happening to her in your closet.”

“Man, you know how this shit goes. They go
in and out. When it’s all over, they’ll be so fucked up they won’t
know if it was a dream or reality,” Cal said. “You need to chill
out.”

“What was that shit anyway? Putting her in
the closet? You’re one sick fuck.” I realized it was Tim
speaking.

“I really just wanted to see if she’d pee
her pants,” Cal replied.

Tim chuckled. “Man. You’re messed up.”

The panic started instantly. My head swam
too much for my body to be completely consumed with fear, but I
felt my heartbeat from far away increase a little, signaling
danger, and I was incapable of fleeing for safety. Out of pure
reflex or instinct, I pulled hard on my binds.

“Brooklyn?” Cal asked.

I froze.

“Brooklyn,” Cal taunted. “Are you waking up
to join us?”

He ran his hands over my breasts, squeezing
them hard until I yelped. He pinched my nipples, and then I felt
his mouth on me, sucking long and hard. He drew away abruptly, and
I felt his hot breath in my ear.

“I love you, Brooklyn,” he said, and I
wanted to vomit from fear and disgust.

I felt his hand snake down my belly and in
between my legs. I fought hard to keep them closed, rolling my hips
from one side to the other, but all I managed to do was assist Cal
in sliding my shorts off more easily. My panties followed shortly
after, and I screamed as loudly as I could. It felt weak and heavy
on my tongue, but I screamed anyway until someone’s hand clapped
down firmly on my mouth, stifling my cries for help.

“Who wants to be first to love Brooklyn?”
Cal asked.

I shook my head violently, twisting my body
and pulling frantically on the ties around my wrists.

“Now, Brooklyn,” Cal said. “There’s no use
doing that. Why don’t you just enjoy it? You wanted this, remember?
You were the one snooping around, trying to find out stuff about
our league. We figured you wanted in pretty badly, so here’s your
chance.”

I felt two sets of hands pry my thighs apart
and another touch me between my legs.

“Let’s make her come.”

A new voice, and familiar, too.

“That’s generous,” Tim said.

“Well, it’s not rape if they come,” the
voice replied, and the boys laughed.

Parker! It was Parker’s voice!

Three of them, I realized, and I had no
chance. I was becoming more lucid, thinking back to the beginning
of the year, my ludicrous plan for revenge, and then the
forgiveness that came when I realized I didn’t have to sacrifice
myself, that Beth wouldn’t want that. I learned to forgive myself,
to move on, and found a new peace in protecting the girls at my
school. But now I was trapped, about to experience violence I was
certain I could never recover from, and the terror turned me
primal. I bit down as hard as I could on the hand covering my
mouth, breaking skin.

“Fucking bitch!” Parker yelled.

“Stop!” Cal said, and I heard a slapping
sound.

For the first time, I opened my eyes fully
though it was painful. Cal was holding Parker’s wrist, poised in
the air above my face.

“You wanna leave a mark?” Cal hissed.

“She fucking drew blood, man!” Parker
cried.

“Then go wrap it,” Cal replied. He looked
down at me. “Does someone need another dose?” he asked, resuming
the probing between my legs.

I shook my head, feeling the tears well up
and run down the sides of my face. They pooled in my ears,
distorting my hearing.

“I think so,” Cal said, moving his finger in
and out of me. He looked over to Tim who let go of my left leg and
disappeared from the room.

I immediately closed my legs, trying to
squeeze Cal’s hand.

Cal sighed patiently. “Brooklyn, spread your
legs.”

“Fuck you,” I spat.

Cal jumped on me, knocking the wind out of
me, and held my face between his hands. He squeezed tightly, and I
was afraid he’d crush my skull.

“No, see, that’s what I’m about to do to
you. For hours. And then Tim’s gonna do it. And then Parker. For
hours, until you’ve been used up like a little bitch ragdoll. And
you wanna know the funny part? You won’t remember a thing.”

I inhaled deeply for another long scream
until I felt fingers go around my neck.

“You scream, and I’ll fucking squeeze your
head off,” Cal warned.

I swallowed, or tried to, and Cal took it as
a sign that I’d obey.

Tim came back and hovered over my face.

“I don’t trust that ecstasy bullshit, Cal. I
told you that from the beginning.”

“What is that?” Cal asked.

“It’s called a Roach or something. That’s
what the guy said, anyway,” Tim replied. “It’s supposed to be a
memory wiper.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Never mind where I got it. The point is
that I don’t wanna take any chances with her. She takes it or I’m
out.”

Cal shrugged and lifted my head, and I
fought with all my might, kicking my legs and twisting from side to
side. But he was too strong and eventually trapped my face between
his large hands, holding me perfectly still while Tim shoved the
pill into my mouth. They forced me to drink down the water, and I
coughed and spluttered most of it all over my cheeks and neck. But
they succeeded in getting me to swallow the pill, and I cried out
of fear and frustration for what I knew it’d do to me and what
they’d do to me. I would be passed out in minutes, completely
vulnerable to their sexual attacks.

“Don’t cry, Brooklyn,” Cal said. “We all
love you. And we’re about to show you. We’re even gonna let you
come first. That’s how much we love you.”

The boys snickered as I pleaded with them to
let me go.

“Parker, you’re the best at it,” Cal said.
He looked down at me. “See, I never really cared to figure out how
to make a girl feel good. I usually just make it about me. Tim?
Well, he always makes it about him. But Parker, here, he’s a pro.
He’ll have you screaming in a matter of minutes. The good kind of
screaming.”

“I don’t think I want to make her come,”
Parker said. “She doesn’t know how to behave herself. My fucking
hand hurts.”

“Now, Parker,” Cal said. It was a stupid,
placating sort of tone. “Let Brooklyn have a little bit of fun.
She’s gonna earn it, after all.”

Parker shrugged, and Tim and Cal grasped my
thighs, spreading them wide until my hamstrings screamed in
protest.

“Wow, that’s nice,” Cal said. “Don’t you
think Brooklyn has a nice pussy, Tim?”

“I do,” Tim said. “I can’t wait to shove my
dick in it.”

“What do you think, Brooklyn?” Cal asked.
“You want Tim to shove his dick in you?”

“Stop!!” I screamed, but Parker touched me
anyway, one hand pressed firmly on my lower abdomen to keep me
still while the other probed me between my legs. It wasn’t a
predator’s touch; it was a lover’s touch, gentle yet firm.
Experienced.

“Wow, you must really be enjoying this,”
Parker said, stroking me softly.

“How do you know?” Cal asked, watching me
intently as I struggled against Parker’s hand.

“Well, she’s wet,” Parker replied. “Really
wet. I think she likes being used this way.” He leaned over and
whispered in my ear. “You’re right. I hated you from the moment I
met you. But look how nice I am, making you feel so good. Making
you get all wet for me. Because you’re my fucking whore, aren’t
you?”

I don’t know why I was moaning. Whatever
drug they gave me turned me to liquid all over again, eventually
lulling me into a false sense of security, even tricking me into
imagining that the hand touching me belonged to a different boy—a
boy I thought I loved. And I should have told him that the day he
confessed his love to me.

I fought it. I tried to focus on my
humiliation—my nakedness and their hungry eyes. Parker’s ugly
words. I tried to remember I was being touched against my will, but
I was quickly giving up the fight, letting Parker use my body
against me. I replayed his earlier statement over and over in my
mind while I begged him to stop: “It’s not rape if they come.”

I wanted to pass out
now
. Then I
wouldn’t come. I would be safe from that shame, dreaming somewhere
far away in a place where evil doesn’t mask itself behind boyish
charms and all-American façades. I closed my eyes and waited for
the darkness to consume me, and it finally did, but not before my
body responded to Parker’s hand, climaxing painfully while I was
held down, stripped of integrity and hurled into some kind of limbo
where I knew I was a victim but my body disagreed.

***

I woke up, forehead pressed into the
steering wheel. I sat up slowly, head pounding from what felt like
a hangover. It was dusk, and the colors beyond my windshield were
disorienting. It took me several minutes to recognize the student
parking lot at school. Mine was the only vehicle, and I realized I
was alone. Instinctively, I locked the doors and looked around for
my car keys. They were dangling from the ignition, but I didn’t
remember putting them there. I didn’t remember getting into my car.
I had no recollection of the day.

I noticed my wrists hurt badly, and I
brought them close to my eyes to get a good look. There were marks
on them, and I had a small cut on the inside of my right wrist. The
blood was dried and caked in a smear over my skin. What happened to
me? My muscles were stiff. My shoulders screamed. My hamstrings
felt tight. The back of my neck ached. I felt like someone had
beaten me up.

I wasn’t sure I could drive home. My head
continued to pound relentlessly, and I knew I shouldn’t chance it
on the road. I looked around for my book bag, locating it in the
back seat, and thought that was strange. I never put my book bag in
the back seat. I always set it beside me in the passenger seat. I
pulled out my cell phone and called Dad.

“Honey? I thought you’d be home by now.
Isn’t the game over?” Dad asked.

“What game?”

“Funny, Brooke,” Dad replied.

I panicked. “Dad, I don’t feel so good.” I
choked back the tears. I wasn’t ready to cry yet because I wouldn’t
know why I’d be crying.

“What’s wrong?” I could picture Dad sitting
up in his chair, straight as an arrow, ready to go for the gun at
my signal.

“I don’t know. But I woke up in my car. I
must have passed out or something. I don’t think I can drive home,”
I said. “Will you come get me?”

“Lock your doors. I’ll be there in ten
minutes,” Dad said.

I hung up and rested my head against the
seat. What game? I thought hard trying to remember the game I was
supposed to be attending. I was supposed to go somewhere after
school. I was supposed to do something. And then I remembered. The
baseball game! I went to the baseball game, but I don’t remember
leaving it. Think, Brooke, think! But I could recall nothing. Not
the slightest memory of events that took place after the game.

Dad pulled up, and I unlocked my door for
him. At that very instant I felt like a little girl, six years old
again and bruised and broken from a nasty fall off my bike. I
didn’t say a word but stretched my hands to him, palms facing up so
that he could see the marks on my wrists, the deep wound just shy
of a major blood vessel.

I cried then. I cried because I knew why I
was crying. Someone had hurt me. That’s all I had at the moment,
but it warranted tears.

Dad gently pulled me from my seat, and only
then did I notice the dull aching between my legs. And then I
noticed another ache, a stinging soreness in my anus.

“Daddy,” I whispered, clinging to him while
I cried into his shoulder.

“It’s okay, honey,” Dad replied, stroking my
back.

I sobbed hard as my father rocked me gently
side to side, like we were slow dancing to a terrible tune, one
that sang the disjointed melody of a brutal assault.

“I-I need to g-go to the hospital,” I
stuttered.

And then I heard my father’s sob, felt the
shaking and shuddering of his chest, because he knew what I meant,
and he didn’t want it to be true.