In Ruins (15 page)

“And the sad thing is, it isn't even the first time I've heard one of them say that kind of shit. At the parties, you know? And it's like, I'm supposed to willingly take a drink from these asshats? From someone who's friends with them?”

I shake my head. I have no words—she's one hundred percent right. “I just don't get it. How
they
don't get it. These aren't bad guys…mostly. They'd be horrified to hear if their friend raped someone. But suggest getting her fucked up so her judgment is off, or so she can't fight back? Well, that's just strategy, right?” I grit my teeth in frustration. “It's this ridiculous idea that it's so cool to get laid, that it's also cool to take advantage of a girl to do it, you know? It's like they don't even realize they're glorifying
sexual
fucking assault
. Or they don't care.” I laugh humorlessly. It's so openly insane that it would almost be funny if it wasn't so fucking
horrible.

Because I've heard these comments too, in passing. In
passing
! And when I stop to actually think about the reality of rape being joked about so flippantly, I become genuinely outraged. I think about Ben's friend's comment last night about “free alcohol for hot girls.” I can't help but wonder if that “house rule” is about selective hospitality, or something more sinister, and a shiver crawls up my spine at the thought. And yes, Ben had the presence of mind to know it was offensive, and to vaguely chasten the kid, but he didn't actually explain what was wrong with what he said, and I wonder if Ben even knows.

“And like, they're grown men,” Devin continues. “People don't say this shit in the real world, do they? It has to be a college thing.” But she sounds uncertain, and I don't have an answer either.

Devin huffs. “And it's freaking 2016! These guys wouldn't approve if their friend said something racist, or homophobic, but it's fucking
hilarious
to suggest rape as the next evening activity.”

I don't think I've ever seen her so up in arms about something so legitimately relevant. As infuriating as the subject is, I'm actually glad to connect to this side of her. I guess it's a universal concern, at least for college-aged women, and how sad is that?

“Why do you think that is?” I ask Devin, who blinks at me. “I mean, why do guys consider it hilarious to joke about? What's
cool
about drugging a girl?” It's beyond my comprehension, and idly I think it's probably a question for a guy.

“You think I understand the idiotic minds of guys?” Devin rolls her eyes. “I
wish
, Carl. Honestly. It makes no sense whatsoever. If I were a dude and I needed to get a girl fucked up to get laid? I'd never admit that. I'd be ashamed as fuck.”

“What did you just say?”

But she doesn't even hear me. She continues complaining about Max not thinking he did anything wrong, lets out an exasperated growl, and then without even taking a breath, she hops up from her bed and says she has to get to class. She does a little wiggle like she's shaking off her frustration, blows me a kiss, and heads out the door, just like that.

I don't bat an eyelash at her abruptness; I've grown used to it by now. But she's got me thinking about the last thing she said that wasn't entirely self-centered. That she'd be ashamed to imply she had to resort to drugging someone to get laid. And she hit the nail on the head. That's what doesn't make sense. Guys are all about bragging, and there's nothing impressive about having no choice but to incapacitate someone to sleep with them.

You'd think it would be the opposite. That guys would brag about having a girl want them enough to sleep with them without any mind-altering substances.
That
would make sense to me.

And suddenly, an idea takes shape in my mind. A montage of the awful jokes I've heard, and potential replacements for them. Because if we want guys to change their humor, maybe it wouldn't hurt to provide them with some material.

I'm so proud of my idea that I'm tempted to grab my team members before class rather than wait until tonight's meeting, but I hold back. Not that Tucker arrives with enough time for even a short conversation before class starts anyway.

Zayne announces a revision to his peer review process, and all ears perk up. He says that any student who makes specific accusations of unprofessional behavior beyond the basic questions of the provided form will be required to supply some kind of proof for it to be taken into consideration. He throws me a subtle nod, and I can't help my smile, but Tucker's less than subtle glower wipes it away almost instantly.

But I don't let it get to me. That afternoon, I focus on preparing to present my idea to the group, and by the time I meet them in the student center that evening, I have no trouble ignoring my Tucker-induced nerves.

Julia and Manny arrive before me, and I catch Julia in the midst of a familiar cautionary tale. It's the one about the lacrosse player that got benched after “he drunk-bagged some girl in his group and she gave him a bad peer review,” and went on to lose his scholarship.

“Too bad Zayne's rule about having proof wasn't in effect,” Manny murmurs.

“I don't think it would have made much of a difference,” I tell him.

“What do you mean?” Julia asks, as Manny stares at me, confused.

I shrug. “I asked him about it. That story about the lacrosse player. He said if the guy hadn't been unprofessional and slept with his teammate, then he wouldn't have been in that position, basically.”

“You asked him about it…” Manny repeats, his tone mildly incredulous with a hint of accusation.

I frown, puzzled for a splitsecond before Tucker's words rush through my mind—
did you fuck him?
Manny has already made a remark or two painting me as teacher's pet, but never with the shadow of hostility he's casting now.

I bristle defensively, but before I can respond, Tucker walks in. He's the last to arrive as always, and I try not to watch as he saunters toward our usual table looking utterly delectable in dark jeans and a fitted gray T-shirt. His jacket is unzipped and it's too easy to see the way his hard torso is cut with muscle, especially knowing what it feels like beneath my fingers. But before I can get too hot and bothered at the sight of him, I force my mind back onto the project at hand.

We've had several ideas before, but ended up nixing them all for one reason or another, and with only a couple weeks until Thanksgiving break, we are really letting it get down to the wire. After that it will only leave us with a week or so to finalize and execute a concept.

“So what's your idea, Carl?” Manny asks, his tone still vaguely irritated.

I reach into my bag and dig out the materials I had printed. “So on Zayne's list, there's this nonprofit called SAVE. Sexual assault Awareness and Victim Empowerment.” Tucker looks at me for the first time at the mention of Zayne's name, and I try not to tense. “It was on the e-mail Tucker sent after our first meeting.”

I hand out Tucker's notes.

“So I think it's pretty obvious what they're about, but what's interesting is that their recent focus has been awareness on college campuses.”

“So if they're already focused on campuses, how would we do something original?” Manny asks in annoyance. Aside from being the second guy in my group to think there's something up with Zayne and me, he's also still a little bitter we didn't like his last idea, which much like his first three was centered around sports.

“Well, they're focused on teaching about affirmative consent, and how it's more than just ‘no means no.' That ‘yes means yes,' you know?”

“And?” Manny asks impatiently.

“Let her talk.” Tucker's voice is so low it takes me a second to realize he actually spoke, and another to realize it was in my defense. It makes my pulse race and the nerves I thought I had under control flutter wildly in my stomach.

“Right,” I murmur, trying to regroup. “Okay, well, I think their message is great and all, but I'm thinking more in terms of campus culture, and how we all relate to one another. It's one thing in a classroom setting to understand what constitutes rape, and how serious it is, but what happens when we're in a less formal setting?”

“I think that ship has sailed, Carl. I mean, we all get it, you know?” Manny drops the attitude marginally, but he's obviously still not into it.

Tucker watches thoughtfully and Julia sits quietly, and I wonder if she's making the connection to the joke made last night at her expense.

“I don't think you do all get it,” I say honestly.

“Excuse me?” Manny replies indignantly.

“Not you personally. But guys. Girls, too. I mean, yes, we all know rape is serious, when we're in a serious setting, but when we're at a party, joking around? Sometimes it becomes a joke. And then it's a slippery slope. One guy hears his buddy joke about it, and then thinks his friend thinks it's cool, and so he takes it less seriously himself, and so on.”

“I think you're reaching,” Manny says dismissively. “People don't joke about rape.”

“No?” I ask.

Manny shoots me a skeptical look.

“So you've never heard a friend joke about slipping something into someone's drink? Or getting a girl drunk to make her more compliant? Or suggest giving more alcohol to hot girls so they can get them into bed?”

Manny shifts in his seat, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Finally, he sighs. “Fine, yeah, sure. But a joke's a joke. No one takes that shit seriously.”

“You don't think so?” Tucker suddenly interjects, and Manny glares at him. “You don't think hearing someone joke about getting his girl drunk so he can get some makes his boys less likely to be concerned if they happen to spot him carrying her drunk ass up the stairs later?”

“Do you?” Manny counters.

“Yeah. I fucking do.”

And then Julia sits forward in her chair, and all eyes turn to her. “Well, whatever effect it has or doesn't have, there's nothing okay about a guy saying he should drug my drink to get me ‘in the right headspace,' or the rest of his friends laughing like fucking me while I'm unconscious is just fucking hilarious.” She purses her lips shut and her eyes shine with restrained tears, so I take over for her.

“Whether the guy making the joke would actually go through with it or not isn't the point. The point is that we know it happens, right? So someone in that crowd hearing that joke could very well be the guy considering doing something like that, and hearing it talked about like it's no big deal is not going to push him in the right direction.”

Manny stares at me, and finally he sighs with reluctant acceptance. “Okay, I hear you. So what'd you have in mind?”

I tell them. I hand out the rest of my printouts of the articles I found from the past decade, of incidents where frats or sports teams got into trouble for rape or joking about rape. I point out that these are only the people who got caught.

I mention some of the jokes I've heard, and we all go around the table, recording some of the better—worse—ones. Then we come up with jokes that send the opposite message. Even Manny contributes, and hours go by as we make more progress in one sitting than we have in all of the previous ones combined.

Tucker makes a joke about the size of his dick—how it's so big girls don't need alcohol to want to sleep with him, but they need it afterward for relief. I burst into laughter, but inwardly I'm blushing, because I remember how sore I was after my first time, and several more vigorous times since.

Although it still hurts to remember, I can at least appreciate that we're sitting around the same table, joking and laughing together. And I think of last night's realization about escaping him. About how I haven't really been trying to escape him. But it's as I watch his head fall back and his mouth drop open, his eyes crinkled with body-wracking laughter at Julia's joke, that I realize I don't want to escape him.

I've never wanted to escape him.

Present Day

I sit down outside Stuyvesant Hall on the bench I hate. Now that we have a concept—and a damn good one at that—we've been spending a lot of time on our creative marketing campaign, and today we're filming in Carl's dorm room. We've been shooting at the lax house, too, since most of the scenes take place at a party, and well, we throw a lot of fucking parties.

I glance at my watch. Carl will be here any minute and I need her to sign me in. It's weird that we've been getting along, but then, we've mostly just been working, and like I told her since the beginning, I can be professional. With her, and the other strangers in our group. Only they're not really strangers anymore, and Carl never was.

And then she's running down the pavement, muttering apologies for making me wait. I get up from the bench. “No worries,” I tell her. Because the way she's trying to catch her breath after obviously rushing here, the way her cheeks flush with exertion as her pretty blond ponytail bounces behind her, has me remembering just how well the whole
just friends
thing worked out the first time around.

I follow her to the elevator and up to her room and we wordlessly start setting up for today. I've taken care not to be alone with her like this until now, and as her bed glares at me, taunting me with the knowledge I will never be in it, I remember exactly why this isn't a good idea. Fortunately Julia and Manny show up a few minutes later, and not long after that, we're ready to shoot.

Today it's just me and Manny filming the second version of the scene we did yesterday, where we acted out actual jokes we've heard guys make. I always feel nasty as fuck after playing that role, and I'm glad that today I get to be more like myself.

In the scene we talk about our fictitious girlfriends, competing over whose wants us more.

“My girl wants me so much, I give her nonalcoholic beer and tell her it's regular, just to give her an excuse to be all over me,” Manny says with a convincing smirk.

I laugh, and respond with my line. “Whatever, man,
I
can go all night. I can go so long that I convince my girl to be sober driver so she has more energy to keep up with me.”

It goes on like that. We do a few takes, and then we wrap for the day.

Manny gets his laptop out of his bag and checks the camera's auto upload of today's footage. He'll work on editing it over the upcoming Thanksgiving break. I've written a general outline for the story we want to tell, and Manny is a whiz with Final Cut Pro, and we will have a couple of days when we get back to campus to shoot more footage if we need to.

I suspect Zayne will give Carl an A regardless of what she turns in. I still can't believe she called him to pick her up from the lax house the night she went out with Ben, but I saw her get in his car with my own two eyes. I don't trust fucking Zayne or his intentions. But I know Carl, and she'd never sleep with her professor. Or at least I convince myself I know at least this about her.

“Are you doing anything for break?” Julia asks Carl, who averts her gaze to straighten up her bed.

“Usual.” She shrugs, but I can sense her discomfort. Because I know what
the usual
is for her when it comes to family holidays. The same as it is for me. My mom is incredible, especially considering all she's been through, but holidays get to her, and ever since my father's death we've kind of had an unspoken agreement to all but ignore them. Which is fine with me, frankly, but I don't have a kid brother to put on a show for. “You excited for your trip?” Carl asks Julia, expertly diverting the attention from herself.

Julia has blabbered on for the past month about her upcoming trip to Grand Cayman—a Thanksgiving family tradition, apparently—down to detailing the new bikinis she's purchased for the occasion. Even now her eyes light up at the subject. “Ugh, I can't wait. It's so cold here already!”

Well, yeah. It's November in New York
.

“You going to do the whole turkey and football thing?” Julia asks.

Carl's mouth opens either to spit some lie or to uneasily tell the truth, and I save her without even thinking about it. “Such an overrated holiday,” I murmur.

Carl turns to me, her eyes equally grateful and surprised.

“What are your plans?” Julia asks me.

I shrug. “Mom's out of town visiting my aunt. I'm going to my friend Cap's house. They do the whole family thing.”

In fact, this will be the first time in a long time Cap's whole family will be together for a holiday and he's nervous about it. And on top of that, Rory and her mom are joining them, too.

Carl's gaze darts away and she studies the floor as we pack up our equipment, and the Thanksgiving talk mercifully dies off.

Julia, Manny, and I say good-bye and head to the elevator just as my phone buzzes with a call.
Speak of the devil
.

“What's up?” I ask Cap. It's strange that he's calling. We're in regular contact, but we usually text, and I wonder if something's wrong.

“Hey Tuck. You got a minute?”

A vague seed of dread plants itself in my gut. He sounds serious, and my mind goes straight to Bits. “Everything okay?”

Cap sighs. “Yeah. Fine. Relax.”

“So then, I repeat,
what's up
?”

“Thanksgiving.”

I exhale my relief. He's so stressed out about that stupid fucking holiday that he's going to give himself a heart attack if he keeps this up. Can't say I really blame him, though. His parents have met Rory's mom before, but this is some serious shit, and for a guy who a year ago was our high school's most infamous bachelor, it's a lot of change for him. “It's going to be fine, man. Your family loves Rory. And her mom loves you. Just don't be an ass and everything will go great, and if it doesn't, then at least I'll be there to watch you crash and burn.”

“Shut up, moron,” he quips. “I'm not nervous about that. Not really, anyway. It's just…look, don't chew my head off, okay?”

Huh?
“What?”

“I know this is a lot to ask of you. But Rory's upset about Carl being all alone for Thanksgiving. Her mom's away, obviously. And it's just her and Billy. And Billy's been having a tough time lately—”

He has? I didn't know that. But then, why would I? I miss that little dude. But I couldn't exactly keep in touch with him after what went down with his sister. Maybe I should reach out to him anyway.

“And she's Rory's best friend. And I get it if it's still too raw, so—”

My exasperated sigh cuts him off. “Dude. Get. To. The. Point.” Even though I've already gathered what it is.

“Fine, asshole. Rory wants to invite Carl and Billy for Thanksgiving and, frankly, so do I.”

Yeah. That's what I figured.

“But we both understand if you have a problem with it. So just think about it, I guess, and let me know later—”

“It's fine, Cap. You can invite them.” The words are out of my mouth before my brain has even formed them. But what am I going to do? Say no? I'm not going to tell Rory she can't spend the holiday with her best friend if that's what she wants, and I'm not going to condemn Billy to another lonely, depressing Thanksgiving with just him and his sister. Even though I know Carl does everything she can to make it special for him, there's only so much pretending you can do in a massive house whose size only shouts of its emptiness.

“You sure?” Cap asks with only thinly veiled skepticism.

“Yeah, man. I mean, I'm not gonna pretend I'm thrilled about it, but it's cool. I've been working with her on this project and we've managed to get along. No reason we can't do that at your house, too.”

“Okay…”

“Plus, I'd like to see the kid,” I admit. I'd been proudly molding Billy into a bit of a mini-me before my relationship with Carl went to shit. If he's having a hard time, I want to find out why, and see if I can help him out.

“That's good, man. I'll tell Rory. It'll make her happy.”

Which obviously makes him happy—I can hear it in his voice. “Don't say I never did anything for you.”

Cap snorts. “Yeah, you're a real saint.”