Red Light (37 page)

“I understand, Tori,” he said sympathetically, “I really do, and you can if you really want to, but please wait for at least another twenty minutes before you leave. Settle down a bit, let the anesthetic wear off, let your system normalize before you go running out of here. You blacked out earlier, and while you’re okay right now, you might again, and I’m sure you don’t want that.”

Jean stirred next to me and reached for my shoulder, then dropped her hand. I felt instantly guilty.

“So…another twenty minutes or so?” she asked him instead.

Dr. Petrossi nodded. “That sounds about right. In fact, I’ll make sure I’m back in twenty minutes. Tori, you and Jean just relax here for a little while, okay? I promise you, as soon as I come back, I’d like to speak with you because I’ll have a few more lab results, and then you can leave.”

“Where are my cousins?” I asked instead. I remembered that Samantha had driven my car, and I was sure that Nina knew by now just how far I’d fucked up. I looked at the walls, I looked at the ceiling, I looked at anything but the doctor with his kind eyes or Jean with her loving ones because I wanted to scream, rip that damn screen off the wall and fling it until I could feel the muscles in my shoulders tear and hear the glass shatter in that ultimately satisfying way. I wanted to curl up into the tightest ball I could and cry, I wanted to shred the skin off my body with my hands so I could feel clean again, and I didn’t want either one of them to see how I felt, read it on my face.

“Samantha picked up Nina to get my car and some clothes for you a little bit ago. They should be back soon,” Jean answered. “Do you want to see them when they get here?”

I found a ceiling tile to fixate on as I nodded yet again because I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“I’ll tell the nurse to send them in when they return,” Dr. Petrossi said. “You and your…Jean…should probably take a few moments to talk. I’ll see you in a few,” he concluded and left the room, the door a quick breeze with a smooth click as he closed it behind him.

“Tori, baby, look at me.”

I shook my head because I couldn’t. I had really fucked up. This was beyond all fucking recall. It was like the more senior techs and medics said: A M F, YOYO—
adiós
, motherfucker, you’re on your own.

“Why?” I countered.

She took my hands in hers, and though I tried to draw them away, she wouldn’t let me. “Tori, baby, this isn’t your fault.”

I kept my eyes focused on that spot of tile. “It sure is,” I chuckled bitterly, “it sure as hell fucking is. I went to the funeral, I went to her place. I should have known better than to drink with her, I shouldn’t have let myself fall asleep there. I just didn’t think—”

“Think what, baby? That she…that something would happen? Why would you have thought that?”

This time I looked at her directly. “Jean. I shouldn’t have let it happen. And…” My throat squeezed so tightly I thought I’d never get the words out, but I had to, I had to tell her. The expression she wore was killing me—her heart in her eyes for me, the way it always was, and I didn’t deserve. “And if you want to move your stuff—”

Jean put her arms around me. “Don’t you
dare
pull that shit on me, Tori, don’t you
fucking
dare.”

I rested my cheek against her chest as she held me closely and the steady thump under my ear became a strong, hard beat.

“I am
not
going anywhere, you’re
not
going to lose me, and I will
not
let you push me away.”

I slowly put my arms around her and let myself believe her, even if just for a little while, because it was nice to hear, even if it might not be true, and she rocked me lightly as she smoothed my hair.

Nina and Samantha did come in with the promised clothes, and I have to admit that when Nina unhesitatingly threw her arms around me I spent all of about five seconds wanting to cry helplessly, but I stopped myself—she was pregnant, and I didn’t want to add to her stress.

Between the discussion with the doctor and Jean, it wasn’t too hard to put together all the missing pieces and even easier to privately conclude that it probably hadn’t been the first time I’d ingested an interesting chemical or two at Trace’s. It definitely explained a lot.

I learned that the severe vomiting and the hallucinations, as well as the out-of-body experience, were typical of ketamine, while the GHB had caused the increased sensation and the sudden transition from blackness to alertness.

Add the Benadryl and the alcohol, and the effects magnified. I was lucky that I hadn’t gone into a coma or respiratory arrest; the doctor told us GHB had been known to cause temporary coma-like states that lasted two to three hours. That news scared me, terribly, because a whole lot more things might have happened—not just earlier that day, but at other times—that I didn’t remember.

I must have shivered because Jean withdrew the hand I hadn’t realized I was crushing in mine and put an arm around my waist so I could lean into her.

By mutual agreement we all returned to Nina’s, and Jean was no more than an inch away from me at any given time while I told my cousins what I did know and everyone made suggestions about next moves.

From what Jean and I had understood from our discussion with Dr. Petrossi, the options were slim: both drugs were legally available, the perpetrator was also female, and…we were in Richmond County. The laws were slightly different here than in any of the other counties of New York City; in this county lesbianism was a defense for, well, only crimes of this sort by a male perpetrator, since the law didn’t mention this specific type of incident involving a female perpetrator—which meant it didn’t legally exist. The doctor had clippings from the local newspaper of trials where he’d testified as a medical expert for the prosecution. That specific defense, “she was a lesbian, it made me temporarily insane,” had cleared more than one offender. And because I had at one point been in a sexual relationship with…
her
, as he’d stated matter-of-factly, we couldn’t do a lot.

After I shared that information with Nina and Samantha, Nina walked into the kitchen and I could hear her speaking with someone on the phone.

I sipped the glass of water Sam had brought me earlier.

“Although,” Jean said quietly for my ears alone, “with the, uh, the knife cut, it might be possible to get an assault and battery conviction, if nothing else. I could ask Pat.”

I gaped at her. I didn’t want to talk with anyone more than I already had, and the thought of telling anyone else, especially a member of Jean’s family…I couldn’t bear it. “Jean, I can’t. I don’t want to have to tell—”

“Kitt—Fran will be here in two days,” Nina announced with a grim smile when she returned to the room.

Samantha stood and stared. “You’re kidding.”

“No. Not at all. If we can’t do something on the criminal level, there’s got to be something on the civil, and she’ll find it.”

“I’m not sure I want to do anything just yet,” I said into the silence that met that statement. “I’m not even sure I can say that this whole thing isn’t just a big fuckup on my—”

Jean shifted next to me on the sofa “Don’t even say it, Tori,” she took my hand, “because you didn’t do anything voluntarily that landed you in an ER, okay? You have to understand that, baby,” she said, her gaze steady and serious on my face. “You didn’t do
anything
wrong. You should never,
ever
, feel guilty, ashamed, or embarrassed for something someone else does.”

I tried to understand, I really did, but I suddenly realized how tired I was, and tomorrow? Tomorrow was a workday.

“Jean, do you mind if,” and I turned to Nina and Sam, “is it okay if we stay in the house tonight?”

An almost overpowering case of nerves descended on me. I was shaky and unsure, edgy. I felt like I might fly apart at any moment; a good strong wind would come and tear me away, tear me into a thousand pieces, scatter me like sand. I loved the home Jean and I shared, but there was something to be said for being on the second floor of a house that had the kind of security setup my cousins had.

“It’s always okay, Tori,” Nina said. “This is always your home, both of you.”

“Absolutely, and bring Dusty in too,” Sam suggested and smiled. “I’m sure she’ll love being able to visit with everyone.”

I smiled at that myself, because I knew that Dusty always sat as close to Nina as possible, so much so that I was surprised she didn’t think
her
name was Samantha.

I stood suddenly, tired, sore, and drained. “Do you guys mind if I go take a shower? I just, you know, need…” I waved my hands in the air.

“Of course not,” Nina said, and I moved toward the stairs.

Jean stood too. “I’ll go pick up a few things and bring them over, okay?”

“Thanks, baby.” I smiled at her, because I loved her. “I’ll see you in a few?” I touched her arm.

“Yeah,” she said softly and kissed my forehead. “I’ll be right back, and I’ll bring Dusty too.”

*

Once in the shower, the hot water running down my head, I took stock of myself: the blood had dried on my thighs and the cut just below my navel was a duplicate of the one Jean had, maybe slightly larger, and although it had been cleaned and bandaged in the ER, to my eyes it was large and ugly, the lines clear, dark pink and topped in red. They stung as the water sluiced over them.

“I’m finding it hard to believe this was consensual,” Dr. Petrossi had said, his words echoing in my ears as I once again saw the image onscreen and felt the slick rough kiss of Trace in my mouth as I rubbed at the stubborn rust that stained my thighs.

Nothing, from the image that still shone from the playback in my mind to the fragmented memories in my head, had anything even remotely close to my participatory agreement. I’d never even had the chance to say no. She had taken that—forcibly taken it—from me.

The realization shattered me. I could feel my internal structure crack, a spiderweb stretching across a windshield, as the knowledge leaked into my bones.

In that moment I was filled with an almost blinding black rage. I couldn’t fucking
believe
this had happened, couldn’t fucking
believe
I’d fucking let her
touch
me; I had stitches—
stitches—
inside, stitches that had to be checked and removed in two weeks.

And now, I had a fucking mark across my stomach too, a mark where Jean liked to kiss me after I’d come in her mouth, a fucking scar where Jean would splay her hand over me as we lay together, her fingers stroking gently on the skin there, right
there
, before or after we made love, or absently in her sleep.

How could she ever want to touch me again, our beautiful warm embraces, the heavenly feel of us as we slid along each other—God. Damn. It.

I slammed my hand against the tile, the pain of contact forcing one word into my brain. Trace. Fucking Trace. I had
let
her fucking touch me. I slammed the tiles again. I was such a fucking idiot. I’d known better, I’d fucking
known
better. Trace cried, and Trace fucked—that’s how it had always gone down.

A part of my brain was ready to supply excuses for Trace—the grief, the wine, the familiarity of “us”—but the pain I felt in my body, coupled with the specific damage report…Trace hadn’t merely fucked me, she’d ripped me apart—in every way she could.

Had she fucked my wife like that? Had she drugged her, taken away her free will, and cut her while she—I couldn’t complete the thought; the picture in my head made me nauseous. No. Jean had told me, quite clearly, that she had never…before we…I had to believe that, didn’t I?

How could I ever touch her again without thinking, without wondering, without remembering Trace?

“I don’t care who you fuck,” she’d said, “just think of me when you do.” Yeah. That seemed pretty guaranteed, assuming I ever wanted to again.

Jean had warned me, had
told
me Trace would take what she wanted.

Numbness jumped and fell along my arms, each burst begun by the sting I ignored every time I hit the wall. I could never be clean enough; I would
never
be clean enough to touch anyone, ever, again.

The tiles slipped under my hands, and I could barely see the red-now-pink-now-red-now-pink streaks that flowed down the wall as I beat it repeatedly, a steady tattoo that matched the pulse in my head, the blindness of the steam, and the sting of my eyes.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Jean’s voice cut through the fog.

“Baby, stop,” she said as I wrenched away from the touch on my shoulder, “stop.”

She wrapped an arm around me, heedless of the water that cascaded over her, and hauled me to her chest as her free hand closed the taps. I struggled for a moment, the heat in my body threatening to explode, and just as quickly as they came, all the anger and the strength vanished, leaving my body as suddenly as the air would if I’d been sucker punched.

Nerveless, almost boneless, I leaned back against Jean, gasping for breath as she eased us down onto the floor of the tub, and I was in the safe cage of her arms and legs.

“Here, wait a second, baby,” she said and stripped her shirt off.

It was the right thing to do; her skin was soft, warm, and soothing under my cheek as she once again held me securely and rubbed her face against my head.