The Beginning of the End, Part 23

When I finally came to, I groggily looked around. I was still in the same room – but I was now alone. Fear clutched at my heart as I realized that the “party” was still going on outside the door. There was still music and laughter, as if no one even cared what had happened. Was he out there? Or did he leave? Was he coming back? And the one question that would haunt me for the rest of my life: Why did Jesus leave me?

My head hurt and my eyes burned from the tears I had cried in panic and desperation and pain. I sat up, and felt the room spin. I had no idea what time it was, or for how long I had been left there. I felt dirty and used and more scared than I had ever felt in my life. My body ached and I wasn’t even sure my shaky legs would carry me out of this nightmare, but I knew I had to give it a try. The tears rolled again as I fixed my clothes with shaking hands and bile crept up into my throat. I swallowed it back, though, because there was no way I was going to get sick again now. I had to get out.

I didn’t have my coat, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was escape. I wanted to go home, back to Kevin, I wanted to cry and have him comfort me and I wanted to shower and sleep and forget. But somehow I knew I never would forget.

I slowly inched my way to the door of the room, crawling on all fours and wincing with every movement. The door wasn’t shut tightly, and through the crack I could see that there were still several people hanging around. I didn’t see Jesus, and I didn’t see him. What I did see was a door leading outside.

My heart pounded and I tried to take deep breaths as I prepared to bolt. It was only about fifty feet away, and if I played my cards right, the remaining people wouldn’t even see me. I carefully opened the door further and further until I was able to quietly slip through. Then, I ran.

I ran for the door that led to my salvation. I ran and with hands trembling violently I turned the lock and opened the door. It was light outside, and it caught me by surprise. I squinted against the sun and paused for only a second before finding my bearings. I still wasn’t sure who was still in the apartment, or if anyone would be coming after me. I realized I was on a second floor landing, and scurried down the stairs and as far from the apartment as I could get. I was disoriented, verging on hysteria, and ran down strange streets looking for something that looked familiar.

It was cold, and I had no coat, and I wanted to just collapse and cry and give up. But I also wanted to make that bastard pay. I frantically looked around for a phone, and finally saw one at a convenience store. I reached the phone, and punched in 911. When the operator answered, I started sobbing with relief. “Help me,” I cried. “I’ve been raped.”

The voice on the other end of the phone was professional, yet soothing. I was able to tell her the name of the convenience store I was near, as well as the street signs. She told me that help was on the way, and to stay on the phone until the police arrived. When the squad pulled up, and the officers exited and approached me, I passed the phone to one of the officers. I could only imagine how I must have looked, and I was embarrassed and ashamed and hung my head as the other officer wrapped me in a blanket and led me to the car.

It was warm inside, but I couldn’t stop shaking as he asked me questions and filled out his report. I tried as best I could to remember the details, but the truth was I was drunk, and scared, and probably still a little in shock. I could sense his frustration as I repeated more often than not “I don’t know.” When I was asked to show them where this had occurred, I tried as best I could to retrace my steps back to the scene of my nightmare. After a couple wrong turns, I located the right building, but I couldn’t remember the unit number. Hell, I didn’t even notice a number at the time, and told them as much. All I could say for sure was that it was on the second floor, but that still left about twenty different units.

Finally the questions stopped, and I was taken to the emergency room of the local hospital. The police had asked me who they could contact for me, and I told them in a sad whisper, “My boyfriend. Please find Kevin.” I explained that we were living in a motel with no phone, and tried to ignore their judgmental looks as they wrote down the name and room number. I watched them leave after talking to some of the nurses, and I only hoped that for once Kevin wasn’t partying.

The bright lights of the hospital exam room washed over me, and had apparently made the injuries to my face even more noticeable. I was brought a gown and a nurse helped me change, and my clothes were whisked away as evidence to the crime. Photographs were taken of my bruised cheeks and nose, my cut and swollen lip, my inner thighs. I made myself float away during the exam, and imagined it wasn’t even happening. I closed my eyes and did as I was told, but convinced myself it wasn’t me. I was fine. I was ok. I suddenly found myself strangely calm and was even able to doze off for a few minutes when the doctor left.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Kevin. He was standing over me anxiously, and I smiled at the sight of his familiar face. God, I was glad to see him.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“I’m ok,” I assured him.

His eyes teared up. I had never seen him cry before. “Who did this?” he asked.

“I don’t know his name,” I replied with a sigh. “But Jesus wouldn’t even help me.”

His face contorted into a mixture of rage and despair. “Jesus was there? That little prick was there? Did he… Did he…?” he couldn’t seem to say the words.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “He didn’t. He walked in, I yelled to him… and he left. He just left.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I shouldn’t have let you go alone,” he said, and I saw real regret in his blue eyes. And I knew that it didn’t matter, that it wasn’t his fault. And it wasn’t mine, either. What did matter was that he was here now.

I smiled at him. “It’s ok, Kev. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said, and I knew without a doubt that he did.