Going Under (34 page)

“Maybe that’s because you’re a
dickhead.”

The side of Parker’s mouth turned up.
“Someone needs to wash out that mouth of yours, Brooklyn.
Absolutely filthy.”

“Leave me alone or I’ll scream at the top of
my lungs,” I warned.

“Sure you will,” Parker taunted. “Now you
listen to me.”

I looked into his eyes. I swear they were
the color of coal.

“Quit being nosy. Let me and my friends do
our thing, and we’ll be more than happy to let you do yours. A
truce sort of thing, huh? I mean, I’d hate for someone to find you
face down in the school pool, know what I’m saying?”

I shook violently, rattling my keys.

“Tim was generous. I don’t know that I’d
be,” Parker said.

“Are you threatening me?” I whispered.

Parker burst out laughing. “God, Brooke! I
didn’t think you were one of the dumb bitches!”

I filled my lungs with the maximum amount of
air possible and opened my mouth to scream. Parker slammed me
against the car and clapped his hand over my mouth.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hissed in my
ear. “Get your ass in your goddamn car and drive away.”

He squeezed my face before backing away
enough for me to open the car door. I remained composed as I slid
inside, turned the key in the ignition and drove off. Once I turned
onto the street, however, I burst into tears, crying so hard that I
made it just a mile down the road before pulling off on the
shoulder to have a satisfactory breakdown.

Fuck them!
my mind screamed at me.
Don’t let them intimidate you. They’ve been intimidating girls
for far too long.

“I know!” I screamed back. “I’ll do
something! I will!”

But first I cried until I was completely
spent. I cried until a police officer pulled up behind me and asked
if everything was all right. I told him I was upset that my
boyfriend broke up with me, and he told me I shouldn’t be driving
while I was so emotional.

“Well, excuse me for living,” I sniffed.

“Really?” he replied.

“Well then, excuse me for being a
woman.”

The officer was patient. “Just trying to
keep the roads safe, ma’am.”

“The roads are the least of your problems,”
I mumbled.

I watched his mouth turn up in a smile.
“How’s that?”

I wiped the last of my tears away. “Well,
you’ve got burglars, drug dealers, murderers, all kinds of
low-lifes roaming around, and you’re worried about a car parked on
the side of the road.”

“Just doing my job, ma’am. Making sure
you’re safe.”

“Then go arrest some rapists or
something.”

“I’ll do my best. Now make sure that seat
belt is buckled tight, and you be careful.”

I told him to go fuck himself once he was
out of earshot. The exchange was exactly what I needed. It gave me
perspective. I wasn’t scared Brooke. I was warrior Brooke, and I
was about to take some assholes down.

You wanna threaten me? I don’t think so,
bitch.

Twenty

Everything was ready. I had all the
documents sealed in an envelope addressed to “Patrick Langston,” a
rookie reporter for the
Raleigh News and Observer
. I decided
to go with him after some research into the staff because he was
new and I figured this story could be his big break.

I mailed the packed manila envelope Monday
morning before school, excitement mixed with dread sneaking out of
my fingertips and dampening the package with sweat. I couldn’t say
that I regretted abandoning my original plan with Cal. I realized
it was unhealthy, and who was I to think I could endure what these
other girls experienced simply because I was filled to the brim
with vengeance? No, I simply couldn’t, and I knew I made the right
decision in mailing the information about the Fantasy Slut League.
I never discovered the “smoking gun” evidence to get Cal, Parker,
and Tim charged with rape, but I could hope that after the story
broke of their salacious club, some girls might have the courage to
come forward.

I could only hope.

I committed to staying after school to take
pictures of the boys’ baseball game. I promised Ryan I would be
over as soon as the game ended. We planned an innocent night of
playing video games; his parents and sister would be home, and we
were all going to hang out together. It would be the first time I
spent any significant amount of time with his family, and I was
nervous. I had met Ryan’s parents when we first started seriously
dating, but this would be the first night I actually talked to
them. I wanted them to like me.

“Hey, Brooke,” Cal said, sliding into the
bleacher.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I said,
putting my sunglasses back on as the sun peeked out from another
cloud.

It was becoming extremely difficult just to
be anywhere near Cal. He made me nervous, and he knew he did. We
both knew we were playing at some fake friendly game, but neither
one of us would voice it aloud.

“Last minute. Ms. Kerrigan asked me to help
you out,” he explained. “She, uh, viewed those last pictures you
took and thought you might need some help.”

I shifted uncomfortably. The last pictures I
took were of the swim team “practice” where Tim almost drowned me.
I wanted so much to say something to Cal about it, but I knew he
would accuse me of being crazy, say that Tim was just goofing off
even if it was a bit rough, and that I needed to stop being such a
drama queen.

“So, is it okay that I’m here?” he
asked.

“Sure,” I replied. “In fact, you could just
take over if you want.”

That worked for me. It meant I could get to
Ryan’s house a whole lot sooner.

“No no,” Cal said, laughing. “You’re not
getting out of it that easily. You’ve gotta take notes for your
page summary and little picture captions, huh?”

I shrugged and nodded. “I guess you’re
right.” I handed the camera to Cal and pulled a pen out of my book
bag. There was something inherently wrong with taking notes on a
Friday afternoon after school. I sighed and put pen to paper.

“So how are things going with Ryan?” Cal
asked.

I jumped in my seat, and Cal noticed.

“What? I can’t ask you about him?” he
said.

I thought for a moment. “You said he was
crazy. I just assumed you wouldn’t think it was a good idea, me
dating him and all.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea. But
I’ve learned that you’re gonna do what you want,” Cal replied.

I bristled. “He’s nice to me, and I like
him.”

“That’s good,” Cal said. He snapped a shot
of one of our players sliding into first base.

I’m not quite sure I understood Cal’s
statement that I was going to do what I wanted. I didn’t think I
really ever gave him the opportunity to see who I truly was, apart
from the bowling date. And that really wasn’t completely me. I’m
not normally an angry person. Parker brought out those colors, but
it wasn’t the full picture. The full picture was one of a girl who
was trying to make up for past mistakes, be loyal to her deceased
friend, be a good person.

I said very little to Cal as the game
continued. I mostly took notes or doodled when nothing was going on
or I didn’t understand what was going on. I did ask him baseball
terminology from time to time, and he answered happily enough.

Well into the fifth inning, he asked if I
wanted something from the concession stand.

“A Sprite,” I replied, half distracted on my
cell phone with Dad. “Thanks.”

Cal returned with two Sprites, uncapping
both bottles for us while I took a few hasty notes about a recent
homerun. It was the middle of May, but it felt like summer decided
to visit early. The sun was blazing, and I was thirsty. After
downing half the bottle in one gulp, I thought it would have been
better to get water instead. Beads of sweat broke out around my
hairline, and the back of my neck felt oddly stiff.

I tried to concentrate on my note-taking,
but the words on the page kept going in and out of focus. I looked
out on to the field, and asked Cal why there were three players on
first base.

“There’s only one player, Brooke,” Cal
replied.

I shook my head and chalked the whole thing
up to being dehydrated. I finished my Sprite and thought about
purchasing a water.

“You okay?” Cal asked, looking at me with
furrowed brows. Actually, there were five Cals, and they were
rotating counter clockwise. “Brooke?”

“I feel funny,” I said. I slurred it, I
think, and tried to push my pen behind my ear. I missed my ear
completely, and the pen fell back behind me somewhere. I turned
around to look for it, clutching someone’s knees behind me to
steady myself. “Sorry,” I mumbled when she jerked her legs aside,
and forgot why I had turned around.

“Brooke? You don’t look so good,” Cal said.
“You’re all white and stuff.”

“Well, I’m a white girl, Cal,” I replied,
then giggled. It wasn’t even funny, but for some reason I thought
it was the funniest thing I’d ever said. I laughed hard, watching
as my spiral notebook slid off my lap and on to the ground. Cal
picked it up and put it in my book bag.

“Come on, Brooke,” he said, lifting me up by
my upper arm. “Let’s get you some water. You must be sun dazed or
something.”

I laughed again. I thought “sun dazed”
sounded funny. I kept repeating the words over and over until they
sounded strange in my mouth.

I stumbled behind Cal who walked me to the
student parking lot. I watched him rummage around in my book bag
for my keys, open my car door, and throw my bag in. He tucked my
keys in his pants pocket.

“Let’s get you feeling better,” he said,
tightening his grip on my arm.

“I’m fine,” I said, but I knew I wasn’t. I
was looking at him through half-mast lids, unable to open my eyes
completely. My body hummed with electric liquid, and I wanted to
love everything around me in that moment, the moment I discovered
what love truly felt like. Warm and sultry, like an old black and
white movie.

Cal helped me into a car, but it wasn’t
mine. I guess it was his. I was fascinated with all the buttons on
his dashboard, and decided I’d like to press them.

“Don’t do that,” he ordered, when he climbed
into the driver’s seat.

“But I like them,” I argued.

Cal laughed and pulled out of the parking
lot.

“Where are we going?” I asked, not caring in
the least. I thought I needed a bed to lie down on, and I didn’t
care whose bed or where it was located.

“Nowhere, Brooke,” I heard Cal say as I
dozed off to the low sounds of the radio.

I woke up to darkness. Cramped darkness. I
didn’t know where I was, but the panic set in immediately, my heart
racing as I tugged on my arms. My wrists were bound behind my back
with something thin and tight, digging painfully into my flesh. I
tried to focus, letting my eyes get accustomed to the darkness, and
realized I was in someone’s closet. And it was packed with boxes
and heaps of clothes and other junk that surrounded me. I had only
a small space to call my own right in front of the door.

I kicked my foot out by reflex creating a
loud
thunk
against the hollow door.

“Is someone awake?” I heard from the other
side.

I kicked the door again. It wasn’t as loud.
I realized I was tired. My limbs felt heavy and strange, and I
pushed my foot out like I didn’t really care. Like I didn’t truly
have a purpose for doing it.

“Brooklyn? Are you up?”

It sounded like Cal’s voice, and I
nodded.

“Let me out,” I said. The words felt like
weights on my tongue. It was the hardest sentence I think I’d ever
said.

“Brooklyn, I’m trying to help you,” Cal
said. “Help you get over your fear of tight places.”

I thought I would die. My chest hurt from
the rapid pounding of my heart, and I was waiting for the
inevitable explosion. I was terrified, but my body was trapped in a
sluggish state. I couldn’t feel any adrenaline pumping throughout
my limbs, signaling a fight to live, to escape. Only the focus of
pounding at the center of my chest threatening a panic attack of
monumental proportions.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Just search for a
way out.

“Brooklyn? How are you doing in there? I
know it’s a bit tight.”

I breathed in as deeply as possible, putting
pressure on my stressed heart, then let out the loudest scream I
could muster.

A sharp banging on the door silenced me
instantly.

“Don’t do that, Brooklyn,” Cal demanded. “Or
you’ll be sorry.”

“Please let me go,” I begged, and felt the
first of many tears roll slowly down my cheeks.

“Brooklyn, can’t you see that I’m trying to
help you?”

“You want to hurt me,” I sobbed, twisting my
body in an attempt to free my hands. The ties felt like they were
growing tighter, and my hands started going numb.

“No, Brooklyn,” Cal said. “You only think I
want to hurt you. But I’m going to make you feel good.”

There was something sinister in the words,
but my drugged brain couldn’t pinpoint it.

“Just breathe,” Cal instructed, and I did
what I was told.

I breathed in and out, closing my eyes and
trying to conjure the field. It was no use, however, as my hands
went completely numb save for the occasional tingling pricks.

“I hurt, Cal!” I cried in panic. “Please let
me out! My hands hurt!”

“I know, baby. But you’re not ready yet,” he
replied.

I kicked the door in frustration, trying to
focus all my energy into my foot. I managed a respectable thud, and
Cal raised his voice.

“Brooklyn, stop kicking my fucking door!
I’ll keep you in there longer if you don’t behave!”

I moaned softly.

“That’s right, Brooklyn. I want you to moan
for me. I want to hear you freak out,” Cal said. “Go on. You know
you want to. Go on and have the biggest panic attack of your life.
I wanna hear every bit of it.”