Going Under (38 page)

Instinctively I ran to his house and banged
on the door. No answer. I peered inside through a front window and
saw the bare rooms that were once nicely furnished with couches and
chairs, pictures and tables. My heart sank, and I walked back to my
house.

I reached for my cell phone sitting on the
porch railing and pulled up Ryan’s number. My finger hovered over
the green receiver icon, and I kept it there until my screen went
black. I turned the screen on and hovered over the call icon again.
And again I hesitated until the screen when black. I tried once
more, my finger millimeters from touching that icon, millimeters
from making the connection that could change everything. But I
opted to close out the screen instead and wiped the tears from my
phone, lying to myself that I’d made the right decision when it was
only the fear holding me back.

Twenty-Two

Three years later . . .

“And I’m really proud of your progress,
Brooke,” Dr. Merryweather said over the phone.

“Thanks, Doc,” I replied, swiveling in my
computer chair. I was alone in my shared apartment with Leslie, my
new roommate since transferring to UNC and moving to Chapel
Hill.

“Oh, Brooke. I hate when you call me that.
It’s so flippant, like you’re not taking any of this seriously,”
Dr. Merryweather said.

I giggled and flipped open my laptop.

The doctor ignored me and continued. “Are
you dating anyone?”

I tensed a little, and I swear she could
feel it through the phone.

“I don’t have time for boys,” I said
lightly.

“Yes you do.”

I thought for a moment. “Well, there are
none here I like.”

“On the entire UNC campus, there are no boys
you like?” Dr. Merryweather asked.

I didn’t answer her but spun myself slowly
in my chair.

“Is there someone at another school you like
instead?” the doctor prodded.

I didn’t even know if he was in school, so I
couldn’t answer that question anyway. Plus, even if I did, I’m sure
Dr. Merryweather would drill me about unhealthy attachments or
emotional damage or something like that.

“Brooke? There’s nothing wrong with being in
love with Ryan.”

I could feel my face draining of all its
color.

“There isn’t?”

“No, there isn’t. And I think that you think
you’re not allowed to have feelings for him because his picture
showed up on TV with those other boys,” the doctor said.

This wasn’t the first time she explained it
to me. She’d been doing it for three years. But I guess I still
wasn’t convinced, or I was scared. Perhaps both.

“He’s not those other boys, Brooke. And deep
down you know it. That’s why you’re still in love with him and want
to be with him. You just think it’ll discredit you as a true victim
to date a boy who knew about a rape and didn’t report it.”

“Won’t it?”

“No.”

I expelled the breath I didn’t know I was
holding at the sound of that simple word.

“You must forgive him, Brooke. If not for
him, then for you,” Dr. Merryweather said. “But I suspect that you
want to forgive him for the both of you because you love him.”

I didn’t even think about it. I just said
it. “I do love him.”

“I know. I’ve known it for three years,” the
doctor replied.

“I’m sure he’s moved on, though,” I
said.

The truth was that I hoped Ryan
was
able to move forward in some way, to find a kind of peace that
allowed him to forgive himself. I wanted that for him despite my
lingering anger. I think it was mostly anger for not wanting any of
it to be true, not wanting to see him as a flawed individual,
because for so much of my time at Charity Run, he was my savior. He
was perfect in my very immature eyes, and now I had to confront
Ryan as another ordinary human: good and bad and the fuzzy mixture
of those things in between.

I hung up with Dr. Merryweather and
continued proofing my final paper for Dr. Hoskins’ Writing for
Teachers course. I wasn’t getting a degree in education; rather my
bachelor’s in criminal justice, but I took Dr. Hoskins’ course
because I liked him. I had him for freshmen composition, loved his
style, and took any class I could with him that fit into my
schedule. I couldn’t concentrate, though, with Dr. Merryweather’s
words repeating over and over in my head:
“You must forgive
him.”

It was a split second decision on my part,
and I’m glad I dialed his number before I lost my nerve.

“I need a favor,” I said into the phone.

“What is it, Wright? Don’t tell me you’ve
discovered information about another sex club at school,” Terry
replied.

“Cute. And no. It’s not about a sex club,” I
said.

“Well, can you blame me for thinking it? I
mean, here you are going to school for criminal justice. Can we
say, ‘Clichéd’ by the way?” Terry asked.

“Shut up!” I laughed.

“What’s next, Erin Brockovich?”

“First off, her big case had nothing to do
with sexual violence. It was an environmental case. Second, I
happen to be going on to law school.”

Terry whistled long and low. “Jeez, Wright.
You need to take it easy and go on a date or something.”

I shrugged. “You think there’s something
wrong with me that I haven’t dated in three years?”

“Yes.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, that’s kind of why
I called.”

“Wright, you’re cute and all, but the age
difference would just be too—”

“Gross! I wouldn’t date you in a million
years!” I exclaimed. “It’s Ryan. I’m calling about Ryan.”

“Ryan? As in Ryan Foster?” Terry asked.

“Yes.”

There was a brief pause.

“Why do you want to know anything about
Ryan?” He sounded defensive.

“I just do. I have some things I need to
tell him. Will you find out where he is? What he’s doing? I tried
to search for him and came up empty-handed.”

“You sure you wanna go there?” Terry asked.
“I mean, after everything?”

I took a deep breath. “Terry? I wanna go
there. Will you just find him for me?”

Another pause.

“Yeah, I’ll do it.”

***

It took me two and a half hours to make the
drive from Chapel Hill to Wilmington. I had no idea Ryan was so
close. The last I heard, his family moved up north to be near
relatives in Pennsylvania. I figured he’d stay there for good, but
he did always tell me he wanted to live by the ocean.

I felt slightly guilty for ditching
Gretchen. We had planned a girls’ weekend in Raleigh since I hadn’t
seen her in a month, but she was insistent I go once I told her my
plans to reconnect with Ryan.

“Well, it’s about damn time!” she squealed
over the phone.

“You’re not mad?” I asked.

“God, Brookey! Are you kidding me? Go. I
command you to go. Go forth and fuck his brains out all weekend.
And that’s an order,” Gretchen replied.

I giggled. “I can’t promise you that. I
don’t even know if he remembers me.”

Gretchen burst out laughing.

“What?” I asked.

“Trust me, Brooke. He remembers you.”

I understood what Gretchen meant, but I
think she misunderstood my statement. I knew Ryan would remember
me, but I was unsure if he would remember the love he once had for
me.

“Thanks for being so sweet about it,” I
said.

“Of course,” Gretchen replied. “But you
better tell me everything. And I mean
everything
, Brooklyn
Wright, or I will be so pissed at you.”

I grinned. “Okay.”

My heartbeat sped up as I crossed the bridge
to Wrightsville Beach. Ryan wasn’t joking when he said he wanted to
live by the ocean. This wasn’t a ten-minute drive
to
the
water. He lived
on
the water in a tiny oceanside apartment.
It took me a few minutes to find. His apartment was actually one of
several that made up a massive beach house. I imagined his rent was
astronomical no matter the size of his home.

The front door faced the ocean, I realized,
and despite a stone pathway leading to the entrance, I decided to
take off my flip flops and walk in the sand. It was soft and silky,
worming its way between my toes. When I got to his front door, I
froze. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. I hadn’t seen Ryan in
three years, refused to talk to him before his family moved up
north. I regretted that decision ever since, but my heart still
warred with my mind, refusing to forgive, believing he was a
monster, ignoring Lucy’s pleas that he was anything but.

I knocked on the door before I lost my
nerve. It didn’t occur to me that he may not be home. It was five
in the evening; perhaps he was still at work or in class. I had no
idea if he was even attending college. I made Lucy promise to stop
giving me updates about him after the first year. She talked to him
weekly and tried to slip in information here and there during our
conversations. It just became too painful for me, and I told her I
didn’t want to know anymore.

I jumped when the door opened. It was a
woman. And she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Shiny
black hair, dark eyes. Her blue shirt hung off of one shoulder to
reveal a thin pink strap. She wore jean cut-offs—very short
cut-offs that highlighted thin, tanned legs.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought someone else lived
here,” I said.

“Someone else does live here,” she replied
with a smirk. “I’m just a visitor.”

“Oh.”

I felt strange—a little lightheaded and
ridiculous. I show up after three years, and what? Expect him to be
single? To be pining for me? I had a lot of fucking nerve.

I turned to leave.

“Hey, wait!” the woman called. “You looking
for Ryan?”

I stopped cold. I didn’t want to tell her
“yes.” I didn’t want her telling me that she was his girlfriend now
and that I could piss off. But I turned around to face her anyway,
head bobbing up and down in a desperate nod. I must have looked on
the verge of tears because she closed the door softly and darted my
way.

“It’s okay,” she said, wrapping me in a
hug.

I had no idea who this chick was, and I’m
pretty sure I was supposed to hate her if she was Ryan’s
girlfriend, but I was so emotionally exhausted and drained of
adrenaline that I didn’t care. I let her hug me as I cried into her
shoulder.

“I’m a total lesbian,” she said into my ear.
“It’s okay.”

I drew back and wiped awkwardly at my face.
“Huh?”

“I’m not Ryan’s girlfriend. I’m Alyssa. One
hundred percent gay,” she clarified.

“Okay,” I said. “Why are you telling me
this?”

She laughed and grabbed my hand, pulling me
down to the beach.

“Oh my God. Are you serious? It’s obvious
you’re in love with him and you thought I was his girlfriend,” she
said, walking me along the water’s edge.

“Why are we down here?” I asked.

“Because you need to get your shit
together,” Alyssa said. “Now breathe deeply and stop crying.”

I didn’t realize I was still crying. But I
think my tears transformed from shock and pain to elation. I had
never cried tears of joy before. It felt weird, and I didn’t like
it.

“Seriously, girl. Straighten the fuck up!
You come all the way to see Ryan after how many years? And you’re
gonna give him—” She paused, looking me up and down.
“—
this
?”

“How do you—”

“Oh my God, Brooke. Get a clue! You’re all
he ever talks about. It’s getting so fucking old, too. You know,
the second I opened that door, I knew it was you. He described
everything about you, right down to your fucking nose.”

“My nose?” I asked, instinctively touching
it.

Alyssa nodded. “Now calm down and wipe your
face. Get yourself together before you go back to that door.”

I swiped my fingers underneath my eyes and
asked Alyssa if I wiped the runny eyeliner clean. She nodded.

“He still talks about me?” I asked, my voice
quavering slightly.

“For three loooong years,” Alyssa
replied.

“But he never called,” I said.

“You changed your number.”

“But he never came to see me at school.”

“You transferred schools. Remember?”

How did she know all of this?

“If he really missed me, why didn’t he try
to find me?” I asked.

Alyssa sighed patiently. “He did, Brooke. He
did find you. And he wanted to make things right. But then he
thought he shouldn’t bother you. If you never tried to find him or
talk to him, he wanted to respect your space.”

“I was scared,” I said quietly. I felt
defensive, like I needed to justify my behavior to this stranger.
“Do you know what he did?”

“He told me everything,” Alyssa said.

“How can I still love a person who did that?
What does that say about me?” I felt the fresh tears pooling fast
inside my eyes.

“It’s not what he did, Brooke. It’s what he
didn’t do. And he was young and scared. He made a terrible mistake.
And he paid for it. He lost you.”

I wiped awkwardly at my face.

“Brooke, why did you come here?” Alyssa
asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Try again,” Alyssa said.

“I miss him. I want to see him, but I’m
afraid,” I replied.

“Of what?”

“Of loving someone who kept such a horrible
secret!”

“Brooke? Get over yourself. Everyone makes
mistakes. And yes, some are worse than others, but if you’re
waiting for the whole world to be okay with you loving Ryan, then
you’ll be waiting for the rest of your life. Fuck the world. Do
what you feel is right, and you have every right to love whomever
you want.”

I felt the wind knocked out of me.

“Are you sure you even want to be here?”
Alyssa asked.

“Yes!” I cried before it even registered
that I uttered the word.