Guilt (5 page)

I told myself that I would never let it happen to me again. Up until this point I'd been so diligent. Kain caused me to let my guard down. Part of me felt so angry. But I think an even bigger part of me felt grateful. Kain had the sort of character that I didn't feel the need to guard myself against. By the time our second coffee was finished, my defenses had lowered. Kain was no threat to me, and my instincts backed down.

Still, Kain was the brother of the boy whose death I caused. That fact alone made any amorous intentions from him impossible for me to accept. I was disappointed that I could even have led him to believe he might have that kind of chance.

Misled him. I shivered at the familiarity of this train of thought. A similar rationality of my guilt brought me to the very fear of men and romantic relationships that controlled my entire adult life. This realization made my mind reel.

I never did date much, and had noticed my discomfort around men grow more and more over the years since Corry's death. I didn't want to be responsible for any more heartache, or have a negative effect on any person's life ever again. So, I stayed away from boys.

I made it through three years of college at the state university without attracting any man's attention. My friends knew there was something wrong with me, but they thought that I was just shy and nervous. If only the issue could have been that simple. I was always hyper-aware of flirting, and afraid that being too nice or giving an undue amount of attention to a guy would give the wrong impression.

A few years of merciless prodding from my dorm roommate, Tracy, and some persistent endeavors from a guy named Luke finally broke me down. In the spring semester of my junior year I agreed to go on a date.

Luke and I were both pre-med students, so we ended up in a lot of the same classes. I recognized him after a while, but avoided him like any other guy. Then, one day, he asked me if he could borrow my notes from a lecture class that he had missed. I couldn't say no, not when he asked me for help. That would be rude.

Unwilling to engage in conversation myself, I listened to him talk about something unmemorable as we walked to the copy machine in the biology building. The copier was out of order, so Luke suggested that we get some coffee and he could hand copy my notes while we talked. I wouldn't go for it. I told him that he could borrow my notebook and give it back to me the next day in class. He reluctantly agreed.

When he returned my notes to me, I found that he had added in a note of his own. In red ink, he asked me out on a date. I didn't give him the benefit of a response, or even an acknowledgement.

He persisted, though. Eventually, we became friends, but I still wouldn't date him. We sat together in classes and attended the same study groups. He was funny and charming, and I liked having him around, but any time he asked me out, I avoided having to tell him no.

One night, with the help of a few beers, Tracy convinced me that I would become a cantankerous old maid ("a bitchy old virgin" were her actual words, I believe) if I didn't get over myself and let a guy have a chance with me. I was intoxicated enough to take her words to heart. If I didn't get out of my own way, I'd become an eccentric old cat lady like my great Aunt Mimmsy.

The next day, I asked Luke if he wanted to go to a movie. Needless to say, he jumped at the opportunity. The date wasn't so bad. We'd already been friends, so there was less awkwardness than one would expect to have on a first date. Still, by the end of the date, I felt sure that I couldn't be more than just friends with him. I just wasn't interested in him romantically.

My friends convinced me that I wasn't giving him a chance, though. So, against my own feelings, I agreed to go out with him again. This time, he decided on where to go. We ended up spending the entire evening at a local sports bar. It turned out that vodka Red Bulls were his drink of choice.

He made advances on me all night, but didn't try anything serious. By the end of the night, he was drunk, and I realized why it was that I couldn't bring myself to be interested in him. He was obnoxious. I couldn't wait to go home.

He escorted me back to campus. It was a Friday night and the dorm was rowdy with parties. He walked me to my door, and waited as I unlocked it. I remember noticing that Tracy wasn't back from her date yet, and then the next thing I knew I was attacked.

No one heard me scream. My cries for help were drowned in the music and hooting from the other students in the building. He pinned me to the floor and kept me in place with his own weight. I had no idea he was so strong.

At that point, I distanced myself from what happened. My mind left my body, and whenever I accidentally recall that violation, I see it as though I was a third person in the room. I picture it like I could see it happening from one of the dark corners. It was me lying there helpless on the floor, but yet it wasn't.

He justified his misdeed to himself by declaring that I should have been willing to put out on a second date – when he had put so much time and effort into getting me to date him in the first place. Why else would he shell out money for dates? He should get something in return.

I was humiliated, but despite my embarrassment, I pressed charges against him. The crime soon became public knowledge, and when he fought the charges and accused me of lying about my consent, I became disheartened. The accusations he threw my way about being heartless and deceitful deepened the feelings of guilt that had begun with Corry.

I dropped the charges and decided to leave the university. My parents tried to make me come home, but I refused. The experience took away my innocence, but I wasn't going to give up my education and my dreams because of it. At home, everyone would know what happened. I'd be treated like a broken flower. Experience had already taught me what a close-knit community was like when something shook the fabric of its citizens. I didn't want that attention directed towards me. That's why I hadn't been back in seven years.

I transferred to a university on the other side of the country. There I remained inconspicuous in a large population of students. My desires in life changed. I no longer wanted to go to med school, but pursued my science education and became a lab technician for a pharmaceuticals company.

I had never had sex before that night, and I could never bear the thought afterwards. Sex was tainted, it was pain. Any thoughts of lust disgusted me and made me feel dirty. My fear of men turned into hatred. I enrolled in self-defense classes and kept up my training ever since.

Kain really was lucky that I hesitated.

Chapter Six

Claire was impressed with Corry's excerpt for the art assignment. He presented his tablemates with a selection from John Steinbeck's
Of Mice and Men.
It was the part after poor slow-minded Lennie accidentally killed Curly's wife and the ranchmen were hunting him down; but his companion and guardian, George, found him first.

The Freak rolled his eyes, but Claire let Corry know that she loved the story. It was the only Steinbeck novel she'd ever been able to get through in literature class. She remembered feeling devastated when George made the awful decision to save his friend from a punishment at the hands of the ranchmen: a tortured death that he wouldn't understand. She wasn't about to own up to it, but she had cried when George forced himself to raise a gun to the back of Lennie's head, all the while describing to the mentally challenged man the piece of land where they had dreamed of starting a farm. She felt sure that it broke her heart as much as it did George's.

The conversation at the table reverted back to its typical dearth, and they all began their work in silence. Claire decided to give Lennie the farm he had wanted, complete with rabbits and alfalfa. She was proud of her idea and pleased with her work. She took the trouble to detail the leaves of each tree and used several hues of colored pencils to shade the blades of wheat in the field. A cat sat on a wood fence that surrounded a small house with a big barn, and she made her best attempt at a horse grazing in the yard.

At one point, Claire had to rest her hand from the cramp that had developed from gripping the color pencils so tightly. She glanced in the Freak's direction, and though she couldn't tell what his drawing depicted, she realized that he seemed to be using a lot of the tomato red pencil. She could only hope that Mr. Dart would see the product of this strange boy's imagination and would recognize that he was truly in the need of the services of the school's guidance councilor.

She spied Corry's drawing, as well. He seemed to have the same idea that she had. He drew a farm that put hers to shame, complete with a cage of rabbits beside an amazingly detailed wood planked barn, and a hint of cattle wandering the distant fields. Claire didn't feel upset that her work wasn't original, that Corry had the imagination and heart to fulfill Lennie's dream home; but she was a little jealous that his talent outshone hers, once again.

If there was one thing she'd always been proud of, it was her aptitude for art; but she just couldn't seem to match Corry's talent. And it irked her. As much as she respected his ability and found him to be a genuinely decent guy, she hated that he could run circles around her with a paint brush or a pencil. She just had to try harder.

* * *

The excerpt for the third inspirational project was provided by the Freak the next day, and was to be done in charcoal. When his turn came, he handed Claire and Corry a newspaper article, and waited with a wicked smirk for their reactions. It didn't take long for him to receive the pleasure he desired over the effect that the article's topic had on his two classmates.

The report came from the front page of the local newspaper,
The Brickerton Press
. The paper was a small one, almost laughable in it's scanty content. Most of the articles regarded local high school sports news or were pieces about national events that were reprinted from more prominent press publishers; and the biggest section of the paper was the obituaries.

Recently, however, the town was shaken by a crime that had every parent and child frightened to venture out of their homes.
The Press
finally had something to write about. For once the local headlines made national headlines, instead of the other way around.

Last week's paper broke the story (though, most people in the area had heard it through word of mouth by that time) that a local eleven-year old girl had gone missing from her neighborhood. The police suspected that the child was abducted from the back yard of her own home, which was located on the outskirts of town, and declared the case to be a kidnapping rather than a lost child situation. They wouldn't share the details that lead them to this conclusion. They just warned the people of the town to keep a close eye on their children.

The latest article only let the readers know that the police had not been able to get any further yet in the case. Teaming up with the FBI, they broadened their investigation, and had been scouring every inch of woods in the area. They also started searching the local garbage dump for clues. The article continued on, stating that the family still held out hope that the girl was alive, but the police were fearing the worst at this point.

The news was devastating to the entire community, even to those like Claire, who didn't really know the family. Such crimes were unfathomable in a small town. It brought panic and anxiety to a people who had never really known the immorality of vile criminal acts. It awakened a new sense of distrust and brought them face to face with the realities of the world.

She felt disgusted at the Freak's desire to find inspiration in such a story, and attempted to let the art teacher know this when he made the rounds to their table, but Mr. Dart commended the Freak on his "no fear attitude" about tackling tough subjects. That was part of what art was about, he said. Claire disagreed, but didn't know how to express her argument. She looked to Corry, hoping that he would side with her, but he said nothing. He just stared at the blank piece of paper in front of him as if in contemplation of his work.