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I feel the bed dip beside me, and someone’s hand stroking my hair.

“Rinny?” Quietly I hear Mack speak my name.

“Mack? Where . . . what the . . . oh God, Mack. Why can’t I . . .” I’m so sleepy and I’m trying to fight getting up from my laying position, but it’s impossible.

He continues to stroke my hair, and I fall back asleep as I hear him tell me, “Shhhh . . .”

When I wake up again I feel a little more alert. I can hear deep breathing next to me with a few light snores. I turn my head carefully, afraid it may hurt. Mack lays next to me sound asleep. I’m so confused. I’m not sure why I’m home. I was just at the . . .

I nudge him with my shoulder.

My voice cracks but I say his name, “Mack. Wake up.” He jumps slightly and sits up in bed. His body hovers above mine, and his hands go to my face as he searches my eyes.

“Corinne. Oh God you’re awake. How . . . how do you feel?” His voice is shaky and his expression so serious that I want to cry, but I don’t know why.

“Thirsty,” is what I can get out.

“Oh, okay. Hold on.” I’m still trying to keep my head still, because it hurts, so I don’t follow his body. He returns in a second with a glass and a straw. He lowers it to my mouth, and I drink. I drink like I’ve been walking in the desert for days. I close my eyes as I intake the icy water, and I feel it run down my throat. It doesn’t even begin to quench me, but I take it all in and ask Mack for more. He immediately goes out of the room quickly and, with the same speed, returns with more. He places the straw between my lips and urges me to drink. Mack holds the glass for me because my arms feel like there are weights holding them down. It doesn’t take much for me to drink another whole glass of water.

“I’m . . . I’m okay, Mack. My head. Can I have something for my head?” It’s not even like I have time to blink before Mack places a small pill in my mouth and gives me what I think is his bottle of soda. I take a swig from it as Mack holds it to my mouth, then he gives me another pill. I swallow and sink my head deeper into the pillow. I raise my hand up to my head and hold it there. Still so confused I ask Mack why I’m here.

“Rinny. What’s the last thing you remember about last night?” My brain is in pain but it runs through the day.

Getting my hair done for the prom with some friends.

Coming home and putting some makeup on, then my dress.

Getting pictures taken with Mack.

Getting pictures taken with Veronica and Mark and Mack.

Being at the prom.

Dancing with Mack.

Seeing Mack with Veronica on the dance floor.

Mark and me going to his room . . . and then . . .

Oh God. Oh God. The ache in my bones signals what I can recall. I can’t tell Mack. Mack can’t know. He’ll kill Mark. Or does he know and kill him already, and that’s why I’m here.

Mack’s head rests on the pillow beside me; he takes my hand and holds it as my unshed tears spill down my cheeks. His fingertips run over my knuckles as each memory begins to come back and the rhythm of my breathing changes with each one. The breaths become heavier.

“It’s okay, Rinny. Please, take your time.” His voice is soft and gentle, calming me.

I cover my eyes with my hand, and I clench my jaw. My teeth chatter and my legs shake. Mack stills them from on top of the blanket that covers them. Anxiety racks my body and I can’t seem to keep my limbs still.

“Oh God, Corrine. Please, just tell me. Please.”

I bite down hard on my lip and struggle to get out the memory, but I do.

“We . . . we went back to Mark’s room. I remember that. I remember going to the bathroom then coming back and he had a bottle of water waiting.”

I have to stop and think. I remember drinking it; I was so thirsty. I remember sitting on the bed after he patted the space next to him. It seems like forever before I speak again. Wrapping my head around the scenario is frightening. What’s even more frightening is telling Mack the rest of what I can remember. And it’s not a lot.

Within my mind nothing happened, but when I open my eyes and turn my stare towards Mack I know that I’m wrong.

“Rinny? Do you remember anything after the drink?”

I swallow and look at him. Closing my eyes, I feel the warmth of my tears running down my heated cheeks and sting my skin. Like a thousand red-hot pokers, they stream down my face, and I can feel Mack’s thumb rub them away.

“I . . . I drank the water. He kept telling me to take bigger sips. He said the quicker I drank, the quicker we could get to the party in room . . .” I stop speaking because I don’t remember what room number it was.

“The room number where the party was at was 201. Mark’s room was 206.”

His voice is strained when he tells me the room number.

“Room 201 . . . that’s right.” I mumble out.

“Then what, Rinny?”

I point to the drink on my bedside table, and Mack reaches for it and lets me have some water through the straw. It feels good going down but still stings. It feels like it does after I vomit. Rough and raw. That’s when I know I must’ve thrown up last night. So I ask Mack, “Mack, did I . . . did I throw up last night? Did I get sick?”

He sighs painfully.

“Yes, I made you throw up. I had to lay you across my lap near the tub, and I stuck my fingers down your throat.”

I moan and bring my hand up to my throat. “No wonder it hurts.”

“I ran out when you were asleep and got your favorite popsicles. You want me to get you one?”

I nod.

Within a flash, Mack is back with an ice pop. Lime. My favorite flavor.

He adjusts the pillows behind me and helps me sit up in bed. Mack sits on the edge of the bed at my feet after he hands me the popsicle.

My hair falls into my face as I go to eat it, and before I can remove it from my face, Mack takes care of it. He tucks the fallen strands behind each ear. My eyes wander up to his, briefly. His smile is there, but the look of worry in his eyes makes it not his usual Mack-type smile.

“Rinny, if you’re up to it, please tell me the rest of what you remember.”

I sigh and take a bite. The coldness slides down my throat, and my body feels a chill, but I’m not sure if it’s the chilly substance I’m consuming or the memory of what I remember from last night. This is so hard for me to say to Mack, and he knows everything about me. Every detail of my life, Mack is aware of. He knew when I got my period for the first time for Christ’s sake. But this—telling him what happened last night—I’m scared. I’m embarrassed.

“He gave me the bottle . . . I told you that. I drank it quickly, and then he got up and turned on the radio sitting on the nightstand. Then he took off his tux jacket and his tie. He went into the bathroom, and I felt dizzy. I just thought it was because I didn’t eat when I was at the prom.”

Mack finishes my words. “And you thought the hunger and being overheated was affecting you.” I shyly nod.

“Then what?”

I take another bite of the popsicle and try to get it down, but I feel nauseous. I struggle to speak because I know this next part is going to hurt.

“Then he came back to sit on the bed with me. I felt good. Loose. Like I could, I don’t know, fly I guess. We started to kiss and um . . .”

Mack runs his hands through his hair and looks to the ceiling. He looks frustrated, but I know it’s not because of me. I know it’s because he just wants the facts, and he knows I feel shame and embarrassment. His eyes find mine, and he places his hand on my knee.

“Rinny, do you remember that time when we went to Richmond Park on our bikes, and we got caught in that really bad storm and all we could do is hide in the tunnel until it passed? Remember the lightning, the thunder, and the wind. We couldn’t go anywhere, and I was scared.
I
was scared. Imagine that. But you told me it was just a passing storm and that if we stayed where we were-being scared would pass and we would be okay. Tell me you remember that.”

The corner of my mouth lifts a little.

“We were ten.” I creak out.

“Yeah, and now you’re eighteen. And you were one tough ten-year-old. So be tougher now. You being tough is all I know you to be. Don’t back down now, Rinny. Be the girl in that tunnel.”

I take in a deep breath and the words spill out quickly. The memories begin to flow back a little more.

“We lay down on the bed. Things started to get a little heavy. Mark lifted my dress and tried to take off my underwear. I didn't want that. I mean I thought I wanted that, but my head was cloudy, and I felt tired. Then the room was spinning and I started to feel uncomfortable. I felt his fingers around my throat, but I was powerless.” My mind replays every agonizing detail I can recall, and I feel unclean and unworthy of Mack being here having to listen to this.

Weakly, I put the popsicle down in the cup of water beside the bed. I turn my head away from him as tears spill out rapidly. I sob even despite my head hurting so badly. I tuck my hand under my pillow and cry. My shoulders shake and I just want to curl up and die. I want to forget what I remember, but I know I can’t.

Mack places his hand on my shoulder. At first I flinch, yet as I feel his fingers sink a little deeper into my skin, I know it’s not to hurt me, but to reassure me that he’s here and that I’m safe.

“And then what?”

“It’s hard to remember after that. The room was spinning so much. Like I was on the tilt-a-whirl. I know my chest was bare. I could feel the air on my skin.”

“Yes. I know. I . . . I saw.”

I turn to look at him, and his eyes drop down to his chest.

I cover my own eyes. “Jesus, Mack.”

“Corrine, I’ve seen your boobs before. If it makes you feel any better, right before I kicked the shit out of Mark, which didn’t take long by the way, I covered you on the bed.”

I turn around, take my head off my pillow, and sit up shocked by his confession. I wipe at my face and swallow the extra tears.

“Two things. Last time you saw my boobs we were in the fourth grade, and second, you beat him up?”

Scratching at his slight amount of stubble, Mack rubs his eyes and makes a few sounds like saying his next words will be painful.

“Of course I beat the shit out of him, Rinny. He was about to . . . he was going to . . .”

I clear my throat and pull the covers up a little bit closer to my neck, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping in.

“How did you find us?”

The weight of the bed shifts and the mattress rises. Mack goes to the window of my bedroom and peers through the curtains. He stares for a few moments at his own bedroom window across the way.

“I was in the party room. They needed some ice. I offered to go. I walked down the hall and saw a bunch of guys I didn’t know—I think from another school or something—hanging outside a door. I heard them laughing, and I heard crying. I didn’t know it was you at first.”

The whole time he talks, he looks out the window. He rests his forehead against one of the panes. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his shorts. I watch him breathe on the glass, making it fog up. Mack takes out his hand and draws on the window with his finger, tracing the moisture on the glass. The pause between him continuing is uncomfortable and frustrating, but I know he needs to finish.

“I glanced over one of the guys shoulders. I was curious about what was so funny and I saw you. I busted through the onlookers, pushed Mark off of you and covered you up. When I knew you were covered, I turned around and punched him in the face.”

“Then what, Mack?”

Turning away from the window he pins me with an odd look.

“Rinny, why Mark? I knew he was no good. I tried to warn you that I didn’t trust him.”

“I don’t need a lecture right now, Mack. Because he paid attention to me,” I tell him through my trembling tears.

“Christ, Corrine. I’m not trying to give you a lecture, but my God, when I think of what he could have done to you if I didn’t step in. And the spectators . . . what they saw. I hate they saw what they saw. I hate that they saw you half-naked in the condition you were in. I hated that they were laughing and cheering Mark on. I hate that it was happening to you.”

I feel my heart drop into my stomach and a feeling of relief washes over me. I know now Mark didn’t reach his goal. I know just from the way I feel between my legs that I didn’t have sex.

I also know Mack saved me. Mack is always saving me.

Mack goes back to my window. The sun is setting and the rays come through the glass. They stream onto Mack’s profile. His blank stare is blinded by the sun. He shuts his eyes, shielding them from the brightness. His features are bathed in the light. He looks so solemn.

“Mack . . .”

He interrupts, looking towards me on my bed. “I have no idea what I would have done if he hurt you even more than he did. I think I could have killed him, Rinny. That scares me. Knowing what I could have done to him scares me.”

I cry again, and I’m surprised that I still have tears left. Crying is for the weak, the needy, and the breakable.

So I wipe those tears away. My skin stings from the salt.

“I promised myself a long time ago that I would protect you. That was my job. I almost failed my job, Rinny. I could never forgive myself. But you, you need to think before you act. I’m not trying to give you a lecture, but sometimes you act before you think. Growing up, you’ve always done that. I wish you’d stop doing it.”