Louder Than Words (4 page)

Kicking off my shoes, I tucked my feet under me at one end of my couch. As a regular at the Shoreland Public Library, I had acquired squatter’s rights on one of the battered leather sofas in the sunroom off the main reading room. Charlotte and Stuart worked late in New York City at least three nights a week doing their lawyer thing, and I hated being alone in their concrete tomb of a house, just waiting to hear their key turning in the lock. The library was my haven. It was always filled with people, but since talking was frowned upon, it was the one place I felt like I belonged. I could enjoy a sense of companionship without standing out as the only one not carrying on a conversation. If my voice never came back, I could spend my life shelving books, unless of course I ended up baking fruitcakes or making lace in one of those convents where the nuns were required to take a vow of silence.

With a pile of architecture tomes on the cushion next to me, I settled in for another afternoon of browsing coffee table books filled with photographs of extraordinary sights in spectacular places I would probably never visit. I was the ultimate armchair tourist. Lost in photographs of the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, with a dome designed by Brunelleschi and a bell tower by Giotto, I was too busy imagining myself strolling across the Ponte Vecchio to notice that someone was standing in front of me.

“Excuse me, may I sit here?” He gestured at the empty third cushion.

I shrugged my shoulders in response. Rude, but I couldn’t help myself. Although he was really cute, I knew that having a relationship with a boy was virtually impossible if I couldn’t talk to him, so what was the point of attempting some half-assed form of communication, or even showing common courtesy? Along with all my other therapies, I was probably a candidate for some anger management classes. Besides, wherever he sat, I could enjoy the view, and since looking at a guy was the most action I could hope for, I found myself unable to make the effort to be nice, especially when there was no way he would reciprocate my admiration. Better to reject than be rejected. Better to be the sniper than the victim.

He had the body of a runner. His hair was long, longer than most guys at my school wore it, and I had a sudden urge to run my fingers through it. And he had this smile, like he knew a secret and desperately wanted to tell. Although I tried not to look interested, I stole quick glances as he sprawled at the opposite end of the couch, slouching low with his legs stretched out far enough to trip anyone who walked by.

Ballsy, making yourself so comfortable on my couch. Everyone here knows this is my corner. It’s not like there aren’t other pieces of furniture to sit on
, I thought. What I really wanted to do was crawl into his lap and play with his messy ringlets, but that would only prove how out of touch with reality I was. Everyone knows you don’t climb all over people you don’t know, unless you’re crazy.

Without a word, he stood and relocated to an enormous chair directly across from my couch. He dropped his backpack, causing the ancient, bespectacled librarian to turn around and frown in his general direction, and made himself comfortable, his legs draped over one arm of the overstuffed chair, not even glancing in my direction. Was the expression on my face that obvious? Was my shrug that offensive? Did I smell funny? Twisting my head a little to the side, as if I’d heard a noise and was turning to see where it came from, I sniffed at myself. Though I’d thought I wanted him to move, now that he had, I still wasn’t happy. Peeking over the top of my huge book, I could see that he was smiling into the pages of his paperback copy of Sartre’s
No Exit
, which, although a compelling story, had never struck me as particularly funny. There was something about this guy. I was hooked, but I knew it was a dead-end street, so I returned to my imaginary Italy vacation.

Unable to ignore the unnaturally cheerful stranger across from me, I finally gave up on Florence and gathered my things. In my hurry to escape, I let the enormous book on Italian architecture slip out of my hands. The thud caused everyone in the library to look up, except him. Wishing I could somehow melt into the floorboards, I stood there staring at my feet. He just kept grinning into his book, as if he were making a conspicuous effort to ignore me. I needed to go home, where no one could look at me or sit next to me or smile at me. So much for the library as sanctuary.

“Shhhhh,” hissed the librarian.

It was already dark at five. Shivering in the biting January wind as I trudged down the steps, I realized I had stupidly left my coat on the back of the couch. How could a guy who barely looked at me throw me so far off balance? My punishment would be to walk home coatless. I was too embarrassed to go back for it—he might think I’d left it behind on purpose, like a dropped handkerchief in a nineteenth-century novel, a second chance to strike up an acquaintance. That wasn’t going to happen. Instead, I took a shortcut through the park. The full moon reflecting off the snow made the ground glow, and the trees cast long shadows. A little bit spooky, but I was so busy dissecting my many inadequacies, I didn’t take much notice. Besides, I wasn’t afraid of the dark. There were so many other things to fear.

“Hey, Sasha, where are you headed?” Footsteps, more than one set, somewhere behind me.

Startled, I didn’t turn around, just picked up my pace a little bit, although the path was icy and I was afraid I might slip if I started to run. The voice was familiar, just a boy from school, nothing to worry about. Seconds later, they were behind me, and then on all sides of me.

“What’s the rush? You got someplace to go?”

The speaker was Jed/Jeff, my detention buddy, and the others looked familiar, although they were pretty much clones of each other with their nearly shaved heads and muscles bulging through their sweatshirts: Shoreland High School varsity football’s finest. Changing directions, I continued to ignore them, but they surrounded me. Paul, my other detention playmate, scooped me up in his arms and carried me up the steps of the park’s gazebo about twenty feet off the path. In the spring and summer, the gazebo was a popular gathering place for concerts, but it was deserted the rest of the year, and on a frigid winter evening it looked like an igloo. He put me down on the ice-cold concrete slab, surprisingly gently, and I scrambled to get to my feet. Not so gently he pushed me down on my back and straddled me, pinning my arms to the ground.

This was bad. First, there were four of them and only one of me. Even one-on-one, I wouldn’t have stood a chance—I weighed half of what one of them weighed. Second, no one knew where I was or was waiting for me at the house. It would be hours before Charlotte and Stuart got home from work and realized I was missing. Finally, and worst of all, I lacked the ability to let anyone know I was in danger. No matter how hard I tried to scream, I remained dumb. Not even the most basic survival instinct could trigger my voice box. I was completely and utterly useless.

“Hurry up. I have to get home. My mom wants me to babysit my little sister tonight.”

One of them looked at his watch. How ironic that he was in a rush to finish assaulting one girl so he could go home to look after another. The sound of a zipper being pulled down echoed in my ears.

“I’m not going to rush this, dude. You may like it fast, but I want to take it nice and slow.”

“So, Sasha, this your first time? I’m guessing yes, looking at you. Don’t be scared. Which one of us do you want to pop your cherry?” This from Paul as he sat on my chest.

“She doesn’t talk, remember, so there’s no way she’s ever done it. I’ve never even seen her with a guy. But now that I think about it, she would be the perfect girlfriend—a rockin’ little body and no whiny voice to ruin it. You want to be my girlfriend, Sasha? I bet I could make you scream.” The one who had been standing out of my field of vision bent over my face, making kissing noises and licking his lips.

“You ever seen a cock up close? You ever touched one?”

“Stop fucking around, dickhead. I don’t have all night, so if you’re not going to get on with it, get the fuck out of the way, so I can get mine.”

“Yeah, hurry up.”

“Shouldn’t we use something?”

“A condom? What the fuck for? You afraid you’re going to catch something?”

“No, you asswipe. Cum is full of DNA. If she tells, we’re fucked, and not in a good way.”

“Ohhhh.” I knew for a fact that Paul had flunked biology
and
chemistry. He put one finger under my chin and tilted my head back so I had to look at him. “You’d better not tell anyone, or else.” If I hadn’t been so scared, it would have been funny. Or else what? How could it possibly get any worse?

I struggled to free myself from under the two-hundred-pound gorilla. When he let go of my arms, I scratched at his face and tried to roll him off me, but it was like trying to move from under a pile of sandbags.

“Cool it, bitch. I think you drew blood with those claws of yours. Okay, dudes, I’m going first. I’m tired of holding her down.”

He was like a cat playing with a mouse he had just caught, teasing me, wearing me out before he devoured me. With one quick motion he pulled my sweatshirt and T-shirt over my head. The frozen cement burned the bare skin on my back. Fumbling with the clasp on my bra, he gave up and tore the flimsy fabric, flinging the lacy bits to one side.

I closed my eyes, not wanting to look at them looking at me. Now was the time to go to my happy place, if I had one, which I realized I didn’t. Exhausted from my escape attempts, which only seemed to amuse them, I decided to play possum. Maybe if I stopped playing their game, they would lose interest. It was my only hope. Jules carried pepper spray wherever she went, just in case. Why didn’t I plan ahead like that? Fuck. How bad was it going to hurt, and how was I going to get home once they were finished? What if I got pregnant, or caught some horrible disease? What if they really meant that thing about “or else”?

Thirty minutes earlier I had been curled up on my library couch fantasizing about Italy, admiring a hot guy, and now I was about to lose my v-card to four Neanderthals posing as high school football players. Clearly, I was cursed. If only I had stayed in the library, I would be warm and safe and fully clothed. If I survived this, and part of me didn’t want to, I would never let myself feel this vulnerable ever again.

“Nice tits.” Jed/Jeff bent down and ran his hand across my chest, causing me to shiver, out of both cold and horror. No one had ever touched me there before.

“Look at her—she likes it.”

“You moron, she’s just cold.”

Where was that superhuman strength people said they experienced when faced with a life-or-death situation? One person could lift a two-ton car, and I couldn’t move a two-hundred-pound running back so much as an inch. I was no longer deliberately playing possum; I was completely paralyzed with fear.

“Hey, Sasha, what’s the matter? No more struggle? It’s more fun if you fight a little.”

From the shadows came a new voice. “You wanna fight a little?
I’ll
fight with you.”

My eyes flew open. Springing from behind a bush and up the steps in one fluid motion,
he
stood with his backpack on one shoulder and a pair of nunchucks, chain rattling, dangling from his right hand. He was no longer wearing that secret smile, and his dark curls were tucked under a ski cap, but there was no mistaking it: my rescuer was the boy from the library. If he’d been wearing tights and a matching cape, I couldn’t have been more surprised.

Paul looked slightly annoyed at the interruption, but he didn’t move from on top of me. “Look, bro. There are four of us and only one of you, so I suggest you put away your little toy and keep walking, unless you want us to beat the shit out of you.”

“As impressed as I am by your math skills, I’m not going anywhere. Let Sasha go … or else.”

How did he know my name? Naked from the waist up, five boys looking at me, I was totally humiliated as well as terrified. Nunchuck Boy meant well, but, although he was as tall, he was half the width of one of the football players. He didn’t stand a chance. Jed/Jeff lunged, but he was faster, the satisfying thwack of wood on bone and the clank of the chain echoing in the empty park, followed by a yelp of pain. Perhaps my fate wasn’t sealed.

“Shit, man. That fucking hurts. Okay, I get it, you’re a fucking karate master.”

“But it’s still one on four, dude,” said one of the other geniuses.

“Damn straight,” Jeff/Jed agreed. “We could still take you, even with your funky Jap sticks, but maybe you want to join us?”

His answer was another flick of his wrist. The chain seemed to move in slow motion, striking Paul in the ribs. Falling to the side, Paul gasped in pain.

“You don’t hear so well. I told you to move so she can get up.” My hero tossed his jacket at me. “Here, Sasha.” I jumped to my feet and covered myself.

“I’m sure Sasha wouldn’t mind one more. You can even have the honor of being her first, if you want. She’s fresh meat.” Jed/Jeff rubbed his head and smiled, still believing he and his friends had the upper hand.

“If I want to fool around with a girl, I don’t need four other guys to hold her down. Do you assholes actually enjoy a good skull fracture? Don’t you get enough of those on the field? No? Works for me …” Nunchuck Boy snapped his sticks to drive home his point.

My four attackers scrambled to the edge of the gazebo, backing down the steps, laughing nervously and holding up their hands to show they weren’t going to make any more trouble. “Have it your way, you crazy fuck. You want to go Bruce Lee for robot chick, have her. She’s frigid, anyway.” They took off across the park, leaving us alone in the gazebo.

When we were alone, my knees gave way, and I fell to the ground. The whole world was spinning. He knelt beside me, careful not to lay a finger on me.

“Sasha, are you okay?”

I nodded, reaching for my clothes as he spoke, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking and I couldn’t do it by myself. “Do you want me to help you?” he asked.

Again I nodded. Like a small child, I sat up, lifting my arms over my head as he dressed me, discreetly looking away as he pulled my shirt down over my chest.