For Love or Money - Tara Brown Page 0,2

the waves and the grip as I hear a loud moan. Somehow my hand gets loose from the thick haze and rips my mask from my eyes as I lift my heavy head.

I’m in my room, not the beach.

A thin strip of light has found its way in between the two blackout curtains, and in the dark I see a hooded figured at the edge of my bed. He’s moving the bed and gripping my foot. He shudders and sprays something hot on my shin.

My foot is freed as I hear a zipper and a scream. The zipper is his and the scream is mine.

Light floods the room as the door is ripped open but the figure has gone out the window onto the ledge. “LANA!” My roommate screams but I am stuck staring at the warm spot on my lower leg.

What the hell?

When I realize what it was he sprayed on me, I jump from the bed, staggering into the bathroom. My shoulder hits a wall and I trip because technically my body thinks it’s still sleeping, thanks to the short-term sleeping pills I took.

“Lana, are you okay? What happened?”

“Someone was in here! Someone was in my room. He was touching—oh God.” I shudder and stumble into the shower. The hot water and soap can’t come fast enough. My heart is racing, my mouth is dry, and my brain is attempting to process the unsettling feelings I have about what exactly I comprehend about the last five minutes.

“Lana, girl, don’t wash it off. The rape thingies always say don’t wash it off.” Este taps on the textured glass.

My eyes are closed, my head is twitching, and hot tears are seeping from my eyes. I have no control over my body’s choices at this point.

Words spill from my lips, “I have to. I have to wash it off. I have to. He fucking came on me, oh my God. He was touching me.” I gag as my desperate fingers mix with the soap to scrape him off. I heave and fight the urge to purge as a thousand busy thoughts wreak havoc on my brain. Mostly they consist of two words—Who? Why?

When I notice the heat of the water it’s too late, my skin is burning. The temperature’s so hot I’m red and aching everywhere like a sunburn, but all I can think about is the feel of—gross.

I don’t remember how I got out of the shower or how I got my robe, on or even how I got to the police station. Everything is a blur of fast moving lights and people talking over me. There were cops and ambulance attendants and kids from down the hall.

At the police station, Este, my roommate, is beside me holding my hand. Her dark, satin skin is so soft compared to my inflamed, welted hands. Every bit of me is flushed and tender.

“The sleeping pills muted the pain of the hot water on your skin. You should never shower under the influence. You’re lucky it’s only second degree on your arms and stomach and legs. It could have been worse.” I look up to see the face of a lady cop staring down on me. She looks like the chick from I Dream of Genie, like hard core. That summer spent watching TV with my grandma will never actually leave my mind. It was the year I stopped doing the one thing my father loved about me, so he left me with her while he worked.

I shake my head. I don’t know what the lady cop is talking about, but ‘no’ feels like the right answer.

She smiles and looks at Este. “What did she say when it happened? What were her first words?”

I glance at Este too. What did I say?

She rolls her dark-brown eyes and bats her lashes. “I already told y’all this. She said some nasty ass was in her room and came all over her when he was touching her. Y’all need to be looking for this creep. This is like the third rape on campus.” Her Southern accent is awesome. Sometimes I try to copy it but it doesn’t work for me. The West Coast accent is so plain. “If I wanted to be stalked by some creepy rapist, I woulda done college in Atlanta. I wouldn’t have worked my ass off to come to Cambridge if I knew this shit was gonna happen.”

I twitch my head. Rape. That sounds wrong. It wasn’t rape, I remember that much.