Better Than Me (7 page)

Chapter
8: NOW, about THEN

There is a scuffle going on in the hall outside the costume shop.  All I can make out is PJ’s voice and then Davis’.  Finally, I catch what’s going on.  “I’ve got it, PJ…I mean Phillip.  No, really you’ve done enough.  We’ve all done enough.  I’ll check on her.  Just get the actors out of their costumes for her.  Please?” 

PJ tells Davis, “Sure, sure…just tell her I’m sorry.  I didn’t think she’d react that way.”

Davis finds me in the shop putting my supplies away.  I sniffle and stiffen my posture.  I don’t want to look at him.  That little episode onstage is just the sort of interaction I am trying to avoid.  I am using all the skills I learned this summer to keep it together.

“Lizard, are you okay?  They were just fooling around. 
They didn’t mean anything.”  I can’t look at him. “What’s wrong.”  He comes up behind me.

I hesitate
and then it all crashes out of me in a tsunami of words and emotions. “Davis, the last day of spring semester last year something…happened.”  I start to cry as he steps in front of me.  I just cannot bring myself to look at him.  The only thing holding me together is my mantra and the knowledge that soon this moment will be over.  If I look at him I will crack.

“What, what happened, Lizard Breath?”  He is holding one of my arms at the elbow and with his other hand stroking my hair behind my ear to try and see my face.
Lizard Breath.  Even crying, the name makes me smile a bit.  In a deluge of words and tears, I tell him how Neil used me roughly and left suddenly the night before school was out.  Davis’ grip on my arm becomes tight and his eyebrows pull together.

I continue, “I went back to my room and cried myself to sleep.  I didn’t hear from him.  The next morning I had to help residents with the final clean out and inspections of their rooms.  I don’t know how I got through that.”  I take a deep breat
h and continue with the story.  “After the last resident was out, I gathered my backpack, locked my room and went to Little Jan’s office.  We had a serious discussion about me coming back as an RA the next year.  She’d decided to give me another chance.  I probably looked exhausted and contrite after all the crying I’d done the night before. I was exhausted, even though the crying wasn’t about the miserable way I had failed at my job. 

I decide
d to have lunch before I went to my new place down the street.  I’d call Neil from there, I decided.  I already had a feeling of dread when I entered the cafeteria. Stepping through the doors to the cafeteria, I saw Jules being yelled at by a tall woman in her mid to late twenties with wavy brown hair back in a ponytail, red faced and visibly pregnant.

“Where is the little SLUT?”
the unknown woman bellowed. 

As I sprint
ed up to help my friend I saw NEIL was right next to this woman.

“What’s going on,
Neil? Jules? Who’s this?” 

The woman turned
on me, “Are you Biz?”

I respond
ed, “Yes”

She straightened, took a step toward me and said
, “Stay the FUCK AWAY from Neil.  You got me?”  My mouth fell open, but nothing came out. I looked at Neil.  He stepped up next to the woman, put his arm around her and announced, proudly:

“This is Robyn, my fiancée.  We broke up in December,
but we are back together now…and we’re pregnant.”

Heaving sobs, I could
only get out “What about us? What about last night?”

Neil
snorted loudly, “There is no ‘us.’  And last night. . .you know exactly what last night was.”  He and Robyn both smirked.  Dazed, I was about to collapse, but Jules and Charlie were at my side and lowered me into a chair, as they screamed Neil and Robyn out of the cafeteria.

I knew what last night was.  A humiliating good-bye fuck for his dirty little piece on the side.

As I finish telling the story to Davis, I realize I am crying almost as hard as I was on that day.  Davis holds me close to his chest and slowly we back toward a theatre seat stored in the shop.  He sits down, holding me and seating me on his lap at the same time.  He doesn’t say a word, but his arms are a bit tense and his back sort of straight.  He slowly strokes my arm while I sigh repeatedly to stop the crying. When I can eventually look up, Davis strokes my hair away from my face, pushing it behind my ears.  He pulls a red bandana out of his back pocket and gently wipes the streaks of tears off my face.  Contritely, he tells me, “I’m sorry the guys’ teasing brought this all up.”

“Davis, it’s
always right here,” I point to my head and then my heart.  “I work so hard to keep the memories from haunting me, but I am always a word or an action away from falling apart.”  

He speaks slowly and deliberately.
  His voice is low, like he’s trying to maintain control.  His lips barely moving, “I am so sorry, Biz.  I can’t believe anyone could do that to you.  It makes me incredibly angry.”
That’s what his tension is about.
“Are they around anymore?”  I tell him I haven’t seen them since that day, but they live in town.  I dread running into them.  I ask Davis to never tell anyone what I’ve told him.  I don’t think I have to, but I do anyway.  Enough people know.  The cafeteria wasn’t very busy on that last day of school, but word gets out. Davis stands me up, takes my hand, pulls me in for a long comforting hug and kisses the top of my head.  The feeling of relief and safety I have in my friend’s arms is enough to make me cry again, but I don’t. 

I’ve never seen angry Davis before.  I
can feel the rage flying off him when he tells me, “Fuckers.  God help either one of them if I ever run into them.” 

“That isn’t all.”

Really-pissed-off Davis emerges. “What? They did more?”

“Not them…
me.”  Davis looks very confused. 

So
I explain it to Davis.  All of it.  The episode in the cafeteria was horrible, but it’s what I did after that, what none of my friends or family knew about, what happened after I grabbed my backpack and while sobbing heavily, left campus and walked down the street three blocks.

Chapter 9
: THEN-Last Summer

I’m unsure how I was even able to do it, but after a few moments, I stood, gathered my backpack, and without a word, on shaky legs left the cafeteria.  I made my way down the street to Neil’s friend, Randall’s house in a fog of tears and heaving sobs.  Once there, I put the key that I was given a few days ago in the lock and went in.  Randall is not there.  I trudged up the stairs to my new room, threw my backpack on the bed, kicked off my shoes and curled up on the bed and continued to cry softly.  I heard my phone blowing up with voice mails and texts.  After a few minutes I took it out, turned it off and dropped it off the side of the bed.  I stayed in that position for three days.  I only got up to pee.  That’s it.  Right back to bed.  No shower.  No eating.  No drinking.  Cry, sleep, pee, sleep, cry, cry, cry, pee, sleep.  It was only after getting up to pee sometime during that third day that I felt faint and had to sit back down on the bed.  My head was throbbing.  I managed to get to the bathroom.  I quickly drank a large glass of water and just as quickly threw it all up into the toilet.  I didn’t want to be there.  I wanted to disappear.  Some sort of survival instinct must have kicked in because I eventually drank a bit more water and kept it down.  Then I headed downstairs and made a bowl of cereal.  Randall appeared and told me I looked like crap.  Nice.  He stood too close.  Evidently, he had no sense of a person’s personal bubble.  Smelled like cigarettes and old liquor.  I’d only met him a couple of times with Neil.  Randall isn’t a bad looking guy, he has similar coloring to Neil.  He has a scrawny, yet muscular build, a few days’ beard growth, unwashed hair.  A shower wouldn’t hurt.  Randall appears to be stuck in the “grunge era.”  He seems old to be one of Neil’s friends, but I figured if Neil trusted him, it would be cool to live there.  I felt less sure now.  Moving away from him to regain a little of my own space, I looked at the girlie calendar on the wall of the kitchen and realized I had to report to work at the theatre tomorrow.  I didn’t want to leave the house.  Someone that knows me, who saw what happened, might see me.  Randall told me I owed him $500 for the first month’s rent.  That decided it for me-I had to go to work tomorrow or call my parents to come get me and take me home.  I couldn’t let them see me like this.  After the cereal, I felt a little better.  I took two pain relievers and downed a glass of whiskey from Randall’s liquor cabinet.  Randall watched all this with a creepy interest.  I realized I needed to remember to act less vulnerable around him.  I said goodnight and returned to my sad bed in my sad room.

***

The days ran together and went something like this:  Get up at 3:00  in the afternoon, eat ramen or soup or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, go to work as an usher, go to the Alumni House or whatever party is around, get drunk, sometimes bring home a random guy, let him screw me.  Repeat.  In ten days, I had sex with at least as many nameless guys.  Oh, wait, one guy I actually banged twice.  I think his name was Mick.  I thought, “Who the fuck cares?  I am just what Neil’s woman, Robyn said, a slut.” I thought the mindless hooking up would make me feel better, and while it was happening, it did, briefly.  It didn’t last and in the morning, I felt crappy about myself again.  That didn’t stop me from getting rip roaring drunk and doing it the next night.  So the pattern changed.  Sleep, work, drink, drink, drink, fuck, sleep, sleep, drink, fuck.

About two weeks into all of this
, after a particularly drunken night, Randall came to my room and demanded his $500 for my part of the rent.  I didn’t have it.  I used any money I’d earned to drink.  He pulled my cup full of whatever I was drinking out of my hand, took a swig and threatened me that either I “get with” him, every night for the rest of the month, or get out.  I was horrified and felt trapped.  I told him I’d get him the money and to “get the fuck out.” He handed the cup back to me, sloshing some of the contents over the rim.  Crying and looking in the mirror after his ultimatum, I knew what I had to do.  Resolved, I downed what was left in the cup.  I needed to make the call to my father to come get me.  And I did, right before I passed out. 

Telling Davis this part of the story, the part no
body knows except me, the men I screwed and my counselor, I am mortified.  Horrified at myself.  I haven’t even told him about the next morning, when I found myself on top of my bed completely naked after passing out.  I can’t remember what happened.  My counselor and I tried to uncover it during my sessions this past summer. I have no memory of the rest of the night after calling my Dad.  I have a feeling deep in my subconscious that I do know and just can’t let myself admit it.  While telling all of this to Davis, I purposely omit that part and how I recovered over the summer.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he shoved me away and stormed off, if I did reveal it.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he never talked to me again.  Skank.  It’s what I would do if I were him.  I’d run away. Fast. Run away from the damaged chick, but he doesn’t.  Davis holds me and rocks me.

“
Davis, I think I killed my soul.”  I wail and grasp at him with my chin over his shoulder as he continues to hold me tight. “I can’t remember me…Biz…before Neil.  Before I let all those guys…. I remember I was happy.  Not a care in the world.  Fun.  Not scared of anything.”

“Oh, baby” Davis whispers and tries to shush my crying.

“I am scared all the time. Of everything. I have to remind myself every moment to keep going.  To not be scared.  To get out.  Be with people.  Interact.   I have been forcing myself to act like a human since I got back to school.  I have been talking myself into dating.  Into…being with Jake.”  Davis’ arms tense around me. I am gasping for little breaths while sobbing out my story.  “The only time I feel like me is when I am talking to you.”   I sense Davis’ arms relaxing.

Sighing, D
avis pulls me back to look at my puffy tear-stained face. He gives me a small smile. “Lizard, baby, your soul isn’t dead.  Your heart is broken. You aren’t the only one that has ever been crushed.  Not the only one that has made a bad choice in the face of humiliation.  It’s a way to try and push the pain away.”  He is speaking sincerely, like he’s had this kind of experience. 
What kind of pain has Davis had to endure
?

“
Neil and that woman?”  His voice is seething hatred. “Those guys? They thought nothing of destroying you for their own fun.  They preyed on your sweetness and trusting nature.  You’re lucky you got away from that Randall guy.”  That statement makes me catch my breath briefly, but Davis doesn’t seem to notice.  He just pulls me to him again and strokes my hair to comfort me.  It is incredibly soothing and thrilling simultaneously. I won’t deny it, it’s getting me a little worked up. 

“
Your heart – it’s broken because you were hurt.  Not because of anything you did or how much you drank or who you had sex with.  You were hurt.  They hurt you.  Baby, it’s not your fault.”

“M
y mother always told me I was too trusting as a kid.”  I explain to him.  “If someone took a toy or a snack from me, I would just stand there and cry, not understanding why anyone would hurt me.  I guess I never learned.  I always want to trust.”

“You know the people who
really know you — Jules, Charlie – they really care about you.  They don’t want to destroy you or take advantage of you.  They’d never do anything that would hurt you at all.  They want to build you up.  They…WE have been trying since September.  We know you.  We want all of you back.”

Wait.  Davis s
aid, “We.”

“
You care?”

Davis laughs gently.  He tells me slowly,
“Whether you like it or not, I care about you.  I’m yours.  Uh..your friend.  Are you so blind?  Come on, would I call you Lizard Breath if I didn’t care?” He shoots me one of his smirky smiles.

He’
s mine? Right, my “friend.” So not really MINE.

I wipe tears off my cheeks, feeling a bit of a smile starting on my lips. 
“So that’s not you being a smart ass…that’s you being affectionate?”

“I know it’s weird
, little Lizard baby.  It’s just how I am.  How I work. I, unlike you, am not a wordy person.”

“
I’m wordy?”

“Have you heard you?”  He is smiling and grinning at me.  It makes me feel lighter.  I smile back
through my fading sniffles. 

“I get excited.
  You know the rapid talking thing?  It’s nerves. I used to be a supreme smart ass.  All about the fun.  Your favorite slogan: ‘Have Fun!’ could have been MY saying.  Everything was light, humorous, all about the fun.  I sang all the time.  Laughed a lot.  Everything became a crazy adventure and everyone had a snarky nickname connected to them.”

“See,”  Davis says to get me to pause, “Wordy.  You haven’t lost it,
if you still do all those things.  Nobody has EVER attempted to call me Mavis before.”

Under my breath
I say, “You mean to your face.”  He laughs so I guess it was just loud enough for him to hear. “I’m sure people called you that all the time and you didn’t realize it.  It’s just too easy. Davis, seriously, it’s just a short walk to Mavis.”  

“You
’re still a supreme smart ass.”

I am laughing, really laughing and being held.  By my friend.  I never would have thought telling anyone
about my horrible shame could end like this.

We are both quiet for a while.  Davis runs his hand over
my hair and clears his throat, before speaking, “I want you to consider doing something, Biz.  Just think about it and see what might happen.” He has gotten a little bit more serious, but I can tell he is trying to keep it light.  “What would happen if you walked away from situations or people instead of trying to hold on to them, keep them happy.  You try so hard to appear to have it together and make sure everyone is happy, and in the end you make yourself unhappy.  What would happen if you asked for what YOU wanted instead of just willingly taking what’s given you?  Would you fall apart if someone said, “No?” 

“I never saw it that way before,
”  I answer honestly.  Part of me wants to get defensive and be pissed about what he is saying.  He makes me sound like such a sucker.  The other part, the part that is exhausted, just listens and tries to get it.

“In our life, t
here are the ones that go away and the ones that stay.  People, things, situations.  Which ones are the ones worth working on, fighting for?  You need to ask for what you want.” 

And
he called me the Wordy one.