Athena

12. Just Keep Swimming

Inside the hospital, bright fluorescent lights sting my eyes. A strong scent of disinfectant clings to the air. Combined, the lights and smells are giving me a monster of a headache. Doctors and nurses keep talking to me and asking questions.

So many fucking questions.

I tell them about how I woke up almost naked with a guy on top of me. When I leave out Chrissa and Brody's names, Cruz shoots me a questioning look. I ignore him. I'm still not sure if I want to press charges.

My nurse, Diane, tells me that what I went through was a form of sexual assault. Hearing the words "sexual assault" cements my experience in reality. I die a little inside. I can't believe this is happening to me.

Diane wants to help determine if I've been raped, too.

God.

Did Brody rape me?

I wish I remembered something. Anything. I wish I remembered what I said to him in that bedroom.

Did I tell him to stop? 

My gut tells me that I didn't lead him on. I mean, sure, we've made out a couple of times, but it was only so I could sell him weed without getting caught at school. Even before we got to Sam's party, I turned him down when he asked me out. Brody knows I'm not interested.

Right?

Shame and uncertainty trickle through me.

Maybe I shouldn't have let boundaries get so blurry between Brody and me?

Maybe I shouldn't have accepted that fucking punch, maybe I shouldn't have let down my guard, and all of this nonsense could've been avoided.

My brain starts shutting down. I don't know what else to tell Diane. I want to give Brody the benefit of the doubt, but I can't be sure about what he did—or didn't—do.

Diane then asks if I want to complete a sexual assault evidence collection kit. She says that I can choose to complete as much of it as I'm comfortable with. Afterwards, my kit can be used to file a police report, to press charges against my assailants, but I don't have to act unless I want to.

Cruz gives me an encouraging nod. I decide to complete a kit. He's sent to the lobby as I stay in the exam room with Diane.

As I answer question after question and spread my legs for swabbing and swiping and poking and prodding, I don't engage in the moment. I distance myself from the sensations. Diane is careful, professional, but her movements still feel intrusive as fuck. I pretend like I'm letting someone else go through the motions.

This isn't me.

This can't be my life.

This mentality is the only thing keeping me afloat.

By the end of my exam, Diane doesn't uncover any injuries or evidence to indicate that I had been raped orally, vaginally, or anally. I'm not bruised or scratched up or feeling sore in any of those three areas.

This is the good news, I suppose.

But my drug test comes back positive for Rohypnol, otherwise known as roofie, the date rape drug.

This is the fucked up news.

Everything is documented in my kit.

I don't know what to do with this onslaught of information. I'm simply numb at this point. Dehumanized. Desensitized.

I shut down completely.

To his credit, Cruz has stayed by my side during this whole ordeal. He doesn't say much at all, but his presence makes me feel less alone.