Society | A Evan Lennon Story

20 - "I'm Not Okay"

I turn. It's the headmaster. "Can I speak to you in my office?" I nod. He turns and I follow him down the hall and he opens the door to let me pass him in. The door shuts behind me as I drop my bag next to a chair and I sit down. He sits behind his desk, leaned back in his chair. I stare down, waiting for him to speak but he doesn't. I don't say anything. Suddenly, the door opens and closes. "Coach Jacobs." Headmaster says. I look to my right and I meet his eyes. His eyes are discreetly disturbed by my presence, it's disappointment.

"Mr. Lennon," I look at Headmaster. "Jacobs and I have brought you here because we're concerned. It was brought to my attention that there's accusations against you, saying that you took advantage of Jocelyn Bradley at a party." I look down. "Is there anything you want to say?"

I shrug. "What's the point?" I say. "You won't believe me..." My voice is low and audibly defeated.

"I.." He stammers. "It was also brought to my attention that you had spoken to Ms. Rodriguez about the incident, prior to the accusations." I don't look up. I know what he says, what he's been told won't change what happens next. "Disregarding that, I still have no choice but to suspend you until further notice, for the safety of Ms. Bradley." I can't say I'm surprised, whether it's unfair or not, I don't say anything because whatever I say will also be disregarded. "And Jacobs has decided when you return, you won't be welcomed to join the rugby team, meaning you won't have your scholarship anymore."

"It's for the best, Lennon." Coach says. I just nod, my face just as emotionless as it was last night. It's insane how fast my life has gone to shit. I know I was going to quit rugby anyway and that I didn't care about my scholarship anymore, but what bothered me was how I was the one being punished for something I didn't do, how baffling it was that people just assume I, a boy, could never be assaulted by a girl. They don't ask questions, they just assume because like my dad said, boys don't get raped. They don't want to hear my truth because they'll assume that I am lying, so it didn't matter, why should I waste my breath when nothing I say will be believed? This is the world we live in. This is the reality of our society and it just makes me so sad. I stand as I grab my bag below me and I'm walking past Coach. Neither of them attempt to stop me. I walk out into the hall and head for the exit. Life used to be so simple, so easy, I could see my future like I already lived it, and now, just.. fuck, y'know? I'm forced back by a sudden push at my shoulder, my bag suddenly drops, but I catch it in my bent arm.

"Watch it, rapist." Their words sting my heart in a way I never knew could happen. I turn toward them. Ben. Of course. He's staring back at me with this grin that really just pisses me off.

"Fuck you!" I spat out.

In one swift movement, he turns. He's still giving me that infuriating grin. And he says, "What was that?"

"I said.." I walk over to him and shove him harshly, my bag suddenly on the ground. "Fuck you."

He chuckles and drops his bag. "Alright, if that's how it's gonna be." He pauses. His grin grows. "Should've known you'd turn out to be one of those rapist assholes. That humble act, I didn't believe it for a second. You're so full of yourself, going around with those fags for friends like you own the place." I clench my fists. "Where are they now? Oh, shit. Did- Did they drop your ass when they realized just how sick you are?" He laughs. "Good for them. Y'know, I wouldn't want to be friends with a dick either." My fists clench tighter, my jaw clenches, I feel the anger burning inside of me and I'm about to explode. He looks down at my clenched fists and grins widely. "Is somebody getting angry?" He looks at me. "You gonna hit me?" He laughs and he shoves me harshly. "Go ahead." He shoves me again. "Hit me." Again. "I want to kick your fucking ass for what you did."

I shove him. "I didn't do shit!" I shout.

He shoves me. "You're a fucking rapist."

I snap. I punch him across the face and it sends him back. This feels all too familiar, this exact aching, angry feeling, this exact moment, this exact corridor, only difference this time, I'm much angrier than I was last time Ben and I fought. This time, all the anger, all the distraught, fear, pain I've kept inside the past week turned into one angry frenzy and that was something I couldn't control. Before Ben can recover from my sudden punch, I punch him again and again until he's on the ground after tripping over the people behind him. I climb on top of him and send continuous, very fast, very heavy punches to his face. He's struggling to get me off of him, his hands are grasping onto my shirt but ultimately, doing nothing, too weak to do anything and with that knowledge, I still can't find the willpower to stop. Suddenly, two hands grab onto me and pull me rather aggressively away from Ben. Ben stands and out of pure rage, he sends a punch to my face and before he can do it again, Coach grabs him and pulls him back, shouting at him to calm down. I'm breathing heavy. I feel the warm rush of blood go down my lips. I'm let go, so I swipe a hand over my nose to get rid of the blood and I stumble forward then back into who I assume is the headmaster because I hear his voice behind me say, "Go home, Mr. Lennon." His voice is cold and low. In one swift movement, I grab my bag from the ground and turn and storm out of the school. I spit out the blood that found it's way into my mouth and wipe my nose again. My eye is aching and I know I probably have a black eye, but that's the least of my worries. I walk down the pavement, heading home. And when I get there, the house is empty because both of my parents have headed out to work. I go upstairs and into my room and I slam the door. I toss my bag off my shoulder and onto the floor and I sit down on the bed. Minutes, maybe hours pass, I'm now laying on my side and I'm no longer angry, but rather empty, sad now. I hear a faint sound of knocking on my window. I don't make effort to move. The window opens after a while and I get a glimpse of worn out white converse peering through the window, finding the floor, then I see his washed out, ripped black jeans and a large dark green jumper. I sink into myself as like before, he gets into bed with me. I turn to face him. His hand is on my arm and it moves to my shoulder then back down to my bicep. I look up at him. His somewhat long, black, wavy hair peeks out from his hood and spreads out against his arm, which is bent and underneath his head. His brown eyes stare into mine. He looks like he's about to cry.

"I'm sorry I didn't text you. I wanted to talk to you in person." He says. "But then, I heard about the fight." His voice is gentle and he's speaking in a whisper. "I know you didn't do that to Joc- to her.." He pauses, his eyes shutting as he huffs, clearly frustrated with himself. "I'm sorry." He looks at me. "I promised myself I wouldn't say her name when I talked to you." He says.

"It's okay."

"It's not. I know this must've not been easy for you, this whole situation.. and like, everything before it. I just- seeing how sad you were, it-" He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes becoming unfocused, like he was choosing his words very carefully. "I hate knowing you were going through this alone as long as you were." I finally look down after keeping eye contact for so long. I open my mouth to speak, but he goes on. "I want you to know that I'm here for you and that I understand how you feel, like the worlds against you and you don't know what to do or who to turn to, but you can always talk to me, you can tell me things you feel you can never tell anyone, whether it's scary or bad or concerning, you can trust me. You're my best friend, Evan, and I want to be here for you." I shift so I'm laying on my back instead of my side and I let out a shaky breath. My heart is pounding and I feel like crying. I feel the back of his hand brush against my face and I feel the wetness leave my face, I guess I already was. I look at him. His eyes are watery but he's smiling at me, it's slight but I notice. I look back up at the ceiling, my eyes unfocused now. It's silent until he asks, "Did she..?" His words fade because he doesn't want to say the word, I know that. I feel another tear roll down the side of my face. I don't say anything to that, but I think he knows the answer anyway. It's silent again. More tears come as my breathing begins to feel like I'm dying. It's shaky and fast, too fast. I'm struggling to fight back the urge to let out the cries that so desperately wanted to escape. My face is scrunched up into a deep, agonizing state. I bring a hand to my face and when I speak, my voice is all wobbly and high-pitched.

"I'm not okay." I say. I let out soft cries, my hand is against my face and I'm struggling to breathe properly. I feel his hands grab onto me and pull me closer to him. My head falls into his chest and my hands grasp onto him. I'm not okay and I don't see myself getting any better, I don't see how things can get any worse. I don't say this out loud but I know Barrett knows this anyway because, like he said, he knows how I feel. He's lived through these emotions, they're not for the same reason, but they're the same. I want to die, like how he wanted to die. I hurt myself, like he once did. And I'm close to following through, like he did. I just hope that maybe, just maybe, now that I've admitted that I'm not okay, like Zamora said, that I'll start to feel okay.