The Definition of Time

Chapter 33

I would still die for you.
I would still believe in you
I would still try to save you
I would still love you.
If you'd let me.

November 6, 2014

Josh is solidity and strength in the midst of chaos and fear. We cling to each other, he swallowing his rage and I abolishing my fear.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Rach."

I can't gather the words to answer him, to reassure him it's not his fault. Josh puts an arm around me and ushers me to a chair in the corner of the room. My skin is still covered in goosebumps from the paths of the man's hands across my body. I am shaking, trembling, trying to gather control. Desperation clings to me; I still feel trapped beneath the man's weight, stranded in his grasp, silenced by his hands.

He assaulted me. The truth slaps me across the face. I always imagined this happening to other girls, in other bars. Not to me. Rape has always been a distant evil, but now it is startlingly real. My skin burns cold everywhere he touched me, and I wonder if it will ever regain feeling. All I can feel is the imprint of hands on my body, groping, grasping, his hand squeezing my forearm, slapping me across the face, holding my mouth closed, traveling up my leg. I wrap my arms around myself and close my eyes, trying to ward off the feel of the man's touch.

"Excuse me, were you involved in the fistfight in the back of the bar?" a domineering voice interrupts us, and Josh stands up in front of me in defense.

I look up to see four policemen; in the chaos, someone must have called the cops.

"Yes, uh, yeah, that was us," Josh says.

"Tell us what happened."

Josh sidesteps and gestures to me. "I'm Josh Hunter, and this is Rachel Evans. She was taking a phone call in the back hallway, and she'd been gone for awhile, so I went to check on her. I found that man," he gestures to my assailant, nursing his wounds across the bar from us, "assaulting her. He wouldn't let her go, so I punched him."

The lead cop raises an eyebrow. "Based on what I can see, you did a lot more than punch him. He has a few fractured ribs and a broken nose."

I can see Josh tense, but he says nothing. The lead cop steps past Josh to me and looks down at me, a pen poised over a notebook.

"Alright, Miss Evans, we need to get your statement." His voice is nonchalant as if this is no big deal, as if I'm not still in shock. "Tell us what happened."

"I..." I struggle to regain my voice, so I sit up straighter and let go of Jordan's hand. "I was on the phone, like Josh said, in that back hallway because it was too loud in here for me to hear anything. When my phone call ended, that man came out of nowhere and..." my voice breaks and I try to continue through returning tears, "and he pinned me to the wall and covered my mouth, and he...he touched me...and Josh found me. He wouldn't let go of me, so Josh punched him." My words are muffled by tears, and I fight to control my panic.

When I look back at the cop, he still appears skeptical, hand resting on his hip and eyebrow cocked. 

He turns to his partners, saying, "She's clearly hysterical and probably has no idea what really happened. It sounds like two drunks fighting over the same girl, classic case of disorderly conduct."

Jordan jumps in, her protective mother-bear instinct taking over. "What are you talking about? That pervert would have raped her if Josh hadn't rescued her, and you're writing that off as disorderly conduct? What kind of justice is that?"

"Now, now, miss, don't get emotional," the cop says again, raising his hands defensively. "First off, you should have known better than to go into the back hallway of a bar. What did you think would happen? You'd make a new friend?"