Daphne

(12) Coach

One Tuesday morning early in Daphne's Junior year, Emily Bradford, a Physical Education coach, asked Daphne to come over to her office. Still a bit sore from the weekend, Daphne jogged stiffly over. The Coach motioned Daphne to a seat and closed the door behind her.

"Thanks, I think I'd rather stand," Daphne said, adding, "Is something wrong?"

The Coach sat across from the girl. "Is there something going on you want to tell me about?"

Daphne's mind was blank; she had no idea what Coach Bradford could possibly be talking about and the Coach read this confusion on the girl's face.

"Daphne, the bruises... the welts..."

Daphne gasped.

The Coach smiled – I knew it!

"You're being abused and I've got no choice. I have to report it! Let me help. Let's call the police and we'll report whoever's abusing you together!"

When classes ended for the summer break, Daphne began attending exhibitions that were far beyond her wildest imagination before she'd witnessed what the Heckler had been compelled to endure more than a year before. These more extreme sessions paid better, for sure, but for Daphne they were also much more thrilling, which is what attracted her.

But there was a problem; as the sessions became more and more intense, and as the marks on her body took longer to dissipate, it was inevitable that someone 'outside' would notice something. Leo and Terri tried to make sure that Daphne and the other girls were never so wounded that it would show (much) by the time they went back to class on Monday, but, it seemed, they needed to redouble their efforts, especially after the more extreme sessions.

"No, no, no! You don't understand..."

"You're damned right I don't understand! No guy is worth getting beaten-up for (I assume it's a guy)! Daphne, it's got to stop, for your own good! You have no idea where this might lead – he might kill you! I want to help ... if you'll let me."

Daphne caught her breath and examined her examiner. Can I trust her with the whole truth? Probably not. "It's not what you think."

"What should I think? I see you bruised and banged-up all the time!"

Daphne laughed to herself and smiled. You don't know the half of it.

"What's so funny?" the Coach demanded.

Daphne leaned forward. "Nothing... You should think that what I do off campus, and particularly on weekends, is my business. I promise you that what I'm up to is totally consensual. I'd like you to quietly drop this and keep it between you and me."

###

The Coach examined Daphne's composure. She's protecting her privacy, but isn't being actually evasive. "I'm not sure I can just let this drop, even if I wanted to. I'm ethically and legally required to report suspected abuse."

Daphne took a deep breath.

"OK, Coach, suppose – hypothetically – that I went to an off-campus gym and sparred in the boxing ring. I'd probably get beaten up – bruised and sore, kinda like I am now – but not really hurt. Not really. Suppose I went back to that gym over and over, week after week, and got back in that ring each time, consensually, willingly, with my eyes wide open, knowing that I risked getting abused, and would come to school bruised and sore... Would you have to report that?"

"You're telling me that you're boxing?"

"Well, no, I'm doing something else... but that doesn't matter. What does matter, Coach, is that this is my choice. I'll admit I've been beaten-up a bit, but it's a means to an end – it's my choice of my means to my end. What I'm doing I'm doing on purpose with my eyes wide open. I'm asking you not to report anything, and warning you that if you get in my way, I'll deny everything. I'm not a victim; I'm tougher than that."