Not This Time

Nina: August 31, 1983

     I slammed my apartment door shut and leaned against it, finally feeling safe enough to close my eyes. With a deep, yet shuddery, breath of relief, I dropped my purse on the floor, brought my hands up to my face, and let out a sob. I slid down the door to settle next to where my purse now sat. I just couldn't hold back the tears anymore.
     "What's wrong, Nina?"
     With a startled scream, I jumped to my feet, reaching for the door knob as I scanned the room. Matt was sitting on my couch with his hands suspended on either side of his head in a surprised surrender. We stared at each other for a moment, both terrified. In that brief moment, I realized how bad my shaking was.
     I sank to the floor once more to resume my crying, curling up to cry into my knees.
     "Nina!" Matt's voice exclaimed gently in concern.
     I could hear him get up and rush over to me, but I didn't look up. I knew I looked horrible, sputtering and sobbing the way I was. I could feel stings on my legs from where the concrete had scraped me as I kicked. My skin burned with the memory of Red's hands holding me down. I cried harder.
     "What happened?" Matt whispered. I could tell he was sitting on the ground now, near me but not next to me.
     I shook my head. I didn't want to talk about it. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about it. I just wanted to forget.
     "Your legs are scraped up," he informed me, as if I couldn't feel the stings of each and every one of the little cuts. We were silent for a while, minus my crying. As the flow of my tears began to slow, I felt a soft, barely there, brush against my shoulder and I flinched away.
     "Don't touch me," I whined. I looked over at Matt to find him pulling his hand back uncertainly.
     "I'm sorry," he rushed. Instantly, I felt bad. He was just trying to be a good friend.
     I shook my head. "I'm sorry," I croaked, "It's not your fault. You're just trying to help. I just.." Staring at the carpet, I shook my head again.
     "Did someone hurt you?" he asked, though I was sure he knew the answer. I could see him looking at the marks on my arms. I swallowed back another wave of tears and nodded slowly.
     "They um.." I began weakly. I couldn't bring myself to talk about it. Talking about it was like reliving it, and I wasn't quite ready for that. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to think of another way to explain.
     "They what?"
     I shook my head again. "You remember in Vermont, I lived in that town on the edge of a forest, and everyone believed in fairies?" I asked.
     Matt nodded slowly.
     "You remember someone started that rumor that I was a forest fairy because no one had actually seen me physically come into town before I walked out of that apartment complex on my first morning?"
     Matt smirked a little, obviously trying not to laugh, and nodded again.
     "And everyone except the crazies avoided me because they thought I had magic and stuff?" I continued.
     "Yeah," Matt said, "I remember. What does this have to do with anything?"
     I took a deep breath and wiped my face. "They came up with a more realistic rumor here," I sighed. I could feel the panic rising in my chest again.
     "What do you mean?" Matt asked.
     "There, they thought I was a fairy," I breathed, "here, they think I'm a prostitute." The last word came out with another sob as I dropped my head back down onto my knees to hide the ugliness of my crying.
     I could hear the complete shock in his silence. I didn't have to see his face to know that he was piecing together what had happened. The only sound between us for another uncomfortable length was, again, my crying.
     Then finally, gently, he spoke. "Were you.." his voice trailed off. I could hear the hesitation before he finished his question. "were you...raped?"
     The word hung over me like a dark cloud dropping icy rain. It tingled all over and made me feel sick. Even though that's not what happened, that word did a good job of bringing the whole event right back to the present.
     Suddenly I could feel the brick wall against my back and Blondie's breath on my face. I wanted to reach up and wipe it away, but I couldn't move. It was dark and their laughter was everywhere; they were everywhere, holding me against the bricks, the concrete. Red's sickening laugh echoing down the street. The stuck up roll of Curly's eyes when I took his order. The thoughts swirled in my head, one after another, like a cyclone.
     ...My name is Nina...
     I've got a twenty with your name on it...
     You alright, hon?
     ...if that's what you're into...
     ...I've got a nice tip for you...
     Leave her alone! The man who saved me. I wished that I had more to associate with that voice than just a silhouette in the night, but I hadn't seen his face. Not once.
     Run! I wanted to follow his direction now, but I was trapped.
     "Nina?"
     ...still waiting on that quickie, Nina.
     Who's next?
     Run!
     "Nina!" Matt exclaimed.
     The slight panic in his voice brought me back to my apartment. I jerked my head up and looked at him. I tried to focus on things in my apartment. The wetness on my face from the tears. The warm light from the lamps near my couch. The slight creak sound that my ceiling fan made every few seconds.
     "Are you alright?"
     I blinked again and swallowed, trying to fight even more tears.
     "Stupid question," Matt sighed, shaking his head.
     "They didn't.." I tried. I wasn't sure I could say it. "They didn't.." I shook my head in frustration. "Someone showed up before they could do anything."
     Matt raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Good on whoever that was!"
     I nodded. We sat there for our third awkward silence, this time with more shuddery breathing than crying. Matt didn't reach out to comfort me, for which I was grateful. Instead, he got up and began toward my bathroom.
     I knew his Triple T was parked there. That's where it always landed for some reason. I thought he was leaving, and it scared me. Panic rose up in my throat again at the thought of being left alone.
     "Where are you going?" I choked, obnoxiously aware of the fear in my voice.
     Matt turned to look at me. "To get Band Aids and medicine for your scrapes," he assured me, "I'll be right back."
     I watched him step into the bathroom. I felt more secure curled up in a ball like I was, but I didn't want to sit right against the door either. I looked around my apartment warily, as if anyone could jump out at any moment, even though I knew Matt and I were the only ones there.
     Very slowly, I uncurled myself. I stood as high as I could at the moment, which was slightly diminished due to nerves. I locked my door knob, then my deadbolt, and then I picked up my purse. Still looking around, I very cautiously made my way over to my kitchen, setting my purse silently on my entry table as I passed.
     With each step I took, I felt more able to straighten up and relax my shoulders. By the time I reached my kitchen, I felt pretty much normal height, though my hands were still shaking. I pulled a can of ginger ale out of one of the cabinets and turned around to set it on the counter.
     Matt was just then stepping out of the bathroom with a small collection of ointments and bandages. He started back toward where we'd previously been seated as I tried in earnest to open the pop tab on the can. I watched him for only a moment before looking down to pay better attention to what I was doing.
     "Nina?" Matt called out softly.
     At that same moment, I got a hold of the pop tab. With the faintest of smiles for my small accomplishment, I popped open my can of ginger ale, thus catching Matt's attention.
     "Oh, there you are," he said.
     He watched me as I held my can of ginger ale with both hands and stepped over to my couch. I carefully placed my ginger ale on the table next to me as Matt sat on the far end of the couch and set the medical supplies between us.
     He showed me each item as he laid it out on the cushion between us. "I brought Band Aids, the wrappy kind of bandage, Neosporin, hydrogen peroxide, and cotton balls," he explained. He looked up at me and then cleared his throat. "I know you don't want to be touched, so I'm going to put hydrogen peroxide on the cotton ball, and you clean your own cuts as you see fit," he added.
     His willingness to work with me made me smile a little, and I nodded. I watched him open the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, wet a cotton ball, and set it on the cushion between us.
     Before reaching for it, I looked down at my legs. There were soft red marks along the sides and darker red cuts on the backs of my legs, mostly near my ankles. I returned my gaze to the cotton ball and gingerly reached for it. I knew it was going to make them sting more than they already did.
     Carefully, I dabbed the peroxide-soaked cotton ball on the deeper red cuts first, then the shallower scrapes. My legs tingled and stung with each cut I cleaned. It wasn't that any of them were particularly bad, there were just a lot of them.
     "You need to find someone to talk to about this," Matt told me gently, starting to put Neosporin on Band Aids and placing them sticky-side up on the couch cushion.
     I looked over at him and frowned a little. "Why can't I talk to you?"
     "I've never been in that situation," he reasoned, "I wouldn't know how to help you get past it."
     I frowned some more as I continued tapping the cotton ball against scratches. "I don't like talking about it."
     "I think it's supposed to get easier if you do," he retorted.
     "What I need to do is take a self defense class or something," I argued, "I had a knife and he just.." I stopped and closed my eyes, not wanting to think about what happened after I lost my pocket knife. With a sigh, I opened my eyes. "I need to learn how to fight with fists."
     "Oh, fisticuffs?" Matt offered in a British accent, trying to make me laugh. It didn't work. I just looked up at him awkwardly. "Come on, Nina."
     "Like Tae Kwan Do or somethng," I said, putting the cotton ball down on the table next to my ginger ale. I picked up the can of soda a little more confidently than before, and took a sip.
     Matt shrugged, putting another Band Aid on the cushion sticky-side up. "It would still be good to find a support group or something," he said. I didn't respond because I knew he was right. He knew he was right. He knew I knew he was right, so he said nothing more on the matter.
     As I started sticking Band Aids to the deeper scrapes near my ankles, I kept asking myself how it had gotten to this. I probably I should have stayed in my own time. No, I should have moved to a big city instead of a little one that spreads rumors. I shouldn't have worked in a diner, especially on the late shift. I should have called the cops on those criminals before it got that bad.
     When I finished with the Band Aids, I realized that all of the should and shouldn't haves that I'd been thinking of were the exact reason Matt was right. I really did need people to talk to. I leaned back against the couch and looked over at Matt, who was cleaning up the mess of Band Aid wrappers he'd made.
     "I want to go home," I muttered.
     "Home, like 2009?"
     "2008," I corrected, "but yeah. Can we do the six months now?"
     Matt tilted his head. "It's only been two months."
     "I feel like it will be easier to come back after six months."
     "You don't have to come back if you don't want to," he reminded me.
     "Yeah I do," I sighed, "I've got a 12-month lease." There was a brief pause and I managed a small smile when he realized that I'd made a joke. He laughed and I even let out a slight chuckle.
     "Alright," he laughed, shaking his head, "Whatever."
     "I've got to get a different job, though," I said seriously, "I don't think I could ever go back to that diner."
     "You've got six months to think about what you want to do when you get back," Matt assured me as he stood to throw his trash away, "What do you like to do?"
     I leaned my head back on the couch and snickered, "Go to concerts."
     Matt answered from the kitchen, "You told me once that you liked producing music, why not do that?"
     "Gotta know how," I groaned as I turned to look at him, "I only know how to mix live shows."
     "So why not that?" Matt wiped his hands on his pants as he came back and perched himself on the armrest opposite me.
     "What? Live mixing?"
     Matt nodded. "You'd get to go to concerts."
     I thought about it for a moment, picking up my ginger ale with a much steadier hand already and taking a long sip. After a long minute of being unable to find a reason not to, I looked over at Matt.
     "That's a good idea."
     Matt smiled. I knew he was pleased that he could be of some help. He always was, but I imagined it was more rewarding considering the circumstances.
     "So back to the future, then?" he prompted, all but jumping up to head for his Triple T.
     "Hey, Marty McFly," I called after him before he got to the bathroom door, "Can we just sit here and watch Laverne And Shirley reruns for a little while?"
     Matt stared at me from the bathroom door. I looked out the night sky outside my window. We both knew I wouldn't be able to sleep, whether it was 1983 or 2008. With a sympathetic smile, he nodded and returned to his seat. We spent the next three hours watching the shenanigans of two best friends in 1960s Milwaukee, and then I spent the following five after that watching it alone once Matt fell asleep. The sun was well in the morning sky by the time we made our way back to 2008.