Maybe Then...

Chapter 22: the night that only crickets could be heard

**trigger warning**
All I could hear outside were the crickets,

All I could hear around me were the crickets,

All I could hear in my head were the crickets.

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After what seemed like hours, and actually was a few hours, Zeke announced that we could head out. I plastered on a smile while I bid farewell to the people of whom which I realized was not really my crowd. They were wild, and not in the getting pumped up and a little loud because you're excited to be with friends kind of way. A brief shiver ran through my spine as we stepped out of the house. It wasn't that it was cold outside, it was that it was cooler than the sweaty heat radiating off of the hormonal teenagers inside who treated the coffee table like it was an alcohol table. But a thing that made me shiver even more was the thought of Zeke having drunk an alcoholic beverage like it was a soda, and I was about to get into the car with him. "How about I drive?" I offered.

He waved me away. "No, it's been hours since I drank anything, and I didn't even finish it! Trust me, I'm not even close to being tipsy, let alone drunk."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm used to it, it's not like it's the first time I've had beer before."

I hesitated to say something more about it, but when we got into the car, I ended up opening my mouth, anyway. "I didn't know you drink. I never thought you to be that kind of person."

He glanced at me with a look I couldn't make out. "What's that supposed to mean, that I'm a lush or something?"

"No no! I didn't mean that at all!"

He nodded, letting silence fill between us.

"Thanks for letting me come along," I finally said to kill the tension.

"It was my pleasure," he smiled. "I had a really great time, by the way."

I didn't want to lie, even if it was only a white lie, so instead I responded, "I'm glad."

He leaned over from his spot, cupped my face, and pushed his lips onto mine. I thought he would pull away after a moment, but he just kept kissing like he was trying to find something more than a kiss. And he was. I felt a hand creeping up my shirt, to which I snapped and pushed him away. He barely even moved away before he went back to kissing me as though nothing had ever happened. I just sat there stiffly in shock, not sure what to do. Yet again, he tried to do it. I didn't want to overreact, so I just pushed his hand away, mumbling don't. But he kept doing it again. And again. And again. His only responses being I know you want to, and this is what couples do, and what about what I want? I didn't want to cause a scene, but I didn't want to let him keep doing it. I felt trapped, not just situation-wise, but physically. I was pushed up against the very door that I wanted to climb out of.

I wish that I could say that this was the point in the story where the love of my life comes and saves me from this. I wish that I could say that I beat him up before running away and calling the cops on him. I wish that grandpa was somehow there to make sure I was safe, and forced him off of me before carrying me home in his arms, telling me a boy couldn't hurt my little girl and get away with it. I wish that it never even happened, and I never had to feel violated and humiliated in a way that made me feel like I was a piece of scum. But this wasn't a fairy tale, and a boy I'd end up marrying didn't come to rescue me.

This was the part where I was assaulted by my own boyfriend, and I had to push him off of me and hurry out of the vehicle. But before he'd let me leave, he grabbed my hand, looked me straight in my teary, fear-stricken eyes, and said, "Do you want to be a couple, or not?" This was the part of the story where I could only manage to get out of my trembling lips a shaky, "I don't want this." This was the part of the story where I somehow couldn't find any sobs to cry during my walked to a gas station pinpointed on Google Maps. The part where I called Daniel to see if he was out, and asked him to pick me up on his way home. Where I rode home with a plain look on my face, and gave vague answers to the question that I would answer to. Where I didn't know how to feel, I didn't know what to think, and I definitely didn't want to say anything.

This was the part of the story where my thoughts swirled around in my head, yet it just felt vacant. Like no thought in that moment yielded enough meaning. Where it didn't matter if there was music on the radio that night, or if the car was making its own array of rhythmic concoctions. Because the crickets in my head were loud enough for the both of us: my mind, and myself. As far as I'm concerned, all I could hear that night after that scarring moment was the sound of crickets chirping screatches like a car breaking far too late. The mechanical violins of those little things wouldn't stop their randomly places chirps, like sound-versions of stars, but I don't think I wanted them to stop. Not for that night.

Because that night, that's all I wanted to hear. That night, that's all I could hear. Crickets.