The Bikini Syndrome | WATTYS2019

» nineteen: seaside chats (part two) ⚠️

SENSITIVE CONTENT AHEAD.
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"I was raped," Sadie said simply, the way one might say, "I'm going to buy a taco" or "I had salmon last night".

The waves gently nibbled at their toes as Sadie told her story, receding and returning in a steady rhythm.

Sadie had arrived in California for a fun summer. She was supposed to come with friends, but their plans had fallen through, and the tickets had already been booked.

So she came.

"I was alone, and I was lonely." She wrapped her hands around her knees, her silver-blonde hair falling around her like a curtain. "Being alone is a sign of strength, even contentment with yourself, I think. But being lonely is a sign of weakness and desperation."

In her boredom and desperation, Sadie had sought out company along the beach. She wandered through groups of girls and turned down a multitude of guys hitting on her before finally settling down to get a drink at Tiki Straws.

"A guy kept hitting on me. Kept putting his hands on my shoulders. I told him...I told him multiple times, hands off. I told him...I told him multiple times."

Sadie repeated this statement multiples times, like a charm warding off bad luck. She kept saying it over and over, a human vinyl skipping, skipping, stalling, stalling, unable to move on, unable to proceed.

Holly placed a hand on Sadie's shoulder. "Shh," she whispered, in time to the waves lapping at their feet.

Shhhhhh, shh, shhhhhhh, shh.

"I tried, I tried so hard, Holly. But maybe I was a little drunk, or maybe he slipped something in my drink. I don't know. I keep thinking back to that night, and I keep trying to remember. I keep asking myself if I could've done anything different.

I keep blaming myself, because I can't remember what happened, and I can't remember if I let it happen to myself by not being careful enough."

He had lead her away from Tiki Stands, to a secluded part of the beach. Sadie thought she'd been a little drunk, a little tired at that point.

"I want to go home," she'd said.

"I'll take you there," he'd said. "Just tell me where."

"No, I can take care of myself. Just leave me alone."

And at this point, the man behind the stand, maybe out of kindness, maybe out of annoyance at the teenagers hogging up the seats, had said, "Let him take you home. It's dark out, and it's not safe for a girl to be alone."

To Sadie, this had made sense. An annoying guy was the least of all the dangers out there, she decided.

"He was the most dangerous thing that night," Sadie said. Her shoulders were shaking. Her breath was hitching. Holly wanted to say something, or do something. She also felt the urge to punch someone.

But words seemed to fail Holly for the second time that day. So instead, she wrapped an arm around Sadie's shaking shoulders. She listened to her cry.

Most importantly, she listened to her speak.

"He head me to...to a...cove. And then, he...he..."

Her dad's white blouse, which had been so carefully tucked into her faded, ripped high waisted jeans -- torn. Strewn across the sand.

Her jeans, ripped in places they shouldn't have been.

Stains. Dark in the night. Red in her head.

Her cries, desperate, heard only by the moon and the waves and the infinite grains of sand beneath them.

His cries, savage, heard only by the moon and the waves and the infinite grains of sand beneath them.

"Here," Sadie said. She lifted up her t-shirt, and in the pale moonlight, Holly saw the bruises.

Black and blue brands, splayed across her skin. The ghost of his touch, haunting her whenever she looked in the mirror, whenever she took a shower.

Filth she could never wash off, no matter how hard she scrubbed.

Holly's shoulders shook. Her eyes stung. Her blood boiled.

Oliver had found Sadie. She didn't know how or why he was there that night. But he was. And she was grateful.

He gave her his jacket.

He took off his glasses and never looked at her, not because he couldn't, but because he shouldn't.

Held her hand gently and firmly as he lead her to the police.

Handed her tissues, even though not a single tear leaked out of her eyes that night.

Spoke gently to her when the police took samples, fingerprints, statements, evidence.

Walked her to her hotel lobby.

Leaving her safe from others.

But not safe from herself.

"I am grateful to him, but that is very different from love," Sadie finally said. "So I don't want you to misunderstand. But Oliver has just been...very helpful to me through the whole process. He was pretending to be my boyfriend the other day on the beach, so if my...if he was there that day, he wouldn't approach me."

Holly felt like a bug. So small. Like she had been. She'd been so petty and quick to judge Sadie, just because she was pretty, just because Oliver had said she was his girlfriend. And she couldn't hide the fact that she'd been relieved with Sadie had said she wasn't Oliver's girlfriend.

How could you, you fat, ugly girl? Holly screamed at herself.

"No, I'm the one who's sorry," Holly said, hoarse. "I...didn't know. And that's not an excuse. I'm sorry. All this time...I'm sorry."

The words felt pathetic and not enough. Holly wanted to dive into the ocean and never resurface.

But instead of being angry or cold, Sadie looked at her with a smile.Tear tracks had carved paths in her makeup, and her eyes were puffy from crying. Yet she had never looked prettier to Holly.

"I think you're wrong about one thing," she said. She got up, dusted off her jeans, and held a hand out to help Sadie up. "Being lonely is not a sign of weakness or desperation. To be lonely is to admit we are human. So I think...loneliness is a sign of humanity. It's an internal emotional compass. The moment we stop needing people, we stop understanding them."

Sadie laughed.

"Okay, fine, maybe I've been reading too many Dalai Lama tweets," Holly said defensively.

But Holly was laughing too.