FIRE | H.S.

Chapter 12

   I can't sleep.

   I've been thinking about the shit Evan said four hours ago. His words are stuck in my head like when you listen to a terrible song and can't get it out of your mind. Only this is worse.

   I can't believe he said that. The way she dresses has nothing to do with what happened to her.

   The way I dress has nothing to do with what happened to me.

   It has nothing to do with it because the first time it happened was when I was only twelve years old and wore baggy jeans and oversized t-shirts. Over and over again.

   And yes, it happened at the place I used to work in when I was a teenager. In that dim place full of drunk men who only went there to get cheap liquor and see almost naked girls dancing. It happened there, more than once. But it also happened at a bonfire when I was in college while I was wearing jeans over my leggings and about three jackets.

   It happened so many times where the way I was dressed had nothing to do with it and for Evan to say the girl on the news was raped because of how she was dressed just... it just made me feel so overwhelmed. I was so angry and sad at the same time. I wanted to slap the hell out of him and break down crying. I want to think he didn't mean what he said. That it was just the few beers he'd drank that were doing the talking.

   I keep repeating to myself that he didn't mean it. I repeat it like a mantra. I repeat it like my life depends on it. I repeat it and repeat it and repeat it. I want to believe it.

He didn't mean it.

   He didn't mean it.

   He didn't mean it.

   I want to believe it but I can't.

Maybe he just said it without really thinking about it. Maybe he wasn't paying attention to the news.

   Maybe.

   Maybe.

   Maybe.

   They're all just maybe's.

   I keep trying to make excuses for his words until my mind is so exhausted that I end up falling asleep.

  I close the door behind me and hear my mother cooking in the kitchen.

   Health class was hell today. I hated it. Why did we have to talk about that specific topic today?

   Sex. We talked about sex. And I hated it.

   I hated it because the teacher said it should happen between two people who are in love.

   I hated it because she said it should be special the first time.

   I hated it because she said it should always be consensual.

   And none of those things applied to me.

   It wasn't special.

   It wasn't with someone I was in love with.

   It wasn't consensual.

   I need to tell my mom. She should know. She will help me.

   When I leave my backpack in my room, I make my way to the kitchen. She's making mac & cheese.

   "Mom," I say, quietly.

   "What?" she doesn't look at me. She has a glass of cheap rum in one hand and stirs the food with the other.

   "C-can I talk to you? I need to tell you something," I lean against the counter. The heat of the stove reaches my right arm.