The Worst Day: Consequences, Analysis.

 After I snapped to…
I walked all the way home from the school. It wasn’t a crazy distance, but a bit further than the sort of walk you’d do every day on a deadline. I made it safely home, went up to my bedroom and slept for three days.

I felt guilty about what happened with Weaver. You see, I hadn’t realized at the time I had been drugged. Looking at the facts now, it’s obvious. But this was before the term “Date Rape Drug” was a common thing. I thought my will and my body had personally failed, and I’d LET him do those things to me. Not to mention I was going to therapy for a needle phobia. The doctor was hinting that there was something deeper wrong with my psyche, and, here was clear evidence all was not well.

Well, of course you wanted sex. Some people just… freeze when they are afraid, rather than running away. That’s what those shrinks said, at any rate.

This means I spent years thinking that my subconscious just shut down my body against my very intense will to get away and/or defend myself as needed. I developed a higher distrust of myself than I had for others. I really do not recommend this option. It is a great way to literally make yourself crazy.
Then, to put the icing on the cake, friends talked me into trying to make a deal out of it. There was no evidence (hey, I was drugged out of my mind for three days and had a shower at the end of the third day. I don’t’ remember making the decision to shower, I just remember getting out of bed, and the next thing I know I’m showering. Probably a good thing before I went to school on Monday, you know?

Then we had the monkey trial with the principal, his parents, him and me. My dad was working and mom wouldn’t come. But, both of his parents were there, and looked sharp and competent. Tellingly, they also looked like they did this before.

But, because my parents weren’t there to support me, I looked like I was lying. And, because I was still messed up, I looked even more like I was lying. Because I didn’t realize I was drugged I looked even more like I was lying. I won’t go into details. The heartbreaking thing was to watch Weaver’s dad’s face. He KNEW something had happened, but he felt helpless. Guilt made him somber and heavy eyed. His mother was out to crush me personally because I was threatening her baby. She was an old hand at political wrangling. I was just a mess.

After that exercise in humiliation, we were walking back to our class…unsupervised, as well as passing the music room where it all had happened in the first place.

He leaned in and started whispering to me. “I didn’t get you before, but I will.”

I looked at him. ‘What? How do you figure?”

“See, you are MINE. I’m not going to let you get away. I got to you before. I can do it again.”

I edged away. NO one was around. I picked up the speed and tried to keep my distance. I was NOT going to run away. I wouldn’t give him that. I was terrified, but I wasn’t going to act out of fear. He WANTED me to be afraid. I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.

“I know who you are, now. I won’t let you,” I hissed.

Then he uttered a raving stream of obscenities, called me a whore, etc, and that I would damn well LIKE it when he came for me again.

I said, “I’ll rip your balls off with my teeth and shove them down your throat if you even try!”

He told me he had always known he had a mission in life. And that mission in life was to sleep with every woman on earth… no matter how old, no matter how young, or whatever it was they wanted. He would do it, and it was his job. He spoke in a different voice, he spat and raged, and I’d never seen him that angry, or hell, even angry at all. This emotion even reached his eyes which blazed at me. His voice was gravely, nearly incoherent with something that burned like rage. But he was backing away from me.

I told him to eat shit and die. I stopped and watched him, daring him to do something. Turn one corner, walk 20 feet and we were in front of the office. He took another step back.

Mysteriously, a hall monitor showed up. Weaver’s lips snapped shut and he walked away. I folded my arms, and kept watching. He broke into a run. I scratched my head, baffled.

After all this, and another odd incident, I went to my friend Andrea. I told her the whole thing.

After acknowledging all this really sucked, she said. “You know this asshole did it before.” Keeping in mind that Andrea was an evangelical. Not even remotely stereotypical, but when she swore, you could guarantee it was an event. She had a lot of provocation in her life and rarely let loose.

I blinked. “WHAT?” I said. “I mean, I said his folks looked like they’d done this before, but… I thought that was just me.”

“Nope. Did you know one of his victims has a kid? Do you want to meet her? Get to choir class tomorrow an hour early. She’ll be there. You guys will get along, trust me.”

I sat there, flabbergasted, trying to wrap my head around it.

And, there she was. She was a prim, elegantly dressed redhead. She was gorgeous, and holding a blond, curly haired baby who even looked like Weaver. It chilled me to the bone, but the most shocking thing of all was how HAPPY this woman was. To my mind, this asshole ruined her life, and here she was cuddling this beautiful child as if it was all she ever wanted. My mind was blown. I was awed, mystified and creeped out.

She was wearing a crucifix. I knew that meant something, but I wasn’t thinking very clearly at the time.

“You… look so happy.” I said.

She smiled. “Well, I have a baby boy, who is a gift to my life.” she said.

“But… you didn’t want him.” I gasped.

She smiled at me. “Yes, but is it HIS fault? Should I blame Christopher for it? He did nothing wrong.”

I was too much of a coward to cry. I made a strangled sound.

She went on. “You know, what he did is wrong. That’s not a question. But it gave my life meaning and focus. The best I can do is make his life worth living. Just because he is related to the man who did this, doesn’t mean history has to repeat itself.”

“But how…” I asked. I just couldn’t finish the sentence. I couldn’t imagine someone like her being as stupid as I had been.

She looked at me sharply. “Weaver was capable of being a very sweet boy.” she said. “He is not a man and I won’t call him one. He is also very persuasive. I trusted him, and… you know the rest.”

“I’m sorry.” I whispered.

She shrugged. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. A terrible thing has brought me blessings. I only wish I could do something for you.”

I staggered out, convinced I’d met a living saint. Hell, I wasn’t even remotely Catholic.

It wasn’t until after I dropped out of college, and went to another SANE psychologist who actually had a day job. She worked as a Friend of the Court, and interviewed rape victims for the police and the courts, not to mention did checkup work on people who made insanity pleas.

She was the best therapist I’ve ever had, and the only reason I have flesh and blood respect for the profession at all. She’s the one that pointed out that everything I described was TEXTBOOK for getting the date rape drug. She even said he must have doped me up with enough to stop an elephant. And… the fact I was able to get up in short order (relatively speaking) was an unqualified miracle. No doctor could explain it., and she knew quite well how the drug worked. She had enough of a medical background to become a shrink, but she realized she did not want to prescribe drugs. She’d only figured that out after going through most of the education to figure out how they worked. Like I said, best psychologist ever.

Even after I met the good psychologist, I saw Weaver one last time. He was working at Lowes. He did not have that old superior expression on his face, his cherubic good looks had seen better days. He actually looked as if he’d been run over several miles of very rough road. I wondered if he’d spent time in prison.

When he saw me, his eyes flared. He knew who I was, and he was afraid.

But I turned around and left the store, and haven’t shopped at Lowes since.

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