Broken (3 page)

I know what happened to me, and I know there are no excuses for what did, and I hold no responsibility whatsoever for it happening, I just struggle to speak about it without feeling massive amounts of stress, or pain or despair. I feel almost worse now than I did during the days after. I’m still not sleeping well, and even though I’ve made an effort to present a Borodin image to my parents so they won’t worry, the real truth lies deep inside me. I’m broken.

I haven’t been able to look at myself or touch myself in that area since it happened, and I’m still struggling with contact from other people, including my parents. My friends have been in touch, but I’ve pushed them away. I know I can’t deal with this on my own, which is why I’ve decided to go to the group sessions, I just don’t want people fussing over me, and I don’t want people to know more about me than they need to. As soon as anyone who knows me knows I’ve been raped, their opinion of me is going to change. I’m not ready for that to happen. I’m not ready for the conversations about what happened, nor what I expect will be a lack of understanding from a number of people. Dad’s first response was “What were you doing alone at that time?” As though I somehow had some responsibility for what happened.

“Just tell us what you want us to do”, Dad says. Without a problem to solve I know he feels useless.

“Nothing”, I say, unable to help him. “I just felt like you should know why I’m not going to work. Why I’ve been distant recently. Forget about it now, there’s nothing more to do.”

“Which police station did you go to? Did you get an incident number?”

“Dad, please. Let me handle this.”

“I just want to make sure they are doing all they can to find him. You know what the police are like. He could be half way across America by now.”

Mom nods. “Your father is right, honey. It might be worth a call, just to check.”

I relent and give Dad the details, which he seems satisfied with. I don’t give him the statement, nor the results of the medical tests. I haven’t got enough energy left to convince them that it’s not important to me whether he gets caught or not, because I can’t take back what he’s already taken from me. That will never change.

When they are gone - and it takes a long time to convince them to leave me alone, a period of which is spent checking and rechecking windows and locks-, I go up to my bedroom, curl up on the bed and begin to cry. A problem shared is a problem halved, they say. It doesn’t feel like it at all.

2
1 October 2015. Forty days after.

Today is my twenty eighth birthday. Martin has convinced me to go out with him and my friends to celebrate, but I have a bad feeling about it. This is my first birthday for six years I’ve spent without Alice, and something about celebrating just doesn’t feel right.

The last time I dressed up was for her funeral. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror I can’t stop the memory coming back to me.

“I can’t do this”, I tell Martin, but it’s already too late. We are in the car on the way to the bar.

“Sure you can buddy. People want to see you. You can’t push them away forever, you know. People care about you, they want to make sure you are alright. You let me in.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

I haven’t seen my friends for a month because I didn’t want to be reminded of the absence of my wife, and it was just easier pushing them away rather than bringing them closer. At the group sessions I can talk about how I feel and what’s happened to me because the other members of the group are strangers. They don’t know me. They can’t judge me beyond what I tell them. The people inside that bar do know me and they did know Alice.

“Come on”, Martin says. “It’s your birthday. Let’s get you drunk.”

I want to show people I’m ok. I want them to realize that, despite everything, I’m getting on with my life. Martin believes he’s helped me enormously already. In the short time that he’s been living with me, I’ve kicked the drink almost completely, I’ve got myself back into shape, and I’ve not tried to kill myself again. The red marks on my neck have almost gone, but I’m wearing a scarf to cover the lacerations just in case people see them and I have to defend themselves. It’s cold anyway so it doesn’t look out of place. I still zone out though. I can tell that about myself. My speech patterns are slower, much more deliberate, much more languid. Outwardly, I look calm and composed. It’s a trick of medication and mind focus. It’s smoke and mirrors, but no one can see that.

Peter is the first to approach us. “Wow”, he says, squeezing my bicep. “Been working out?”

The girls line up for hugs, kisses, words of good will, before the guys come in and shake my hand or hug me or squeeze my arm like Peter did before them, just to touch me and make sure I’m real. They have got me a birthday present. I feel embarrassed when they pass it over and stand there, staring at me, waiting for me to open it.

I play the game, shake it and try to guess what it is. “Guys, you know, you didn’t have to do this.”

“Come on man, it’s your birthday”, Kevin says.

It’s a photo book of photos of all of us, Alice included, from the last ten years of our friendship. I don’t know what to say. What I end up saying is not what I feel.

“We weren’t sure, you know”, Erin tells me, “whether you’d like it or not, but we figured-.”

“Erin, it’s lovely”, I lie, offering a smile to back it up. “It’s very thoughtful of you all. I’ll take a proper look at this later.”

“Right”, Peter calls. “Who’s hungry?”

I try. I try as hard as I can to fit back in, but the truth is, my mind is elsewhere. The photobook sits forlornly back it it’s bag and hung over the back of my chair, a reminder of the person that should be here and isn’t. A thousand reminders actually, all in one convenient place, ready to torment me. It was a fucking stupid idea and they should have known it. Martin should have warned them. It’s him not Alice who occupies the chair to the right, as though she never existed at all. Every single one of them paired up, happy, normal, going about their lives as though nothing has happened at all. Alice was their friend too. She was special to us all, yet I’m the one that can’t cope with her being ripped away from us. I’m the one that knew her like nobody else did.

“Ethan?”, Brendan says for what could be the fourth time. He’s waving slowly at me like he might do to one of his patients, recently woken from a long operation. “What is that like triple strength beer you’re drinking?”

Everyone else is staring at me. It’s funny how when a tragic accident happens, or someone suffers a trauma, men pretend nothing has happened at all and try to carry on with their lives by blocking it out. Women react in a completely different way entirely, and I can see it now. Erin, Rachel, Jacklyn, and Claudia stare at me with barely concealed concern.

“Oh man, sorry, Brendan”, I say, trying to goof my way out of it. “They’ve got me on some pretty strong meds just to help me sleep. It could be that.”

“What did they give you? You know if you need anything else, you know where to come?”

“Brendan the fucking drug merchant, look at you.” Charlie says.

“Dude, I’m a doctor, it’s what I do, it’s part of the job.”

I let them take the conversation and the focus away from me and watch them go at it like they always have, smiling and happy to lose myself in it for a moment.

“Seriously, dude”, Brendan says again, “I can get you basically pure morphine if you need it.”

“Brendan”, Erin chastises him. “Morphine is a fucking pain killer.”

“Just saying. You know.”

Everyone else is shaking their heads.

“Oh come on, there isn’t anybody on this table I haven’t helped out in the past at least once. Don’t look at me like that, Eric, I know you’ve benefitted from the medicine cabinet before.”

“I’m alright, but thanks though, Brendan”, I say. “I’ll come to you if I find myself running low.”

We eat but I’m not hungry, so I end up leaving most of it on the plate. Eric sees it and finishes it off for me, even though Jacklyn gives him shit for it. A couple of months ago, that would have been Alice and me.

“Dude, seriously”, Peter says, shaping me with his hand in the air. “You’re looking good. You’re thinner in the middle, thicker on the arms. More attractive.”

“Thanks”, I say modestly. “I’m running a bit now, I bought a punching bag. Martin helped me put it up.”

“Yes”, he nods, “I did. Those things weigh a tonne, I can tell you.”

“Martin”, Rachel says, “You’ve never really been cut out for strenuous activity have you?”

“I’m a computer geek”, Martin says. “I don’t need my body to work. Just my brain and my fingers - a bit like Charlie.”

“Fuck you, man”, Charlie says, firing a potato chip at him. “I’m looking for a job.”

“Yeah for like the last ten years.”

“Here is something I’ve never understood”, Eric says, pausing briefly to prepare the table for an outlandish statement. “Why are computer geeks always skinny?”

“Right”, Erin agrees, nodding her head.

“Every single computer geek I know, looks like Martin. Thin as a rake, milk bottle glasses, and balding.”

“Hey, I am not balding”, Martin complains. “Ethan, Am I balding?”

He tips his head towards me, trying to encourage me to join in. All eyes are on me to see if I’m going to play the game or not.

“You’re balding”, I say. “Sorry man, but your thinning out a little up top.”

“Come on man, that’s just the light. You want to see balding, check out Peter’s non-existent crop.”

“Come on man that’s just low”, Peter says. “You know I’ve got a condition.”

“A condition”, Jacklyn says, staring at him in shock. “What condition?”

“Baldness”, Brendan jumps in.

“Ethan, help me out man.”

“Your on your own, buddy”, I say.

“Oh man, you know this about me. Alopecia areata”, Peter says. “It can be a pretty aggressive disease but I’ve got a weakened form of it.”

Brendan, Erin and Eric can’t stop laughing. Peter suddenly remembers something and thrusts his hand towards me.

“Alice”, he says, and just hearing her name makes my heart leap. “Alice had a work colleague who had exactly the same. Spot baldness”, Peter insists.

“Yeah in one spot, right in the middle”, Jacklyn says.

“Oh man, I wish Alice was here. She’d back me up if she was.” Peter says. It’s a comment that makes the whole table go silent. “Shit”, Peter says when he realizes. “Sorry, Ethan. I got a bit carried away.”

“It’s ok”, I say. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I wish Alice was here too”, Jacklyn says.

“Jack, I’m not sure that’s the best-”, Peter begins.

“What? I do. I miss her. We all do. We can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. I’m sorry Ethan, I don’t want to upset you.”

“You’re fine”, I say, but I’m already feeling uncomfortable. Martin jumps in to save me.

“A toast”, he says, raising his glass. “To birthdays and absent friends.”

Later, they bring me a cake. It’s a chocolate cake with twenty eight candles making out the letter E. Rachel baked it herself and although I don’t eat much of it, the bit that I do eat tastes really good.

I get drunker than I want to and after dinner we move to the bar area to carry on. Part of me wants to go home, while another part wants to stay here and drink until I black out. When the shots come out, I try and refuse, but everyone is drunk enough now, including me, that I can’t say no. I feel guilty about having a good time after what has happened. I feel guilty about letting myself relax when I should be looking for him, when I’ve got nowhere after two whole weeks of looking.

Rachel and Claudia try to talk to me about Alice, but I fob them off with short answers and clear indications that I really don’t want to talk about it. I thank them for their concern, but don’t want to go into it with them. Other than that, other than the zoning out and the guilt and the constant reminders of Alice, and the confusion over whether I should go home or stay and get drunk, I feel like I’m having a good time.

I thank Martin for convincing me to come along with him. I thank him too for being there for me when I needed someone. The memory of it cuts through me and I have to concentrate hard not to cry. Martin isn’t the only one who sees it.

“Are you alright, dude?” Brendan asks.

I pretend I feel a little bit sick. “I need some air”, I say. “I’m going to step out for a while.”

“I’ll come with you”, Martin says, “I could do with a smoke.”

“No, it’s ok”, I say, placing my hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Just give me five minutes.”

Martin nods. “Ok”, he says, understanding what I need. “I’m coming to get you, though, if it’s more than five.”

I step outside. The cold air slaps me across the face and sobers me up a little. I decide to take a walk, just to get some energy in my legs, and take my mind off
that
memory. Every time I think about it, I can feel the pain in my neck as though the rope were still there wrapped around me.

As I round the corner, I see a couple arguing. I can’t hear what they are saying to each other until I get closer, but it’s clear from their actions she’s trying to get away from him.  I can feel the adrenaline pumping so fast around my body I can barely breath.

“I said I’m not interested. Now fuck off back inside.”

I see him grab her by the arm and pull him towards her. “I don’t think so”, he says.

“Get the fuck off me”, she screams, punching him in the chest.

I realise I’m stood there doing nothing but looking. It’s as though the adrenaline has frozen me to the spot.

“Can I help you?” he says. It’s a while before I realise his words are directed at me.

“Let her go”, I say, coming to life.

I see Alice in his arms and I stride the short distance to him, my fists already clenched. He has enough time to push her away, but not enough to defend himself. I knock him flat to the floor with a single punch he hasn’t got time to see coming. It dazes him, but not enough to keep him on the ground. I let him get up. By now, the girl has got into her car and is reversing out behind me.