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"Shit." I glanced at the dumpster. Maybe everything
was still inside. Although I had no idea what I'd been doing inside
the downtown garbage bin in the first place, I needed to find my
cell phone and my other personal items. I'd deal with everything
else once I had my things back. I was sure I could think better
with them in my hands. But how was I going to get back in?

I glanced down the alleyway looking for anything I
could stand on so I could jump back into the bin. Halfway down the
cement wall, I spied an aluminum trash can situated next to one of
the many back doors lining the alleyway. It was the same kind we
had at a home that I dragged out to the curb every Wednesday for
garbage pick up.

It was full and heavy. As I began to drag down the
road to the dumpster, the back door to one of the restaurants along
the street facing opened and an elderly man in a white turban came
out, a cigarette already lit in his mouth.

His eyes widened when he saw me. "Hey! What are you
doing with my garbage?"

"I'm not stealing it or anything. I just need it to
stand on so I can get back into the dumpster. I lost something
inside."

He came towards me, smoke hanging between brown lips,
and grabbed the other handle on the trash can. "No. You cannot have
it."

I pulled back, but he was strong and it didn't budge
much. "Please. I really need to look in the bin. It's
important."

He yanked again, this time the handle came out of my
hand, but the momentum of the can was too much and it toppled over,
the lid exploding off and the garbage inside spilling out. He
looked down at the leftover food and spoiled items piled at his
feet then up at me, a look of anger on his wrinkled face.

"Look what you have done, stupid girl."

"I'm sorry, but you pulled it too hard. It's not my
fault it fell over."

"Now I have to clean." Huffing angrily, he bent down
to start shoveled the garbage into the can. "All I wanted was to
smoke my cigarette."

"Look, I'll help you clean it, if you help me back
into the dumpster."

He glared at me, his bushy brown eyebrows furrowed
together. It looked like a large caterpillar had taken up residence
on his face. "No. Go away, or I will call police."

Resigned to not being able to get back into the
dumpster to search for my things, I bent down and helped the man
shove the garbage back into the bin. I was already dirty having
been laying in trash for however long, so the smell and feel of the
substances I was touching didn't bother me so much. I probably
smelt worse in comparison.

When we were done, we lifted the can together and set
it right back against the wall next to the back door of the
restaurant. The man didn't look at me, but he didn't shout at me
either so I figured he'd maybe forgiven me. But I was still without
my cell phone or any money. And I needed to call someone to come
get me.

"I'm sorry about the garbage can."

He just grunted and continued to smoke his
cigarette.

"Look, I lost my cell phone and all my money in the
dumpster. Is it possible that I could use your phone?"

"No."

"Please?"

He shook his head. "No."

"You know I said please, and I helped you clean this
mess up even though it wasn't my fault."

He eyed me up and down. "You look like trouble."

I sighed. "I know, I get that a lot. But I'm really
not. I'm a nice girl who just happens to like looking like a
freak."

After glaring at me for a few moments, he dug into
his front pants pocket and came away with a coin. He handed me a
quarter. He motioned toward the street. "There is payphone around
the corner."

I took the money and thanking him, ran out of the
alley toward the pay phone. I recognized the store on the corner
and knew exactly where I was. Plunking the coin in the slot I
started to dial my home number, then stopped. I pressed the
receiver and the coin clunked down into the plastic tray. I
couldn't phone my mom. She would freak out. And I couldn't explain
to her what happened, because I had no clue.

I slid out the quarter, popped it back into the slot
and dialed Chloe's number. Chewing my thumb nail, I waited, feeling
sick to my stomach. Thankfully she picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"It's Salem."

"Hey, how was it? Was it as good as you thought it
would be?"

"Um, can you come get me?"

There was silence on her end. She must've heard the
rising panic in my voice, and then her words came out in a garbled
rush. "Are you all right? What happened? Where are you?"

"I'm at a payphone on Third Avenue, you know by that
HMV we sometimes go to."

"What are you doing there?"

I fidgeted with my bangs, pulling on them. "I don't
know."

I heard her intake of air. She did that when
something really bothered her. Or when she was about to cry.

Tears welled in my eyes. Now that I was talking about
it, the seriousness of the situation slapped me in the face. Except
it didn't hurt like it had before, the pain was on the inside. And
that hurt a hell of lot more. It was one of those pains that
couldn't be healed by a band aid and some quick first aid.

Something terrible had happened to me. I was sure of
it now. A girl didn't end up in a dumpster by accident. Something
awful had occurred at the party, something I probably didn't want
to remember. Ever.

"I'm coming right now. Hang tight girl."

"Thanks." I hung up as the tears started to roll down
my cheeks. I wiped at them as I moved away from the payphone. There
was a bus stop bench near by and I sat down on the edge of it away
from the old lady sitting on the other side reading a paperback
book.

I brought my knees up to my chest and hugged them
close. More tears streamed down my face. Now that they were
uncorked I couldn't stop them up again.

I tried not to think as I waited for Chloe, which of
course was an impossible feat. It was like asking yourself not to
breathe. Random thoughts filled my mind. Those of meeting Thane and
how cool that had been and how uncool I had been, and then how I
couldn't remember one thing after that. My mind went blank when I
tried to picture anything after his lips brushed up against
mine.

Then I remembered drinking the beer Thane had given
me. It had been open when he handed it to me. Had I been drugged? I
shook my head, not believing that the lead singer of a popular band
like Malice would even bother dropping a roofie into my drink. The
guy probably got laid all the time; it wasn't like he had to beg
for it. He certainly wouldn't have to drug a girl to sleep with
her. And he certainly didn't have to drug me.

But something had happened. It wasn't like I left the
party, somehow got downtown and threw myself into the garbage bin.
The club had been on the other side of the city.

"Are you okay, honey?"

The old lady was talking to me. I turned my head to
look at her and nodded.

"Do you need some money?" She started digging into
her purse.

"No," I blurted. "I'm fine, really. My friend is
coming to get me."

She smiled. It was a kind smile and made me think of
my granny who lived in Canada. I hadn't seen her in three years.
"Family troubles?"

"No."

"Boy trouble then?"

"Something like that."

She nodded, as if she knew it all along. "I'm sure
whatever he's done, honey, he didn't mean it. Boys just don't think
the same as girls." She chuckled. "We all know that their brains
are in their pants, don't we?"

I smiled at her.

"You don't worry about it. He'll be back. If he wants
you bad enough he won't ever let you go."

The bus pulled up and I watched as the little old
lady got on. As it drove off, I shivered thinking about what she'd
just said to me.
He'll be back
. For some reason I felt an
ominous shroud cover me. As if something even worse was going to
happen. Although I couldn't possibly imagine what. The
possibilities of what had happened to me were already pretty
bad.

Pulling my legs tighter to my chest, I started to
shake, with teeth chattering, and I didn't stop until Chloe's car
pulled up to the curb.

Chapter 4

"Were you, you know..."

I glanced at Chloe as she drove. It had only taken
her twenty minutes to drive downtown to pick me up. By her
appearance I assumed I'd woken her when I called. She still had on
her PJ bottoms—Hello Kitty smiled at me. "What?"

She pointed to her crotch.

My cheeks flushed. "I don't know."

"Well, how do you feel? Are you hurting there?"

For a few seconds I gauged my body, detecting the
different places where I was sore and achy. I shook my head. "My
legs are sore. My back and neck hurt. My stomach feels hollowed
out. But that could be just because I'm hungry."

"If you had sex, you'd definitely be feeling it. I
was sore for three days after doing it with Nick."

I looked out the side window as we drove. "TMI."

"Do you want to go to a doctor just to make
sure?"

I shook my head. All I wanted was to go home, have a
long hot shower and sleep for about thirty-six hours.

"Are you sure? If you were raped—,"

"The doctor will call the police. I don't want that
kind of problem." I tugged at my bangs again. "It's too damn
embarrassing. I don't even know if anything happened."

"They won't, if we just go to the free clinic and you
tell them you want to be tested for an STD."

I eyed her incredulously. "And that's not
embarrassing?"

She shrugged. "At least you'd know."

I looked out the window again and chewed on my thumb
nail. The truth was I wasn't sure I really wanted to know what
happened. Maybe I was better off not knowing. I could keep my
fantasy and my sanity.

"I just want to go home and shower and sleep. Oh and
eat. I'm starving."

"Okay, but I've got your back if you need me."

I smiled at her. She was my best friend and had been
since eighth grade. There wasn't anything we hadn't shared. "I
know. Thanks."

We drove in silence, well, except for the Sum 41 CD
playing, for the last six minutes it took to get to my place. Chloe
pulled to the curb on the treed lined street.

She squeezed my hand before I got out. "Call me
later, 'kay?"

"I will." I opened the car door, slid out and trudged
up the neatly cut front lawn to the light blue bungalow. When I
reached the door, I put my hand on the knob but hesitated. My mom
was going to be on me within seconds of entering. I had to prepare
and get my game face on.

Taking a deep breath, I turned the knob, opened the
door and went in. After I pulled off my boots, I tossed them in the
front closet then padded into the living room. Our cat, Duchess, a
seal point Siamese, slunk across the hardwood floor toward me. She
squeaked at me as she jumped onto the arm of the sofa so I could
pet her. I ran my hand over her silky fur.

"Where's mom, kitty?" I murmured to her.

The cat just purred.

Then I heard footsteps coming down the hall from the
kitchen. "Salem?"

"I'm in here."

She came around the corner, her fierce green eyes
flashing in her little pixie face. "Where the hell have you been? I
called you like five times on your cell?"

"I lost my cell."

She stomped toward me, her bare feet smacking on the
floor. "Where did you spend the night? I was worried to death. I
just about called the cops."

I could feel tears starting to well again, so instead
of looking at my mom I continued to pet Duchess. She arched her
back and rubbed against my hand, purring happily.

"Salem, are you going to answer me?"

Mom was just a foot away from me, but I didn't dare
look up at her. I knew the tears would come then and I wasn't
certain I would be able to stop them. But my mom had an emo radar.
She knew when I was feeling down or angry or anything. It was
probably because we were a lot alike. And she'd also been a
rebellious teenage. So she knew all the tricks of the trade. By
some of her stories, I believed she invented some of those
tricks.

She put her hand on my bent head. "Are you all right,
baby?"

I shook my head, and moved into the safety and
sanctity of her arms. She was little like me, no more than five
feet three, but I always felt safe when she hugged me. I buried my
face into her neck, inhaling her familiar mango scent—it was her
shampoo—and then let the tears fall.

She rubbed a hand up and down my back which always
soothed me. "What happened, love? Did you and Chloe have a
fight?"

Too choked up with tears, I couldn't speak. I just
shook my head.

"Did someone hurt you? You can tell me." I could hear
the quiver in her voice. "Don't be afraid to tell me, whatever it
is. I'm won't get mad, I promise."

My mom was fierce that way.

When I'd been in fourth grade, two older boys had
been picking on me, calling me names, shoving me around at recess.
At first I didn't tell my mom, thinking I could handle it or
thinking it would only get worse if I did. After three months of
it, I had to tell her, I couldn't keep it in any longer. She'd
known something was up since I would often be in my room crying
after school or I'd fake being ill so I didn't have to go to
school.

When I told her, she got this look on her face, the
kind of look that told me she'd rip someone a new ass if she could.
She marched down to the school, talked to the principal, and
demanded the phone numbers of the two boys. At first they wouldn't
give them to her, but she was persistent and maybe a bit
aggressive. I remember one teacher referring to her as a
pitbull.

When she got the numbers she called the boys' parents
and proceeded to rip them a new ass too. Needless to say it didn't
take long for that shit to roll down hill and the boys stopped
bugging me. I think everyone at school, especially the principal
and the teachers, were scared of my mom after that. Or at least
they looked at her with a mix of respect and fear.