Nothing Matters (Family Matters Book 1) (13 page)

"It has to be done," Dad insisted, "you don't want him getting away with it."

I nodded, I had to be brave, I had to use the switch on-switch off skill that had hardened me up.  To my amusement, the cop who lead me into the viewing room, advised me to "Stay detached," as if she'd studied Psychology 101.  My eyes didn't want to look at the screen, but I lifted them and felt a shudder, vibrating deep into my spine. But he looked ordinary, hair tidy, face clean-shaven, a button down shirt and chinos.  Hardly the look of a rapist, and I had to pause before replying to the cop who asked, "Do you recognize this person?"   It was as if there was a moment where I wasn't completely sure, a hint of uncertainty, even though I knew it was him.  His eyes lifted, as if he knew he was being watched, and he stared at me though I guess it was just the direction he supposed I would be watching him from. And of course I would not forget those eyes, those eyes that had looked crazed and wicked as he had pushed himself into me.  Then he smiled and winked.  I gasped, then realized he couldn't see me.  Even the cop was taken aback and raised her eyebrows.

I felt anger then and affirmed, " That's him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, though he had like a mustache."

"A mustache?"

"Well not a full one, just like facial hair, on his top lip."

"Okay, we're done."

I fell into Dad's arms as I came out of the room and he hugged me tightly and kissed the top of my head. 

"All right princess?" he asked and I just nodded.

Later that evening, Cassian came into my room.  "Did it go okay?" he asked, joining me on my bed, leaning against the pillows.  I just shrugged.  As good as any i.d. can I told him.  I'd already switched myself back off.  He put his arm around me and I snuggled into him.

Chapter 5

NATHAN

I came to see the broken nose as a type of blessing, because having that time off school meant I had to deal with minimal people and I avoided a lot of the aftermath of the rape news, especially when it became known that the police had arrested and charged someone.  It quickly spread that the guy had gone to West a few years back.  It seems the white van was the giveaway.  I imagined Magdala's blood smeared in the back of it.  Dane's older brother apparently went to school with him and it was known that he was a loser and a psycho.  We all looked up his picture on Facebook and kind of agreed that perhaps we'd seen him around various basketball games.  Nondescript really, worked in a factory, into drugs, drove an old silver Camaro, apparently the van he'd been in, raped Magdala in, had belonged to a friend.

The first weekend after I was back at school, there was a party and I got drunk.   Like real drunk, a mix of Vodka and Tequila shots and cheap white wine does it to you pretty quickly I learnt.  I hadn't been drunk for a long time, since meeting Magdala in fact, but being out with the boys, it seemed like the thing to do.  Drinking games, backyard football, shooting hoops, drinking, smoking weed, hooking up, vomiting, sleeping rough summed up the night, though I didn't necessarily partake in all events.  I ended up sleeping over at Dane's that night, draped over an armchair.

The following weekend wasn't much better. Same shit, different place, though I ended up being driven home, vomited out the bedroom window several times and got a right earful from Mom the next day.  I wasn't proud of myself, and if I was honest with myself I guess I was just trying to fit in with the boys, looking for an escape.  Truth is I missed Magdala like mad, the intimacy, the closeness, the talking, the laughter.  I missed her so much it hurt, but being drunk makes you forget all that.  It makes you numb.

MAGDALA

Everybody was trying to help me.  I was given the name of a counsellor, it was suggested I see her.  I was given the number of a support group, it was suggested I join it.  It was suggested I go back to school, get things back to normal.  But what was normal for me now?  I had no normal. 

Even Jakey and Cassian were acting weird around me. Like they had to treat me differently, like a delicate flower, as if I might crack if they said the wrong thing.  They kept me occupied, music, tv, gaming.  They said I should get out, go places, but I said I didn't want to.  I just wanted to stay home. That's where I felt safe.  Out there, it wasn't.  I was frightened that I might see him, that he might want to stalk me, then kill me.  I couldn't explain the fear I felt, so I didn't try to.  It  seemed easier that way, not to burden anyone.  And as long as I was at home, I was safe.

It was four weeks later, and I went along with Jakey,  Raff and their stepdad Connor to a Clippers game.  Cassian had gone off to work, having just started a job as a waiter in an Italian restaurant the week before. On his first shift he made $100 in tips, which is typical Cassian.  He has a way with people.

Jakey and Raff were excited I was with them, or they appeared to be.  I kept close to both of them, like real close, at one stage holding the back of Jakey's shirt, so we didn't separate at all.  If he thought it was odd, he didn't say so.  When I mentioned the caps looked cool, Connor came back with one for me.  I laughed, but I wore it back to front like Jakey did.  It made me feel incognito, which I liked.  He could've been at the game for all I knew.  Just before half time the guy sitting right along from us got a hotdog.  The smell instantly made me nauseous.  I tried not to sniff, tried not to breathe too deeply, but it had permeated the air, and a wave of bile was ascending in my gut.

"I gotta go out," I nudged Jakey.  Maybe I looked pale, because he didn't hesitate.  He guided me past bodies, pushing me towards an exit, into some fresh air.  I squatted down, wondering if I shouldn't race to the restroom.  Jakey squatted beside me. 

"Do you want some water?" he asked.  I nodded.  "Okay, just wait here, and -"

But I cut him off.  "No, don't leave me.  I'll come too."  And I grabbed his shirt end.  He assisted me up, like I was an invalid.  He put his arm around me.  He bought a bottle of water, and I sipped on it.

"You feeling better?"  I just nodded, the nausea had passed...for now.  "Was it something you ate, you think?" He looked concerned.

I shook my head, and at the risk of sounding like a nutcase, said, "He stunk of hotdogs, I can't stand the smell, it makes me sick."

Jakey just stared at me for a moment and then it was like he had a lightbulb moment and his arm pulled me in close.  "Oh, baby girl," he said and he stroked my back.  It felt nice, reassuring.  I drank more water, and said we could go back in, that he'd probably finished the hotdog by now.  I felt bad Jakey was missing the game.  Jakey said, "I'll just get some pizza," and we went to queue.  "You can hold this for the rest of the night, so if you get a whiff, just smell the pizza!"  I punched him in the arm, I did love Jakey, he always found a way to make me feel better.  Jakey moved Raff and Connor along, so they were closer to the hotdog guy.  The rest of the game I was fine, Jakey kept shoving the pizza up to my nose, and as we walked to the car he started eating it, even though it was cold.

"You okay?" Jakey asked me.

"I miss Nathan," I said suddenly and unexpectedly, even to myself.

Jakey  put his arm around my waist, "You're better off without him," he said, and lowered his voice, "you don't need that trash in your life."  I wasn't surprised by Jakey's outburst.  I knew he'd never liked Nathan.  "He didn't take care of my baby girl," he added simply, "so just forget him." 

I liked Jakey's loyalty, his sense of dedication to me, and it was oh so easy to just say everything had been Nathan's fault.  I know it wasn't fair, but fair wasn't part of how I was dealing with it. I remembered how Nathan had tried to apologize for what had happened, and I had given him the impression that I wasn't blaming him. I had heard the heartbreak in his voice when he'd come to see me in the hospital, I know he cared, know he loved me.  But something inside me didn't want to reach out to him, didn't want him to know what had happened to me, couldn't bear him to know the details.  I felt shame, embarrassment, a loss of dignity.  I was in fact the trash that Jakey had accused him of being. Why didn't I try harder to push him off?  Why didn't I scream louder? I'd allowed another body into a place that had been Nathan's. I no longer felt worthy of his love, know that I would never be able to return it.  He deserved better than me.  It was better if he just forgot about me.  Better if he just moved on.   So the easiest thing to do was to cut him out of my life and disappear from his.

NATHAN

The next weekend there was a party at Kara, Stevie's girlfriend's house, her sweet sixteen, a big night.  Luke and I had a bottle of bourbon, and it was going down a treat.  He started smoking weed, but I hadn't wanted to buy any, so I stuck with the booze.  Champagne, or a cheap version of it was passed around, and for some reason that set me off on my face. 

The next morning I wake up to the sound of the back door opening, Rocky's footsteps on the deck, and I feel him sniffing around me.  Seems I am covered with his blanket, my head resting on a cushion from the sun lounger.  Hell, I have sunk lower than low, worse than a dog.  Then footsteps, Mom's voice. 

"Nathan James Stratton."  Full name, can never be good.  I can't even open my eyes.  I groan and turn onto my back.  "Jesus Nathan, what on earth?"  I feel the blanket plucked off me.  "You stink.  Look at this place."  More footsteps.  "Get this place cleaned up."

Now Dad's voice, "Has he been out here all night?" 

"Don't you clean it up," Mom snaps, presumably at Dad, "leave it for him."

I sit myself up, the eyes opening, blinking, squinting with the light, trying to orientate myself.  My head feels weird, my body stiff.  There's a smell, a stink and I see vomit on my jeans, my shoes, and further, the steps, the path.  I reach to untie my laces, but can't quite co-ordinate myself, so just kick them off.  My poor Converse, covered in puke.  I hold the sides of my face trying to stop the thumping; footsteps, and a glass of water placed next to me.  Not sure by who, maybe Dad. Mom doesn't seem in the mood for empathy.  I drink a few sips, my mouth is dry, foul.  But the water doesn't sit.  I suddenly move quickly, to the garden, throw up over a shrub, once, twice, wipe my mouth with my t-shirt.  What a mess, what a fucking, stinking mess.  I lie back on the lawn, arms extended over my head, knees bent.  I feel like shit.  And I remember the night, and a shame, an embarrassment floods over me.  Because I'm recalling what happened.  Besides the drinking, there was a girl.  Can't remember her name, or even her face, just blonde wavy hair. The corner of the garage, sort of standing against a bench, a work bench with tools on it, her arms around my neck, my hands up her top, her unzipping my jeans and giving me a condom, me rolling it on.  Shit.  Fuck.  I don't want to remember any more.  I hear the hose.  It's Dad, hosing the path, the steps.

"Leave it to him," Mom yells, but Dad keeps hosing.  I think he might hose me, but I literally can't make myself move, and I bend my head and vomit on the grass.  Not good.

Mom comes out. "Why?  Why do you want to do this to yourself?" she yells.  I see her put my shoes in a bucket.  "Here move," she commands, "let Dad hose that lawn."  I stumble to my feet, go back and sit on a dry step.  "Get that shirt off!"  She hovers, putting that in the bucket as well.   "And those jeans!"

"Mommmmm," I whine, "just leave me."

"No," she yells, "you get yourself cleaned up.  Get those jeans off and get in the shower.  I can't understand you.  Why are you doing this?  For god sake sort yourself out."  She's adamant I'm to take my pants off, right now.  I stand up, unzip and step out of them, no time to feel shame, standing there in my boxer briefs, as she continues the barrage.  "You're a disgrace, Nathan Stratton," she says.  "Feeling sorry for yourself.  Why don't you think of Magdala and the pain she's going through instead of getting yourself drunk every weekend."  She scoops up the jeans, into the bucket.  "Now get in that shower!"

The sound of a bouncing basketball wakes me, and it's like after three and I've been asleep for five hours.  Mom phoned me in sick to my job.  My stomach rumbles and I go into the kitchen.

"What should I eat," I call to Mom who I can see is in the lounge.

"Make some toast," she answers.  I get some bread from the pantry.

"What should I put on it?"  I feel famished, but there's a queasiness in my stomach I don't trust.

"Just butter," she shouts back and then in a few seconds she is in the kitchen, putting the kettle on.  "Keep it bland," she advises, " I'll make us a cup of tea." 

I sit at the table, out the window I can see my shoes hanging on the washing line.

"I'm sorry," I say,  my sore head resting in my hands.  "Thanks for cleaning up."

Mom ruffles my hair, "Don't thank me, thank your father."

"Thanks Dad," I yell towards the lounge.

He pokes his head into the kitchen, "Last time I do that for you boy," he says.

"Don't worry, I'm never drinking again," I groan, my head in an agonizing ache.  Mom pops some pills on the table, brings over my buttered toast.  I eat voraciously, hoping it will stay down, swallow the pills and sip my tea.  My heart rate escalates momentarily as I pat down my pockets and say, "Where the fuck is my phone?"  Mom glares at me for swearing and nods in the direction of the fridge.  I leap off my chair, grab it from the top.  A bunch of texts.

Dane:  fucking good time haha

Tom:  Mel?  Really???

Tom:  fuck man

Jose:  Mello yellow

Tom:  Mel???

Mom is hovering around and I quickly close my phone.  I feel sick, not from the hangover, but a sick sensation about my behavior.  It's like I've betrayed her, betrayed Magdala.  And for what - a quick screw that I don't even remember.  I don't even know Mel.  Shit and fuck.

I go out by the garage.  Ben is bouncing the basketball, but he's talking on his phone. I take the ball off him, shoot a few hoops.  He finishes his call and comes at me for the ball.

"My phone's been ringing hot," he says.  I take a shot, and miss. "You and Mel G?"  He sounds incredulous.

"I don't fucking remember anything," I say.

"Dad said you slept on the back porch."

"I don't fucking remember," I say again.  "Who the fuck is Mel G?"

"She's in a couple of my classes."  He puts up a high shot, I try to intercept, but miss.  "She's slept with everyone."

"Great," I mutter, thinking, a sophomore slut.  He passes me the ball, I run it up and finally land one.  "I feel like shit," I say.  I throw him the ball.  "I feel like I've cheated on Magdala, and for what?"  I don't know why I've told him.

He looks at me, shrugs, "I thought you guys are finished."

"We are," I say definitively.

"How's she doing?" he asks and his voice is kind. He puts a shot up, it hits the rim and I reach for the rebound, but Ben is taller than me, taller and leaner.  People can tell we're brothers, but he's a bit fairer than me, his hair is lighter and he doesn't tan as well as I do, and his teeth are straight.

I shrug, "Haven't heard."  And that suddenly upsets me, angers me.  I go to the garage wall, hold my fist to it. "I just wanna fucking punch something," I say, feeling frustrated, at myself, my stupid behavior, a girl who would have sex in a garage.  "I'm such a fucking idiot."