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I’d taken her to her senior prom after the idiot she was supposed to go with decided the head cheerleader would be a better bet. We’d laughed, made fun of a few people, the cheerleader and the asshole for starters, and had a genuinely good night. Dinner and dancing. It had been the start of something more; I’d just been too stupid to figure it all out before I’d let it fall apart.
I would forever be thankful to the fates that brought us back together. Kara and I’d talked it all over a few times now, reassuring each other and ourselves that we wanted this. We’d always wanted this.
She’d been that missing piece that now made me whole. I was never letting her go again.
“Can I go home? Please? I’m so sleepy.” Her tired voice pulled me from my own thoughts.
“Once the doctor gets a look at your CT scan, if all’s clear, then yes, you’ll be discharged, and we can go home.” I ran my fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp gently.
A few hours later, I was pulling a sleeping Kara from my truck. Her head rested on my shoulder as we walked up to her small house. All of her tests had come back fine. Her bruising would heal, we just had to watch for anything out of the norm for the next few hours, but I predicted they would be uneventful.
Sleep, food, and rest would have her back on her feet in no time. Until she was back up and running on all cylinders, Dan would be taking over her classes so her students didn’t get behind. Kara would be taking a week or so to figure out what was next.
Did she want to stay here? Would she go to another school, one that didn’t remind her of what had happened today?
No matter what she chose, I’d be right here with her. My eyes roamed the front yard, and I smiled. The quiet swallowed me as I carried her inside. We liked quiet.
Tomorrow would start a new day, a new way of life for us all. I, for one, couldn’t wait to see where it led us.
Epilogue
Kara
The longer I read the paper in my hand, the more the tears fell from my eyes—without my permission, I might add. One person’s pain was another’s strength, and hopefully that meant these young adults would hold onto that strength.
I should add that my tears were happy tears. This time.
The assignment I’d given my students was to write about an experience in their lives that no one knew about. Something good, bad, or indifferent; it didn’t matter. Big or small. An accomplishment, a worry—there were no rules.
I wanted to get to know them before we truly dove into our lessons for this semester.
This assignment came after a student had asked me if I was “the woman on the news.” It’s been six months since I was attacked at the fair and yet, I kept finding new people who would say “I just found out what happened to you,” “I’m so sorry he did that to you,” “He seemed like such a nice man. I can’t believe he did that to you.” Even, “I’m glad you had someone there to step in. Some women don’t have that.”
That last one, a comment from an older woman who’d stopped me in the grocery store only a week after the attack, had brought me to tears. She’d hugged me right there in the middle of the aisle. Her small frame was strong, but the pain I saw in her eyes told a story all its own. She’d been through something just as bad and had had no one to help her through it.
That broke my heart. No one should ever be in such a place, though I knew it happened daily.
Then there were those who said I’d made a spectacle of myself. Or the best response was, and I’m paraphrasing, “She must have been into that real-life role play. Some girls like to be attacked. She’s just mad she got caught.”
There was initial hate from his family. They’d not wanted to believe their son, brother, cousin, could do such a thing. That all changed when they saw the video of the attack outside the bathrooms. You could clearly see him, attacking and taunting me as I fought to get free.
Watching that replay, knowing what was coming next was traumatic. When I closed my eyes, I still saw the hundred shadows of him, that gun in hand, pointed directly at me.
I was working with a therapist to get my thoughts and fears under control. It was going to take time though. And a lot of sleepless nights.
People were going to think and feel however they wanted, and that was fine. To each their own. Articles would be printed. Facebook posts made. It was what it was, and all I could do was move forward, leaving the bad shit behind me which meant I no longer read online articles or their comments.
I’d made my social media accounts private, friends and family only. If I didn’t personally know you, you were not invading my safe place. Period.
I no longer felt the need to justify what had happened. Why I did what I did.
How anyone could say I’d wanted that…that I’d been going along with it? The man was going to kill me. He’d been here, watching me, following me for months. Years even. Stalking me.
My life, at the time, had been in serious danger and yet, people who knew nothing of me, or this situation, questioned my account of things? They had the nerve to say things like that? He had a gun, and if not for Cal, I’d probably not be here right now.
It disgusted me that people could think that way. It’s not like I was planning on being attacked at the fair and then making the news.
The hurt I felt was real, and the facts needed validation to move past it. Speaking about it, giving awareness, that was how I’d move forward.
