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He loomed over me with a blank look on his face.
“Sit down,” I said.
He complied, sitting back in his seat. He looked defeated. I wondered if I was being shallow and insensitive. I quickly decided maybe I was simply being selfish, and that something may have happened in his life that I was unaware of.
“I’m sorry. It’s just. Here lately, you’re different. Like I said, you’ve been kind of soft and passive. Is there anything you want to talk about?”
He shook his head. “No. How about you?”
“Me? I’m not different. I’m the same. You? You’re--” I paused and waved my hand toward him. “You’re not you.”
He took a drink of his coffee and leaned forward. “Can I speak freely?”
“Sure.”
“I’m worried about you.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Me?”
He nodded. “Yeah, you.”
“Why?”
“You came to me and were some cute bitch that was going to write an article about my club. I was flattered, excited, and pretty gung-ho about the whole deal. Add to it that you’re cute as fuck, and it made everything that much better. Or worse. Or whatever. So, I invite you to the clubhouse.” He leaned back in his chair, rubbed his beard, then sighed heavily. “You asked questions and I answered. It was interesting, and I actually enjoyed it. Then. We fucked. Enjoyed that, too.”
So did I.
He paused and shook his head. “Then, one day we got coffee and we went to get lunch. That day we went to lunch? I was having a pretty good time with you on the back of the bike. Actually wondered for a minute what it’d be like having you around. Never met a tough little bitch like you. Thought you were pretty fucking good stuff.”
I wasn’t sure where he was going with the conversation, but hearing him say how he felt warmed me much more than the morning sun. I never would have guessed being called a bitch could be such a rewarding experience, but it was.
His face went solemn, but didn’t last long. An angry look soon replaced it. “Then, they raped you. And, I’m worried. I want you to be the same, but I wonder if you ever will be. I wish it never would have happened.”
I started to speak, but the words got caught in my throat. I sat and stared, incapable of speaking and not really sure what feelings – if any – my face was conveying.
I was filled with anger. I didn’t want what took place to have happened either, but it did. Afterward, all I wanted was for things in my life – and for me – to be the same, but I knew they never would be. The fact that four complete strangers viciously stole my chance of having a perfect life from me and left me feeling guilty, filthy, and forever tainted caused me to feel pain that I never knew existed.
“I feel responsible,” he said.
My response was dry and coarse. “Don’t.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You know,” I said.
My eyes began to well with tears. I fought not to cry, but wondered how long it would last. “That day? I keep replaying the morning in my head. When I decided to go get the recorder. I should have called the bar. I knew the name of it. I could have. But I didn’t. I wanted to go in there without calling. I wanted to put on my big girl panties and go to the biker bar without you. Sit where we sat. Do some research. Watch who…watch who came and went. If I would have called, and maybe gone ten minutes…ten minutes…”
He raised his hand, trying to get me to stop.
But I needed to finish.
He stood.
I waved him off, and then realized tears were dripping off my chin and onto my lap.
I cleared my throat. “Ten minutes. Just ten minutes later. Ten fucking minutes.”
I wiped my face with the tips of my fingers. “So, somehow…somehow I convinced myself it’s all my fault.”
