Reagan looks at me and says, “What’s for dinner?” as she rummages around in the fridge for a bottle of water.
I shrug my shoulders and grin at her.
“Why don’t I call for a pizza or two,” she says, “while you take the boys and go get some snacks at the corner market?” She makes a motion between herself and Susan. “We need a little girl time, anyway.” She winks at Susan, and the girl grins.
“Looks like we’re going for snacks, boys,” I call as Reagan picks up the phone and starts to order the pizzas. I can hear her ask who the delivery driver is. When the person on the other end of line answers, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. What’s that about?”
I kiss her quickly.
“Are you okay?” I ask. She’s suddenly avoiding my gaze. That’s not like her.
She nods. “I’m fine. Get some sour cream and onion chips, will you?” She pats my arm absently. But I know her well enough to know that something is going on.
I rush the boys out into the hallway and into the elevator. They’re bullshitting with one another the whole way, so they take my mind off Reagan a little. What can go wrong in the thirty minutes it takes me to get snacks?
Reagan
I only have about thirty minutes before Pete and the boys get back. The pizza is guaranteed to be here in ten, though, so it should be enough time. A week ago when we ordered pizza, I immediately knew that the man who delivered it was the man who had raped me. He made the mistake of looking into my eyes when he delivered the pizza. When he did it, he jerked his eyes away, but I don’t even think it was because he knew me. I’m fairly certain he doesn’t remember who he pushed to the floor that night. Who he pushed himself inside and violated. He probably sees me as a nameless, faceless victim. But I’m not. I’m a person and I needed to know, so I did my research.
Ben is his name. The man at the pizza place told me his first and last name, so I spent hours googling him. He has been arrested for assault before, but was released with not enough DNA evidence. I’m sure there are others. And I want him to know that I won’t rest until I take him down. I probably should have gone straight to my father with his, who is a criminal attorney, but he would have stopped me.
Susan looks at me like she’s worried when I begin to pace. I have been quiet since the boys left. I don’t want to tell her what’s going on. I want her to be innocent of this. I need for her to not be involved. I should have sent her with the boys, but it’s too late now.
A knock sounds on the door and I jerk. I can’t help it. “Susan,” I say quietly. “I need for you to go into the bedroom and call 9-1-1. Keep the door closed. Don’t come out, no matter what. You may hear some things that frighten you, but don’t come out. Do you understand?”
“Why?” she whispers.
“Susan,” I say. “The man who raped me is on the other side of that door.”
She nods and goes into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. I hear the thumb lock click behind her. Good girl.
I go to the door and open it. The man’s nametag says Ben. I know his last name, but all I can think is that he’s now Ben Skrewd. In an even worse way than I was.
I smell him immediately, and I nearly gag. It’s the same cologne he wore the night he attacked me. The night he ripped my clothes off in the main bathroom of a frat house. The night he tried to ruin my life. We started out kissing, but when I asked him to stop, he didn’t. And that was the end of my life as I knew it.
I motion Ben into the apartment. I lock the deadbolt behind him and slide the chain into the lock. He looks at it like he’s confused and sets my pizzas on the counter. “That’ll be $28.50,” he says.
I smile at him. “You don’t remember me, do you?” I say quietly.
“I was just here last week,” he reminds me.
“No,” I say. “From before that.”
His head tilts to the side. He’s bigger than I remember him being. But that’s okay. I’m stronger than he remembers me being, too. Besides, I don’t plan to hurt him. I just need to keep him here until the police arrive. “I’m sorry, but no,” he says.
But now his eyes are jumping from place to place. He knows something is up, but he doesn’t know what.
“Almost three years ago,” I say. I go to the fridge and get another bottle of water. I offer him one and he takes it from me. His hand shakes as he pulls it from my grasp. “We were at a frat house. We were kissing. I thought you were really cute.”
“I’m sorry, but I still don’t remember. You know how frat parties are.” He shrugs.
“Yeah, I know,” I say, forcing a chuckle. “We were in the bathroom, and you turned me toward the mirror. I think you thought that was sexy.” I laugh again. “But then you grabbed my hair.” I run my hand up the back of my head and grab a hunk of it, jerking hard. I bring tears to my own eyes, but I don’t stop. “Then you slammed my head into the counter.”
He starts for the door, but I step between him and it.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I say.
“Like hell, I’m not,” he grunts out. He grabs for my shirt, but I spin out of his reach, staying between him and the door. “Get out of my way,” he says. Spittle flies from his lips.
“Do you know what happened next?” I ask. “Do you remember?”
“No,” he bites out.