Denny talked me into going to that party at the Eisenhowers. Do you remember it? I’m sure you do. Denny told me to “live a little”. Normally, I wouldn’t go but when I talked to Emily, she said it would be fun. She was always trying to get me to go out. So, we went.
I wish, Colt, so much over the years, you have to know, I wish I hadn’t.
I saw you there, you and Feb, and it didn’t seem Denny knew what he was talking about. You two seemed fine to me, like normal, like always.
Later that night, Denny brought me a drink, said I needed to “loosen up”. I wasn’t much of a drinker, never was. It hit me, what he brought me, real fast. I thought it was just a beer but I don’t think it was. I couldn’t know for sure, but, at the time, I just thought I was a lightweight, getting drunk on a few sips of beer.
Denny saw me going funny and told Emily he’d take care of me. What a laugh. Denny taking care of me. But I didn’t know then and neither did Emily. We both thought he was my friend. Some friend.
He took me upstairs and said I should just lie down for awhile. I don’t remember it all, bits here and there, I felt so strange, like I wasn’t me. I thought he was being nice, taking care of me, a good friend. Friends don’t do what he did to me. They don’t. But I wouldn’t know that until later, when I learned Denny was not my friend at all.
At first, I didn’t even know you were in the bed he put me in. And Colt, I swear, I promise and I swear, I don’t know how it started. But, I think I started it. I wasn’t thinking, I don’t know what I was doing. I just started kissing you. You were there and you were Colt and I think I started kissing you. I was so drunk or whatever, it’s all so fuzzy, you didn’t kiss me back, or you did, I don’t know. It didn’t hit me until later that you weren’t acting like you, you were acting like me. Like you were drunk or whatever. This is terrible and embarrassing but you have to know because I think I took advantage of you. We were moving around and somehow I got you on top of me and I liked it. I’m sorry, but I liked it, it’s just the truth and you deserve to know the truth.
That’s when Feb walked in.
I knew Denny was lying when I saw the look on her face. It was like she just learned someone she’d loved had died. Even being messed up, I’ll never forget the look on her face.
Before I could say anything, she was gone and you were on top of me and I couldn’t get you off. You’d passed out and you were so big, so heavy, I couldn’t move you.
Then Denny was there, in the room, and I know he was in the room the whole time. He saw the whole thing. He was laughing, thought it was funny. I was trying to think straight, get you off me, get to Feb. I asked him to help me but he just kept laughing, saying, “Now it’s over. Now it’s over.” He said it again and again. He sounded so happy. I knew he wasn’t right then. I knew it. Really not right. But I didn’t see it, couldn’t think straight. Not until later, what he did to me and then, a lot later, what he did to Angie.
I got you off and I couldn’t get untangled from the sheets, I was so muddled, and I just gave up and started crying. Craig was there then and he was so mad at Denny and I was lucky, for once, because Craig took care of me. He took care of you and me.
That was hard but this is harder because you have to know why I didn’t say anything. Why I didn’t tell you or Feb what happened.
The next day, my folks went to church and Denny came over. I felt sick, from what happened and from whatever he gave me and trying to figure out what I’d say to you and Feb. That’s why I didn’t go to church with them. But, even if I wasn’t like that, I still couldn’t have fought him. I did fight him, but I didn’t win.
He hurt me, Colt. Right in the living room of my own home. He told me I couldn’t tell you or Feb what happened. “Don’t you fucking open your mouth,” he said. I’ll never forget it, those words, the way he said them. He wasn’t a Denny I knew. But I told him I was going to tell you and he got mean, then meaner, then he hurt me, Colt. In the worst way. The very worst way.
Colt pulled in breath then sat down in a chair.
He didn’t violate Amy and he didn’t have a son.
He’d been right. Denny had raped her.
The first didn’t make him feel better because he now knew the last.
He ran his fingers through his hair and then curved them around the back of his neck, squeezing tight, his eyes closed, the papers in his hand, Amy’s words, written in pretty, neat handwriting. He wondered how many times she wrote and rewrote them. Or if she just poured it out and sent it to her parents. The writing was too neat and he knew she’d practiced.