I can still remember seeing people coming in and out of the kitchen, either oblivious to what was going on or not caring. When one of them stuck their hand between my legs, I reared my head back, busting the guy who first cornered me in the nose. Blood went everywhere. His hands let me go, as did his friend’s, and I ran out of the kitchen to my room, locking the door behind me. I hid in my closet with my phone and called the police. Not long after that, my dad came into my room and found me in the closet. He looked distraught, apologizing for everything that happened, but I couldn’t care anymore. I was done making excuses for him.
Two weeks later, I got emancipated from my father and joined Job Corps. It’s what I needed at the time, the environment almost military. We had schedules we had to keep, things we were responsible for, and school, which I excelled at. I’ve never regretted what I did. The only thing I have ever regretted is losing contact with my father, but part of me felt like if I were important to him, he would have gotten into contact with me.
My phone rings, bringing me out of my thoughts. I look at the name and roll my eyes, smiling.
“Hello, Maggie,” I answer my phone, exaggerating a put-out voice. She’s always teasing me that I lead the most boring life ever, so I play it up for fun.
“Hey, bitch. What are you up to?” she asks.
We were roommates in Job Corps and have been the closest friends ever since. She still lives in Seattle and is getting married in a couple months to her longtime fiancé, Devon, who was also in JC with us.
“Nothing much.”
“Geez, girl. It’s always ‘nothing much’ with you. When the hell are you going to have some good gossip for me?”
“Not everyone is a gossip slut like you,” I tell her, laughing.
“Hey, now. I’m not a gossip.”
“Sure you aren’t.” Maggie knows everything about everyone, and because of her, I know things about people I have never even met in my life—and a lot of those things are details I wish I never, ever knew.
“I can’t help it if people want to open up to me. I’m like Dr. Phil or Oprah.”
“This is true,” I say as I lie down on the couch, and I can’t help but laugh when I think about the position I’m in.
“What’s so funny?”
“Well, Dr. Phil, I met someone, and I’m now sprawled on my couch, so you wanna shrink me?”
“What?!” I hear the shock in her voice. Maggie has been trying to get me to date for years, but I have never felt comfortable with anyone before. That’s why it surprises me that Nico—Mr. Tattoo—is the one to make me feel this way. “Well, spill it, girl. Who is he? Tell me everything!”
“His name is Nico, and he is gorgeous, funny, and sweet. He asked me out and I turned him down, but then the last two days, he’s been waiting for me by my car with ice cream when I got out of work.”
“But you turned him down?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re going out with him?”
“Well, tomorrow he’s coming over for dinner,” I clarify.
“Holy shit,” she whispers, knowing how big this is for me.
“I know,” I whisper back, smiling.
“Girl, I’m so happy for you. Even if things don’t work out with him, I’m glad you’re at least going to get out of that bubble you’ve placed yourself in and try to live a little.”
“Well, I don’t even know what I’m doing, and I doubt he will stick around for long after he realizes I’m a crazy, but I want to see what happens,” I tell her, meaning it from the bottom of my soul.
“You’re not crazy, Sophie. You had a traumatic experience. You just need to realize you’re not broken and that the past has made you a stronger person. I love you, and Devon loves you. You deserve to be happy.”
“I’m happy,” I say, feeling a little defensive.
“I know you think you’re happy, honey, but you’ve been locking yourself up for way too long. Living a life in solitude is not happiness.”
“I’ve gotten better,” I whine.
“You have. I agree,” she concedes.
“I just need time,” I add quietly.
“You’ve had plenty of time, girl,” she says, sounding frustrated.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask exasperatedly.
“I want you to talk to someone about what happened.”
“I talk to you.”
“I know you’ve told me everything, but this is something I can’t help you with. You need to talk to someone who deals with this kind of thing,” she says gently.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go out with him until I figure things out for myself,” I say, my stomach pitching. The feeling surprises me, making me realize I how much I do want to see him again.