I Said No

Chapter twenty three

"No. No. NO!" I scream to Danny as I am full swing punching him. I feel invincible. My fist fully connects with his bottom jaw. I push him off of me and walk calmly to the door, my hair flowing perfectly in the wind, thunderous champion music playing, flipping my middle finger towards him as I go. Leaving him in Alicia's bed, balled up in fetal position, crying.

Beep beep beep.

My alarm pulls me out of my dream. I wish it had ended like that. I wish I had been strong enough to fight for myself.

Wait, I'm waking up. I'm alive. The pills didn't work. Today is just any other day. I have work today. I get out of bed and start getting ready. I feel stuck in a haze. Going through the motions of getting ready, but my thoughts all elsewhere.

My dream was unlike all the other dreams I've had before, this time, I was the victor. I won. He didn't rape me. He didn't leave me forever wounded. I left him in fetal position... Just as he had left me. Maybe it's a sign, maybe this sign is telling me it's time to get over it. That it's time to get back to my normal life. That I didn't have to be the "loser." I could win. I could still come out on top. Or maybe it was all just a weird reaction to all of the ibuprofen I took last night.

But again, that is not how it happened. I did not get the chance to punch him until I felt better. I was not given the opportunity to walk away unscathed. I did not get to look back and see him in pain as I got the chance to leave my mark one more time with my middle finger.

If only it had ended that way.

I'm ready for work, I don't remember anything but getting out of bed, but I'm ready. It's easy at a sportswear store. All you need are some jeans, a duck t-shirt, a ponytail, and some minimal makeup. I hop on my bike and start riding to work. Well, it's not actually my bike. My car is at the shop and I borrowed this bike from work.

I like riding it to work though. It gives me a free twenty minutes of nothingness. Of the wind in my hair. Of the cold crisp morning on my lips. Of the fresh cut grass smell through my nose. I'm able to clear my mind and think about everything around me, instead of everything within me. I can people watch, I can enjoy the foot bridge and water I have to cross.

Actually, today, I think I will truly enjoy it. I park my bike along the bridge and make my way to the ledge. Fish are jumping, dragonflies are flying freely, the water is calm and moving ever-so slightly. I pick up a rock and throw it in.

I tried to commit suicide last night.

I need help.

I can't keep this bottled up anymore.

I need to talk to people.

Should I tell the police? No, it's too late for that. Should I see a counselor? I don't think I can talk to a stranger. I should talk to my friends. I should let them back in.

I get back on my bike and finish the trail to my work. I was almost there anyway. I park my bike in the designated bike rack and look up at the sign, Duck Shop.

Why am I here? I feel a pit in my stomach, I tried to commit suicide and now I'm at work as if it were any other day. I wipe a tear away, push through the glass entryway and clock in. I don't talk to anyone, just immediately start folding shirts. There's always a large pile of t-shirts to be folded. It's almost therapeutic. I can just fold shirt after shirt, make piles of where they need to go, put them away, and begin again. Mindless work.

"Hi, Emily!" I turn and see my store manager. Ugh, I wish she wasn't here. Work is always more pleasant without her barking orders or insisting she talk about her very personal life. I just want to fold, clean the store, and then go home.

"Hi, Terri. How are you?" I ask while going back to folding.

"I'm great. Have I shown you the pictures I got done?"

Oh god, what pictures? I don't want to see any pictures. I look over at my coworker and she gives me a cringing smile.

"No I haven't. Did you just get them done?" I ask her. Hoping we can just talk about them so I don't have to see them.

"A little while ago, but I just got them back. I wanted to get pictures done to show off the weight I've lost and my newly found freedom. Come over here and look!" She has been leaving work early everyday to head to the gym. I haven't noticed a big drop in weight, but she was proud of herself. She had told her husband she wanted to see new people, I'm assuming this is for them and her "newly found freedom." I walk over to her.

She has them up ready on her phone and starts scrolling through for me to see. They start out nice enough. Full face of makeup, down to the fake eyelashes. Her blonde thick hair curled in big luscious locks, and different outfit changes. She looks pretty.

"These are beautiful," I say to her. "You look great." And she does. I couldn't really tell about the weight loss, but she made a full transformation with the hair and makeup being done. She stops scrolling at a white wet t-shirt look. Even her hair is wet. I immediately feel uncomfortable. Here she goes again, getting too personal.

"What do you think about this one? I wanted sexy, but still classy." She looks up to me, looking into my face for the answer.

"I think you got that," I say back to her as I walk back to counter to continue folding t-shirts. I start right back into work. I don't want to talk anymore. I didn't need to see her wet t-shirt contest photo. I didn't need to see any of them. Whatever happened to boss-employee boundaries?

"Oh, Emily, there was something I wanted to talk to you about. Come over here so we can talk privately." She says as she starts walking across the store, away from everyone else. What could she want to say now? What would need confidentiality? I follow behind her. She couldn't know about it could she? Am I being fired for all the times I have been calling out? "I just wanted to say, your appearance hasn't been top notch. You've been looking lazy lately. Put some makeup on, do your hair. That's all," and she walks away without hearing what I have to say back.

I want to scream to her, 'I was raped!' 'Sorry, my makeup hasn't been a top priority,' 'Sorry, the ponytail has been my staple,' 'AT LEAST I'M HERE!'

"I'm sorry," is all I can muster up to say instead. She might not have even heard that, she didn't turn around to acknowledge it. I slowly follow her back to the counter and go back to folding t-shirts as she gets back on her phone.

***Author's note***

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