“You’re not looking at social media right now, are you?” Matt asks me as he passes by.
“Nope.”
A new text from Willow. What happened? This is pretty shitty, even for you.
My phone starts to ring. It’s my dad. I freeze. I don’t want to answer it, but if I end the call, he’ll know I’m ignoring him, which will only make him more pissed off. It’s only as the voicemail starts that it hits me. Mattie will be able to hear this, too.
“Logan,” my dad begins, his voice booming over the speakers, “you fucking disgusting piece of shit—”
I end the call. Mattie spins around. Why does he have to look so shocked?
“What the hell?” he says. “Who was that?”
I don’t want to answer him. I sit up. “I should take a shower.”
I feel his eyes on me as I walk down the hall. I open the bathroom door. There’s a giant steam shower that takes up half the room with a tub inside. Even though I never take baths, I want one now. I strip and turn on the water.
Fuck. Why am I embarrassed? Mattie already knows the worst of my secrets. But this…I feel like Mattie’s just found a stash of drugs or something else I was trying to hide from the world, and now he’s discovered yet another layer of me that I hadn’t meant to show. It was private, somehow. The way my dad speaks to me. We both know it’s shitty of him, the things he says. We also both know that I deserve it. To let anyone else see that feels like I’m allowing them to understand just how horrible I am. Mattie thinks he understands me, but he doesn’t. Not really.
I sink into the tub and close my eyes. It’d be easier if I weren’t alive. Easier if I didn’t have to deal with this body and all the trauma I can’t escape. The memories and triggers. The disgust and self-hatred. I don’t want to deal with any of it anymore. I can already see what everyone would say. It’d be the ending I deserved.
There’s a knock on the door, interrupting my thoughts. “Logan?”
Sometimes my body shuts down. I can still think and hear and see, but I can’t move or speak. I don’t have the energy.
Mattie calls again. “Logan, are you all right?”
When I don’t answer, the doorknob turns. I didn’t lock it. He walks in, sees me naked, sitting in lukewarm water, crying. How pathetic am I?
He says my name again, softer, and walks to my side. He doesn’t bother asking if I’m okay or what’s wrong. I’m grateful. Wouldn’t have been able to answer anyway. The water isn’t that cold, but my teeth have begun chattering and I’m shaking.
“I think we have to take you to a doctor,” he says.
I can tell he doesn’t want to force me to go, is trying to leave it up to me—but I don’t think there’s any point. What the hell is a doctor going to do? Un-rape me? Figure out a way to reach back through all the years and take away the memories so that I can feel, for once, what it’s like to be a person without any trauma? I wonder who I would be if people had never taken advantage of me and my body. Maybe I’d be different. Someone who could figure out how to be loved. Mattie’s crying with me, and I realize he must be scared, too, sitting there without me saying anything. He just wants to help. I know that.
“Is it okay if I pull you out of the tub?” Matt asks. “Take you to your bed?”
I nod. He helps me up. He’s a lot stronger than he looks. Water splashes on the floor. I’m shaking so violently it’s hard to walk. He takes me up the stairs to my loft and lets me lean on him until I get to the bed. I lie down on the mattress and sheets, though I’m still wet, and Mattie gets a towel to dry me off. He opens up a dresser and grabs me a t-shirt, some boxers.
“Can I stay with you?”
When I nod, he helps me move over and takes the wet patch I left on the bed. We’re under the comforter. He doesn’t touch me. He’s probably afraid. Scared that he’ll touch my skin and I’ll start to splinter and crack until I finally shatter open. I reach for his hand, and he holds it tightly, watching me. Looking for an answer.
“Thank you for letting me be here,” he says.
*
When I wake up, my mouth is dry and my body aches. I forget what happened for a second, before it comes back to me, and I roll over, wanting to go to sleep again. Mattie’s not in the bed. I hear him speaking and realize he must be on the phone when no one answers him for a pause and then he keeps talking.
“Okay. Love you, too, Mom. Bye.”
I push myself out of bed and walk down the stairs. Matt’s on the couch. He looks up with a natural smile, even though there’s still worry in his eyes. “Hey. You’re awake.” He stands up, then hesitates. There’re new rules, now, for us to figure out. I’m not even sure I want to be touched. “Are you hungry?” he asks.
“A little, yeah.” Good to know I haven’t completely lost all ability to speak.
“I can order something,” he suggests.
I’m not even sure what time it is, or how long I’ve been out. We end up getting food from one of my favorite Thai restaurants. We eat in the living room quietly, spread out on the floor. It reminds me of the days when we started to spend time outside of work, comfortably together, getting to know each other. I always manage to fuck things up, huh?
“I was thinking,” Matt says. He seems uncertain. He won’t meet my eye, anyway. “I know that you don’t want to go to the hospital or press charges or anything. Though—you know, I really think you should, but that’s the last I’ll say about it.”
Thank God. I don’t want him to push me on that right now.
“But I was thinking,” he says again. “Maybe it would be a good idea for you to tell your side of the story.”
He chances a glance up at me now. The worry in his eyes grows when I don’t say anything.
“I mean,” he adds, “I don’t think you should have to say anything if you don’t want to. What happened…it shouldn’t be anyone’s business but your own.”
But the truth lingers. It shouldn’t be anyone’s business, but the public has forced their way into my life, like usual, using me for their entertainment. It shouldn’t be their business, but everything Briggs said could stay with me for the rest of my life. This could end my career. It could fuck up the movie, too. I don’t think Matt cares that much about the film right now, but the thought crosses my mind anyway. This will affect him and Julie and Dave and everyone else who’s worked their ass off for Write Anything. I shouldn’t have to deal with the thought of talking to the public about this now, but, well, here we are.
There can only be one reason Matt’s bringing it up. “How bad is it online?” I ask him.
He moves rice around in a circle on his plate. “Pretty bad,” he finally admits. “A lot of people are calling for you to quit the movie. There’re other actors, too, who’re coming out in support of Briggs. People are planning to boycott the film. I don’t care about the movie,” he says, looking at me again. “It can be boycotted or cancelled or whatever else. It’s not as important as you. But for you—I think it’s best for you to tell the public your truth. It isn’t fair to you that Briggs can destroy your life like this and get away with it. You don’t deserve that, Logan.”