Robin yanked my underwear down over my hips and spread my legs. It felt like something broke inside me.
I was caught in his hold. I couldn’t do anything.
Then suddenly everything was suspended.
I didn’t know if I was dead or alive.
Robin flew up and paced around.
“Someone’s out there,” he hissed, his pants around his knees.
I filled my lungs with oxygen, again and again. Finally, I could breathe.
“It’s Adam!”
Robin stared in terror at the window as he ran around looking for his shirt. He grabbed me by the arms and tried to pull me up off the bed.
“It’s your dad!”
I closed my eyes and breathed.
Dad.
Thank God.
Dad.
52
I miss Mom and Dad so freaking much, but I don’t know how I can ever look them in the eyes again. I miss Amina. I miss light.
This place will make you sick. My memories haunt me constantly and there’s nowhere to run.
In the middle of the night I wake up because I’m about to die. I’m drowning.
I toss and turn in the bed. I pound at the walls, try to yank the door open. I kick it until my toes are numb. My screams tear through my eardrums.
At last Jimmy the Guard opens the door. There are four of them, and they rush into the room and I don’t have time to think. They throw themselves at me and take me down.
Jimmy’s meaty hand presses my face to the floor. My screams are muffled by his nasty reptile skin.
My memories of the rape are sharp as knives; the images clear as glass. Part of me will always be there on that bed in the counselors’ cabin, gasping for breath.
They lock my hands behind my back and lift me up. I try to scream, but my mouth is clogged.
Four muscular men carry me out of my room. I fling my body around and they are forced to drop me in the corridor. I land on the floor with a crack and one of them hits me in the face. I don’t know if it’s on purpose.
It takes fifteen minutes for them to drag me to the elevator. Down in the observation cell, they receive help from a few more guards to lift me up on the restraint bed. The straps tighten around my wrists and ankles. I lie on my back, crying and shaking. I’m back in the counselors’ cabin at confirmation camp. I’m drowning in Robin’s panting breath. The sweat and tears blend together. The inconceivable horror of another person taking control of my body. Another person forcing their way into the innermost parts of me and robbing me of the dignity and right to self-determination I had taken for granted.
Anyone who claims that she would never consider revenge, who firmly believes bloody, violent retaliation can never be justified, has never been subjected to rape. It’s even in the Bible: An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Before Jesus fucked everything up with that part about turning the other cheek.
53
Two days later, it’s new-girl Elsa’s turn to take me to the psychologist.
Elsa smells like vanilla. She seems to have a lot of questions in her head, but is far too professional or shy to say anything.
“Stella.”
Shirine gestures at me to have a seat.
Her small Bambi eyes are full of sympathy and trust. It’s hard to dislike Shirine as much as I’m trying to. She’s the kind of person anyone would have trouble not loving. I really want to hate people like that.
“How was your week?”
“Like an all-inclusive trip to the Canary Islands.”
She quashes a small smile. I look at the things on her desk and my eyes linger on a cute, flowery pencil case.
“I had one just like that in elementary school,” I say.
She puts the pencil case away.
“My daughter picked it out.”
Apparently it’s a sensitive subject.
“So what did you think of this?” she asks about The Catcher in the Rye.
“You said it wouldn’t be as depressing.”
“Was it? It’s been years since I read it. I just remember loving it.”
“Well, he ends up in the psych ward,” I say. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s possible to end up any other way in this sick world. Suicide or the psych ward, there doesn’t seem to be any other way out.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Shirine says. “Life can be pretty simple too. You don’t have to make it so hard.”
I stare at her. Is she suggesting that I have only myself to blame? That Esther Greenwood and Holden Caulfield could have had an easier time and felt better if only they’d made different choices and hadn’t made everything so fucking complicated?