That couldn’t be true. Chris wasn’t violent.
“When was this?” I asked.
“Last winter. Right before Christmas.”
According to Chris, he hadn’t met someone new and ended things until last spring.
“Why didn’t you leave him?” I asked.
“It’s not that simple. I can’t explain it, but it was like he owned me. I was constantly afraid. After he hit me the first time, it just snowballed. Each time I swore to myself that I would never let it happen again. But he … I’ll never forgive myself for staying.”
She squeezed her eyes closed. Were those raindrops or tears on her face? Amina touched my arm gently like an apology of some sort.
Did I have any choice? Whether this was true or not, I couldn’t keep seeing Chris. In fact, it was disturbing that I’d let it go this far. Sure, he was thrilling and sexy and loaded, but enough was enough. I couldn’t take any more drama.
“Did you open the drawer?” Linda asked.
I nodded.
“Chris made me go along with stuff I didn’t actually want to do. He said if I truly loved him I would show it. When I finally dared to put my foot down, he was enraged. He tied my hands behind my back and stuffed a ball gag in my mouth. I could hardly breathe.”
I gasped for breath automatically. Memories struck me like lightning.
“He raped me. I suppose he must have wanted me to resist. That was how he liked it. I realized that then.”
I thought of Chris’s gentle hands in the bathtub at the Grand. The water lapping rhythmically against our bodies. Nothing that Linda said seemed to match the Chris I knew.
“Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“I did, but they closed the investigation. Chris’s mom is a law professor and knows every prosecutor and judge in this country. Chris is a successful entrepreneur and a millionaire. Why would anyone believe me?”
“When did you file the police report?” I asked.
Linda shifted side to side.
“In April.”
“After you left him?” Amina asked.
Linda nodded.
“After you left him?” I said. “Or was it the other way around?”
She closed her eyes for a brief moment and dried her cheek.
“The other way around,” she said quietly.
I spat on the sidewalk. Ahead of me, another bus pulled up and a woman with a suitcase jumped aside as the water splashed over the sidewalk.
“That’s my bus,” I said, running after it.
70
I stretch out on the bed in my cell and stare at a stain on the ceiling until it starts to grow and come to life and float into an optical illusion of blurry colors and patterns.
I think about Chris. Maybe there is something to Shirine’s chatter about brain chemistry and emotions and the need for stimulus. But does that mean I shouldn’t blame myself? In the end, I suppose everyone has to take responsibility for their own actions. Dopamine and serotonin and adrenaline can never be held accountable. Extenuating circumstances? I don’t know.
I knew who Chris Olsen was. At least I should have.
Impulses and feelings only exist for a moment. I’ve always thought that love is different, a choice you make. A crush flames up and fades out. Jeez, I fall in love, like, ten times a day on any given random Tuesday in October. But I didn’t choose to fall for Chris. Or did I? Was I even capable of choosing?
Why does my stomach hurt when I think about it?
Everything comes back around. Confusion and disgust.
Betrayal.
When I think about Amina, it’s like my skin starts to split. The sorrow and guilt swell up and give me total motion sickness.
I think about Esther Greenwood and Holden Caulfield. Is it even possible to survive this life with reason intact?
I’m not at all prepared when Shirine shows up. I fly to the edge of the bed and hide my tears behind my hands.
“What is it?” she asks, putting her leather briefcase down on the desk.
“Nothing,” I mumble. “Just tired.”
She bends down and places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
I slowly turn my face up toward her and let the tears come.
71
On Friday, Amina and I split a kebab platter on the sofa, even though Mom and Dad had made me promise only to eat in the kitchen or at the dining room table.
“Don’t disappoint your father” was the last thing Mom said before they left.
Story of my life, in some ways.
“I can’t believe you inflicted that psycho on me,” I said, glaring at Amina.
“What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t get rid of her.”