“CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!”
I hear my brothers chanting as Skyler and I race to see who finishes our beer first, which is ridiculous, really, because she’s a tiny little peanut compared to me. It’s kind of comical watching her throw down when she’s dressed to the nines, beer dripping down her chin and landing on the large gold necklace she’s paired with her burgundy dress. In the end, I finish first, wiping my mouth with the back of my wrist and joining in with my brothers chanting as she finishes.
She’s just as smiley as she would have been had she won, holding up her empty glass in victory as her sisters cheer. Then she grabs my hand, pulling me back out onto the dance floor.
Everything is back to normal now that I finally manned up and apologized to Skyler. She deserved it way earlier than it happened, but thankfully she’d still accepted. Once I talked to my baby brother and heard the whole story from him, I knew I was being an ass — hell, I knew it before then — but it helped me clear my mind enough to realize I was in the wrong.
So, I booked a flight home in a little over a week for winter break to stay at Mac’s place and help Clayton find a job, or at least some way to earn some extra cash. I also made it clear that next time he was worried about money, I wanted him to come to me — even if he felt like I was busy or he didn’t want to bother me. Then, I got my brothers together and made a plan to apologize to Skyler.
The semester hasn’t exactly been the best for me, with Omega Chi being on probation and the fight with Skyler, but I finally feel like everything is falling back into place. We still get to recruit new members in the spring, which means we’ll all be busy when we get back to campus. Add in the facts that I get to spend a few weeks with my brother and Skyler and I are good again, and I’m finding plenty to be thankful for.
Skyler starts the cabbage patch when the DJ spins a disco track and I follow suit, pointing one finger up into the air before crossing it over my hip to point down and back up again. Jess and Ashlei join us, along with Greg and a few of my other brothers, and we make a dance circle, taking turns doing ridiculous dance moves in the middle to a crowd of cheers.
When a slow song comes on, most of the floor clears, making way for couples. Jess and Greg stay on the floor while Ashlei, Skyler, and I make our way back to our table.
“I’m going to run to the restroom,” Skyler says, pointing over her shoulder. “Grab us fresh beers and meet back here?”
“On it.”
She skips off with Ashlei’s arm linked in hers and I head toward the bar at the far end of the ballroom.
Semi-formal is always a little more casual than Formal held in the spring, but everyone still dresses up, and the setting is always some sort of fancy hotel or venue with a ballroom. This one also has a garden, one that connects to the back end of the ballroom where one of the bars is, and when I glance out the door as I wait in line and spot Erin sitting alone on one of the benches, I frown.
Abandoning my spot in line, I dip through the glass double doors, the heat of the night hitting me as soon as they close behind me. It may be December, but it’s still South Florida, and there’s a thin sheen of sweat gathering on the back of Erin’s slender neck as she stares down at her lap, rolling something over and over in her hands.
It’s just the two of us outside — probably because ties and tight dresses already make you sweat enough without adding humidity to them — so I take the open seat next to her on the detailed metal bench.
For a moment I let my eyes roam the garden, taking in the low-hanging trees and wide array of bright flowers. There are a few bird baths, too — the water gently running from each of them serving as the only soundtrack as I try to think of what to say to her. Erin and I haven’t spoken since the night of her birthday, and she made it pretty clear that she didn’t want my help… or maybe even my friendship. But I can’t just walk away from her, not when she’s hurting — even if she denies that she is.
“My mom used to have a garden,” I say finally, my voice soft and low. “When I was younger. Maybe like five or six or so? Before the drugs became more important to her than anything else.”
Erin pauses rolling whatever it is she’s holding and clasps her hands over it tight, listening.
“I would help her sometimes. She didn’t grow flowers as much as like vegetables and stuff. I remember we had fresh tomatoes in our dinners almost every night — in a salad, on a sandwich, mashed up into chili — whatever.” I shake my head. “The garden just turned into a dried-up mess of weeds after she got into drugs, though.”
“I’m sorry,” Erin whispers.
“It’s okay. I really don’t think about her much, honestly. But something about this garden struck that memory, I guess.”
Erin nods and I finally look down at her, taking in the soft shape of her face, the rosy tint of her cheeks, the long slender slope of her nose. She’s always had such a classy and regal look about her, which fits perfectly with the all-black pantsuit she’s wearing tonight. It’s cut deep in the front, right between her chest, but tastefully so, and the back is open, too. Something tells me she decided to wear pants instead of a dress for a reason, a statement of sorts, even if she’s the only one she’s making it for.
“You look gorgeous tonight, Erin,” I say, still watching her.
“Thank you.”
I pause, waiting to see if she’ll talk, but when she doesn’t, I try for humor. “What? Not going to compliment me on my dope threads?” I pull at the cuffs of the gray, black and white plaid jacket I paired with an all-black dress shirt and forest green dress slacks, popping my collar with a grin.
Erin eyes me, a soft smile cracking at the edges of her lips. “It’s a wonder what wearing something other than basketball shorts can do.”
“I think there was a compliment in there somewhere.”
She smiles a little more but it drops from her face too quickly, reminding me that she’s still a sad girl sitting alone on a bench at her Semi-formal.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask, nudging her gently.
Erin shakes her head, fists closed tight around the object of her hand. “Did you hear about Landon’s car?”
My fists clench just at the mention of his name. “Yeah. Fucker deserved it.”
“I did it,” she says quickly, lifting her eyes to look at mine for just a split second before focusing on her hands again. “I thought it would make me feel better, to get some sort of revenge.” She shrugs. “But it just made me feel worse. Because there’s absolutely nothing I could ever do to him that would be as horrible as what he did to me.”
It’s like a fiery arrow is shot straight into my chest at her words and I reach my hand out, grazing her lower back just enough to let her know I’m here. “You could press charges.”
She scoffs. “Don’t, Bear.”
I know her stance on it already — that she feels like it doesn’t matter what she says or does, he’ll get away with it. She was drunk, they’ll say she was “asking for it.” And even if they did give him jail time or anything else, it wouldn’t make her feel better, and then she’d just be the poor girl who was raped. These are all things she’s told me multiple times since that night, but I hate hearing them, hate that she believes them… hate that in many ways, she’s right. Our justice system doesn’t seek much justice for rape victims, not the way it should.
Erin laughs a little. “And then, to add insult to injury, I was walking by the Student Union earlier and this perky little sophomore on the Orientation Team stops me, telling me that they’re fighting back against sexual assault on campus. And she hands me this,” she says, opening her hand and holding up a small, teal and orange whistle — PSU’s school colors. “‘It’s a rape whistle,’ she said.” Erin laughs again. “Like this will save anyone. Like this will make it stop.”
Suddenly, Erin pops the whistle in her mouth and starts blowing it, loud shrieks piercing the otherwise quiet night around us. She blows it over and over again, her eyes welling with tears, face red when I finally take her in my arms and hold her tight to my chest.
She keeps blowing it, and to drive her point home further, no one inside the ballroom even looks our way. She might as well be whispering.
Finally, the whistle falls from her mouth and she catches it in her hands, choking on a sob as she leans into my chest.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, running my hand over her hair as I hold her tighter. “I’m so sorry, Erin.”
She lets me hold her for a short minute before she’s shoving me off, wiping at her face like she’s stupid for crying. “Whatever. I was just making a point. Even if I would have had this,” she spits, holding up the whistle again. “This stupid thing, I would have maybe been able to blow it twice before it would have been ripped from my mouth. And that’s if I could even manage to get it out of my clutch. And, even if I did, no one would have heard me.”
“I was too late,” I say, fists clenching at my side again. “I should have known something was off. I should have found you earlier.”
“How would you have known?” she challenges, looking at me again. “The door was shut. The music in the ballroom was loud. There’s nothing you could have done.” She hiccups, wiping at her face again. “There’s nothing anyone could have done, other than Landon and his friends.” Her face twists. “I don’t even know their names.”
I reach for her again but she pulls away, standing.
“You need to talk to someone, Erin.”
“I’m fine.”
“Clearly,” I deadpan. “You’re going to break if you don’t get this off your chest and start working through it.”
She laughs, eyes brimming over again. “I’m already fucking broken.”
“You’re not broken, but you are losing yourself.”
“Yeah?” she asks, patronizing me. “Well, maybe I’ll like the new girl I find. Maybe she’ll be stronger and not take any shit.”
“Or maybe she’ll be a cold shell of the amazing girl I used to know. And dead inside,” I counter.
Erin’s eyes catch mine then, her face as smooth as stone. “Better to be dead inside than live with this pain anymore.”
My heart is too broken to say another word before she turns, tucking the whistle into her clutch and walking back inside the ballroom.