Since Becky had moved to Vermont to attend the University of Vermont four years earlier, a few changes had taken place. After her first year of college, she switched her major from Marine Biology to Drama. There was always a special place in her heart for dolphins, something practically anyone who was born and raised in Florida had instilled in them from birth, but somebody else was going to have to save them. There was something about being involved in performances and producing art that lit a fire within Becky. She was twenty-two, after all. If there was any time for a young woman to chase something that lit a fire within her, it was now.
The next big change that Becky had made was that she became much more open to trying new things. She had initially dipped her toe in, cutting her hair to her shoulders at one point and sporting clothes that weren't pastel and church-appropriate, but eventually she had gotten pretty comfortable in her own style. Her hair was long and golden once again now, but instead of the prim straightened look that she had sported through high school, Becky now tousled her hair into loose waves and allowed her naturally dark roots to grow out and contrast against her dark blonde hair. She wore slightly more makeup, but nothing that would cause a complete pushback by her still extremely strict Baptist parents. Her clothes stayed appropriate for the most part. She was still raised by her father after all, and the warnings of what people would think if Becky wore anything too promiscuous echoed through her head every time she wore shorts that were a bit too short or a top that exposed too much of her chest.
One thing that the Becky Baker who attended Degrassi and spent way more time than she was proud of in retrospect judging people who indulged in things that were considered sinful could've ever expected was that the older, college version of Becky would attend parties that got a little wild. Of course, she refused to go anywhere that was serving alcohol to minors, and she didn't go to any parties that served alcohol until she was twenty one and she never stayed at a party if she witnessed drug use, but college parties were college parties. And Becky Baker took part in a party or two.
Tonight was the first party that Becky had attended since she graduated from the University of Vermont. The four years that she had spent in school held a lot of good memories, and this was a chance to remember those memories one last time before she moved forward and begun her search for what she was to do with her life next.
In the years that she had been attending parties, she never stuck around when she got a bad feeling. But tonight, for some reason, she did. She tried to reflect, but the memory was far too painful. She had set a drink limit for herself initially, but celebrating her graduation from college along with, admittedly, a wish to sort of forget the worries about the future that were plaguing Becky's brain caused her to drink much more than she planned.
The boy that Becky had basically attached herself to, a blond named Matthew, was on top of her when she groggily opened her eyes after a completely undetermined amount of time where Becky's consciousness had completely become…well, unconscious. She felt little control over her body as the man on top of her completely violated her. She had listened through countless statistics that had said that one in four women experienced something like this, but there was nothing that could have prepared her for something like this.
The second the memory of that moment escalating entered Becky's brain once again, she felt herself begin to spiral. These thoughts that had been consuming Becky's brain were swirling around as she sat on a curb outside of the house where the crime had just taken place waiting for an Uber. This whole moment just felt so absurd. Something so monumental had just happened to her, yet she was just sitting on a curb waiting for a dark green SVU to pull up and carry her back to her half-empty apartment. Her roommate, Coralie, had moved out a week earlier. Becky was supposed to stay home and pack her things instead of going to the party that she was currently still in the vicinity of, but she decided she wanted a little fun instead. If only the Becky who existed a few hours ago knew what Becky knew in this moment.
The car that Becky was watching out for, the Uber that was going to take a young woman who already felt the most isolated someone could possibly feel, and drop her off to sit in an empty apartment and reflect on the worst experience of her life. Every ounce of optimism and cheerfulness that had defined Becky's nature for most of her life felt like it was being squeezed out of her like a soaked sponge.
She gathered her things and got into the car, avoiding contact with the driver. This was so completely unlike Becky. She used Uber quite often since she didn't have a car in Vermont, so she had pretty much gotten a reputation around her moderately small college town for practically being the friendliest passenger ever. Becky didn't have five stars for no reason. But tonight, she had no interest in speaking. Not to whoever was driving her to her isolation den, not to anyone. She was an island tonight.
"They say nothing good happens after 2am." The driver broke the silence as he started the route to Becky's destination. Becky pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at the clock. It was 2:39 in the morning. If that really was a phrase, well… she wasn't sure of the time frame, but she was pretty sure what happened to her in the drunken haze that left parts of her body sore she hadn't consented to being sore and bruises on her arms had happened before 2 in the morning. Maybe nothing good happened to anyone who drank too much and left themselves vulnerable to get taken advantage. Becky tried to convince herself that she wasn't at fault, after all, she had always held the belief that victims were never at fault no matter the circumstances, but something was different when you were the victim. No matter how she tried to silently rationalize things, she still came out feeling like she could've done something different at some point in the evening.
The pit in her stomach felt bottomless as she lost herself in self hatred and blame. She knew she was supposed to answer the driver, that'd be the polite thing to do, but she wasn't sure if she could.
Resting her head against the cool car window, Becky's eyes glued themselves to the road buzzing beneath and around her. Everything was a blur, both literally and metaphorically. And everything felt like it was going way too fast. Her lips parted slowly to speak, hoping that her brain would come up with some sort of response that resembled something polite and friendly - the normal output from Becky Baker, but nothing but exasperated breath exited her mouth.
The driver's fingers reached from the steering wheel toward the radio's volume dial to completely mute the noise that the radio was producing. Great, Becky thought. This driver was the type that wasn't going to leave Becky alone to sulk in silence.
"You alright, miss?" The driver went for a light prod. There was a small part inside of Becky that was trying to claw its way up to Becky's voice box, begging to assume a speaking role like an angered protester reaching for a megaphone. "You don't look like you feel too good." He said, worried.
Becky's attention was suddenly called toward the driver. He resembled someone Becky knew. Or… used to know. Without intention, she caught herself staring at the cropped reflection in the rearview mirror. The mirror had a thin black frame which perfectly sectioned off a fraction of the drivers' face for Becky to observe. For some reason, the concept of fate suddenly crept its toe into Becky's consciousness.
Her own blue eyes squinted as she studied the blue eyes that were reflected in the mirror. The eyes were focused on the road, but they kept flicking back and forth, stopping to check on Becky every time the road didn't require too much attention. The driver's eyebrows were thin and light, contrasting his short, dark hair that was mostly contained by a loose beanie.
It clicked in Becky's brain the third time she made eye contact with the man whose question was still hanging in the air… He looked like Adam. Of all nights, why would Becky run into someone who made her veins run cold from how much he reminded her of her dead first love? Why would a stranger who could be mistaken for the first boy who broke Becky's heart if you were looking at him from a far distance show up in Becky's life tonight? This felt like a sign from God. For some reason, something inside Becky willed her to speak.
"I'm not okay." She forced out. Becky loved indulging in conversations with strangers, but she didn't usually share her dark or negative thoughts with them. Thoughts like these were usually reserved only for the most trusted people in Becky's life - and God. "Something really bad happened to me. Something I never thought could happen to me… I just want to go back in time and stay home tonight." Becky's voice wavered, tears threatening to escape and run down Becky's cheeks. "And I don't even know where to go."
"Well, you put in an address that I'm assuming is your apartment, but if you don't want to go there…" The driver's hand reached toward his phone, which was mounted with an app that gave directions. He pulled something up on his phone and Becky looked over curiously. She usually didn't snoop, but after she just bared her soul, she felt like the concept of normal boundaries was thrown to the wind. The text on the screen said 'Cancel ride?', and the driver pressed 'yes'.
"I didn't ask you to do that." Becky said. "I know. We're going to drive around and I don't want to max out your credit card, no matter how much I could use the extra money." The driver said, pulling his phone off of the mount and handing it back to Becky. "Put on music that you like. I have Spotify."
Under any other circumstances, a stranger taking away the only thing tracking where they were going with Becky in a vehicle moving at a fast speed would immediately set off every alarm in every cell of Becky's body. In fact, earlier in the night the fact that she had ignored red flags and signs that she should have escaped a situation was the reason she was sitting here holding a stranger's phone with shaky hands and tears that had rolled from under her eyes to her lips, filling her mouth with a salty taste. She would have a hard time defending it if anyone were to press her on it, but her gut was saying that this person was sent to her from God, and she honestly needed an angel right now. The resemblance to a particular Adam Torres wasn't exactly helping her abstain from her endearment.
Becky opened up the Spotify app and scrolled through the musical history of this guy. In the corner of the screen it said his name: Grayson. Now she knew a little bit of information about the guy who very well could be driving her to a murder lair or wherever serial killers took their victims when they stupidly stuck around after things were far from safe. His musical tastes were almost similar to music that Becky listened to. Mostly optimistic pop music that was more on the girly side. Again, the concept of fate penetrated her brain.
She finally settled on an album that she hadn't quite heard. 'Rainbow' by Kesha. The pressure of picking music was creeping up on Becky so she clicked the section of the screen that indicated shuffling the music and hurriedly handed the phone back to her driver, who she now knew she could refer to as Grayson.
A song called 'Spaceship' played through the speakers quietly and she listened to the lyrics quietly. The urge that had overtaken her small body to spill her guts to the driver had mostly passed. She just wanted to listen for a minute. Turn off her brain and just… Listen. As the melancholy and beautiful music played, Becky's dark blue eyes brewed up a storm of tears, weighing on her eyes like a dark cloud ready to precipitate. The lyrics detailed a feeling of loss that was repurposed into hope. A detail of feeling like an escape is necessary and a belief that things will change was wrapped up in a metaphor about a spaceship returning. Never in her life had Becky felt herself so attached to lyrics in a song that she had never heard. Every single word that was sung over the low-key track populated by plucking instruments and a symphony of dream-like harmonies resonated deeply with Becky. Inspiration and aspiration both rose up in Becky as the song continued and Grayson's eyes darted between the lowly illuminated road and Becky.
"Drive me to the airport. I'm going home." Becky decided out loud before her brain even had a chance to debate it.