A/N: This is the mini-sequel/extended epilogue to my fanfic Dirty Game. If you haven't read it, I highly suggest you do before continuing on to Clean Slate. Like DG, this story will touch on mature themes (trigger warning: mentions of sexual assault, rape). Please proceed with caution. The second part will be coming soon. Hope you enjoy!
Clean Slate
"If you desire healing,
let yourself fall ill
let yourself fall ill."
- Rumi
++ PART ONE
Snow had just begun to fall by the time the train from Garrison, New York pulled into Grand Central station. With the holiday season underway, traffic in and out of the city was reaching new heights. Today, just like every other day in the past week, families had piled out of the train car to look at the Saks Fifth window displays and take pictures in front of the Rockefeller Christmas tree.
In the third train car, tucked away from the holiday cheer, a dark-haired man in his early twenties was fast asleep. He was wearing a gray cadet uniform and clutching a backpack to his chest.
"Sir," an MTA agent came over and tapped him on the arm. "We've arrived at Grand Central Terminal. I'm gonna have to ask you to disembark."
The young man awoke with a jolt. He sat up straight and rubbed his eyes furiously, as though trying to shake off the remnants of a bad dream.
"Yeah, uh, sorry," he told the agent. "I'll be right out."
He exited the train and found himself on the crowded concourse. He had been to New York City several times, but Grand Central's ceiling never ceased to amaze him. He stared up at the celestial designs, so taken by the constellations of Orion and Pisces that he hardly noticed the young woman come up behind him.
"Hey there, stranger."
The man turned and looked at her in surprise. "Arianna!" he exclaimed and embraced her. She had aged marvelously well over the past few years. Her face was narrower and she was beautiful, despite hardly wearing any makeup. She had cut her hair, now sporting a chic shoulder length bob. Peaking out from under her black pea coat, Ralph could make out the ARN part of BARNARD that was marked on her fitted crewneck sweater. Under which, she wore a neatly pressed white button down – still pristine and put together, even after all this time.
"Ralph," she sighed, returning the hug. "It's good to see you."
Arianna was the only person Ralph had kept in touch with after the island. They didn't see or even speak to each other all that often. But every now and then, after a particularly bad nightmare, he found himself calling her in the middle of the night. There were plenty of people he could talk to – his mother, his friends from school. But none of them would ever completely understand. Not like Arianna.
"You look good," he told her. He meant it. Arianna, despite everything that happened, was stronger and even more stunning than ever before.
"You too, soldier," she joked, sending him a small wink. Around them, Ralph was suddenly aware of the double glances from onlookers who were impressed by his cadet uniform.
He rubbed his neck, blushing. "Sorry, it takes a while to get here from West Point so I didn't have time to change," he rushed to explain. "I have some extra clothes in my backpack, if you want me to–"
"Relax, I was only teasing," Arianna said, linking her arm through his. "You're lucky you have me to save you from the lions." She nudged her head toward to twittering teenage girls who were standing about a yard away, waiting for their train with their mothers. They kept glancing at Ralph shyly and giggling to each other behind their hands.
Ralph looked away, embarrassed. "Oh. Yeah, I suppose that's a good thing. Where did you say we were eating again?" he said, eager to get out of there.
"There's a place that I really like a few blocks away from my place, if you're in the mood for greasy bacon and diner coffee," Arianna offered. "Do you mind going uptown?"
"No, no, all that sounds amazing."
Ralph listened to Arianna chat the entire subway ride to Morningside Heights. She talked about her classes and the friends she was making. She even complained about her roommate ad nauseam, just like any normal college student would. Ralph listened, contributed to the conversation, and was genuinely happy for the life she was making for herself in New York City. However, it kind of unnerved him – how well adjusted she seemed now, compared to those times when she had called him, sobbing, over the years.
The topic of Arianna's roommate carried them through the time it took to get seated at the diner and order food (for Ralph, a burger; for Arianna, a Greek omelet). Then they had moved on to movies and music. By the time they had both moved on to their second cups of coffee, it became evident that they had exhausted all shallow conversation and it was time to wade into trickier waters: the island.
"So," Ralph cleared his throat as he stirred sugar into his coffee. "Why not stay in California? Why Barnard?"
"It's nice, to be at an all-girls school," she went on. "I'm fine being with men, I mean, obviously." She made sure to reach over and give Ralph's hand a reassuring squeeze. "But after that whole ordeal, it's feels safer to be surrounded by other women."
"Yes, that's completely understandable," Ralph said, squeezing her hand back. He didn't even realize that he had held it much longer than he intended to.
"It's New York, of course. And, well, I don't know," Arianna shrugged. "California is great. I just needed to get away from it all. The sun, the ocean, the palm trees…" Her voice drifted off. Both of them were thinking of another beach, miles and miles away. "You know," she admitted. "It took me months before I could walk on sand again."
"I know," he answered. "Sometimes, I still see them. The bodies…" He shuddered before finishing his thought.
Arianna changed the subject before either of them could dwell on the image. "And you?" she asked. "Why West Point? I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you still decided to continue with military school, but I am."
"It's all I've ever known, really. I came from a military family. This is the only thing I could see myself doing with my life," Ralph answered. "Well, I suppose your father would be proud of me, being the Dean of the Academy and all."
At the mention of her father, Arianna squirmed. "Yes, Daddy would be very proud. But he's not the Dean anymore. Retired ages ago."
"Oh?" Ralph's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You never told me that."
She stared at her coffee. "I suppose I didn't… He took it hard, you know. Everything that happened to us. He still blames himself for putting us on that plane." Then she let out a short, sardonic laugh. "I swear, he sees a therapist more often than I do."
Ralph also laughed, taking a bite out of his burger to hide his discomfort. He couldn't imagine a man like Dean Lovejoy losing it like that. But then he remembered how he had been the first time he had seen them just after they were rescued. He had been a mess. They all were.
Five years earlier
Warren B. Lovejoy burst through the doors of the hospital. He had received the call three hours ago and had been on the road since. The normally reserved Dean of the most prestigious military academy in the country was positively hysterical.
"My daughter," he yelled to the first nurse he could find. He was breathless and his hands were shaking. "Please, she was on the island. I need to see her–"
The nurse glanced at her clipboard. "As yes, Arianna Lovejoy–"
"Yes," he snapped impatiently. "The only girl who was on that plane. Where is she? Which room?"
Looking between the clipboard and Lovejoy, the nurse hesitated. She looked over his shoulder at her superior for backup.
The superior, a stern-looking woman with graying hair, approached Lovejoy. "Sir, my name is Natasha and I'm the Nurse Manager of this unit. If you follow me, please, I'll take you to your daughter."
Lovejoy looked as though he were about to fall over himself in gratitude. "Thank you," he said as he followed her down the brightly lit hallway. "Thank you. Thank you." As Natasha led him down the ward, he continued to ask her the questions of a worried parent. "Is she ill? Did she catch some kind of tropical disease while she was over there? Was she starving?"
"No, Mr. Lovejoy, your daughter has not contracted any disease. Like the others, she has lost some weight but nothing that a few weeks on a nutritionally-fortified diet can't fix."
Lovejoy breathed out a sigh of relief. "That was a concern with the other parents," he rushed to elaborate. "I've been meeting with them these past few weeks, as we were organizing the search."
"Yes, sir. I've been speaking with all the parents as they arrive." Natasha stopped at the edge of the hallway. She gestured down the hall and said, "Your daughter's room is down that way. She's resting."
"That's good, I'll just –" Lovejoy made to move down the hallway, but the nurse quickly held out her arm to stop him.
"Mr. Lovejoy, if I could just speak with you before you go in," Natasha said, her voice grave.
His face paled, as he feared the worst. "What is it?" he demanded.
"There is no easy way to say this, but your daughter has been through a lot," she started to explain. "I've talked with her briefly about it, and I can tell that she's a fighter. With some time, and some medical attention, I'm confident that she'll make a full recovery."
"What?" A million questions came to Lovejoy's mind. "Has she been hurt? Will she lose an arm? Well? What is it?"
"Your daughter has sustained some minor physical injuries. Bruises, small lacerations." Natasha glanced into the hospital room and said, after a cautious pause, "These injuries are consistent with sexual assault. Do you understand?"
It took a while for the words to sink in. "Sexual assault," Lovejoy repeated, dumbstruck. Tears sprung to the corner of his eyes. "But… but…" he struggled. "But how? Who?"
Natasha pursed her lips, knowing that what she was about to say could very well kill him. She lowered her voice and told him, gently, "While she was on the island, Mr. Lovejoy. By one of your students."
Warren Lovejoy felt his blood run cold. It was as though alarm bells were wringing in his ears. "No," he muttered in disbelief. "No, it can't be."
He forced his way into the hospital room. Natasha ran after him, saying, "Sir, if you would please calm down so as to not disturb the patient…"
But he was no longer listening. His eyes locked onto Arianna who was fast asleep on the cot. He threw himself on his knees beside her, the tears falling freely down his face.
"My little girl," he wept. "My little girl." He reached for her hand and saw that her arm was hooked up to an IV. She looked so thin and weak and tiny in her hospital gown. Then he saw it: the bruises in the shape of fingertips all over her neck. "No," he choked, the sobs wracking through his body. "No, no, not my little girl."
In the cot, Arianna began to stir. She opened her eyes slowly. She was still drowsy from the medication when she whispered "Daddy?"
"Yes, darling, I'm here," he cooed through his sobs. "My angel… Good lord, who did this to you?"
Arianna opened her mouth to speak, but the medicine quickly pulled her back under. She drifted once more to sleep.
"No…" Lovejoy resisted the urge to shake her awake. He got back to his feet and exited the hospital room, roughly rubbing the tears from his eyes.
Outside, Natasha was waiting. "Mr. Lovejoy, I can't imagine how hard this must be for you, but right now, your daughter needs–"
He cut her off, "Which one of those bastards did it? I bet you know, don't you?"
Natasha looked horrified at the accusation. "No, sir, please, if you could just calm down for a minute. You're not thinking clearly–"
Lovejoy continued to storm down the hallway, looking for the others. Natasha rushed after him, pleading for him to stop. "I bet it was Merridew," he raved to himself. "I've seen the way he looks at her. I'm gonna kill that kid."
Following the rumble of the crowd, Lovejoy found his way to the open ward where the hospital was keeping the rest of the boys.
"Dean Lovejoy!" a surprised voice exclaimed. It was one of the mothers with whom he had been working the past several weeks to find the kids. At the moment, Lovejoy was too outraged to even remember her name. He pushed past her, his eyes scanning the ward for the target of his anger. He spotted him towards the back; fresh from a bath and also dressed in a hospital robe, that head of blond hair was unmistakable.
"Merridew!" he roared, storming in his direction.
The rest of the ward went silent.
A man with striking resemblance to Jack stood up and introduced himself to Lovejoy as Jack's father. "Dean Lovejoy, it is truly great to see it again." He reached out a hand, even tried to be friendly and make a joke. "Although, I do wish it had been under better circumstances."
Lovejoy shoved him out of the way in order to face Jack. "It was you wasn't it?" he growled.
Perched next to him on the hospital bed, Jack's stepmother drew her arm around him, looking horrified. "Dean Lovejoy, please, after all he's been through–"
"And what about my daughter? Huh? What about her?" he screamed, looking Jack straight in the eye. He pointed a damning finger at him. "It was you. I know it was you!"
Natasha had caught up to Lovejoy. She implored him, breathlessly, "Sir, for the last time, come with me or I'm calling security."
"Answer me!" Lovejoy roared, ignoring Natasha completely.
On the cot, Jack was frozen in fright. He didn't dare say a word.
Behind him, the security guards appeared and began to drag him a way while the crowd of parents and children watched. "No! No!" he tried to shake them off. By the time they forced him to the ground, he was crying violently. "He raped my daughter!" Lovejoy wailed. "He raped my daughter!"
He kept screaming this phrase as they dragged him out of the ward. Behind him, a petrified silence.
"Son," Jack's dad finally whispered, as though he were already dreading the answer. "Is it true?"
The boy couldn't bring himself to answer. He made eye contact with Roger, who was staring blankly at him from the cot on the other side of the room. For the second time that day, Jack began to weep.
"I'm sorry," he sobbed into his stepmother's shoulder. "I'm so fucking sorry."
All around, mothers and fathers held their children close, careful to divert their eyes.
Back in the diner, Ralph was still thinking about Dean Lovejoy. "I remember seeing him at the hospital. He was a wreck," he said, thinking back to the sight of the security guards drag him out of the ward. It had been a heart-wrenching sight, to see a grown man break down like that. Years later, Lovejoy's voice continued to haunt him: he raped my daughter! He raped my daughter!
"Well," Arianna cleared her throat. "Still kind of is actually." She shifted a bit in her seat, before admitting, "We don't really talk all that much anymore. It had all been touch much, with the publicity and the investigation. It really put a strain on our relationship."
"Yeah, that time really sucked," Ralph said. He also had an awful time for at least a year after the news broke. Tabloids everywhere reporting on the group of school kids who had been found on a previously uninhabited island. For a time, Ralph recognized his own face on the magazines covers by the checkout counters. He had started to go out wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.
What had originally started as a heartwarming segment on the Today Show quickly turned into media frenzy. How could they resist? Every tabloid published vicious rumors of cannibalism, of Dionysian rites, a maddening descent into primitivism. That, of course, had not been that far from the truth. But Ralph preferred to not be constantly reminded of it each time he turned on daytime television.
Along with Lovejoy and some of the other families, Ralph's parents had hired a press agent to keep them out of the news as long as possible. The fact that they had all been minors helped, for it was still considered ill faith to slander children. Once the journalists had gotten word about Arianna's presence on the island, however, they started speculating. What was the daughter of the dean of the military academy doing on the island, and what exactly had happened to her while she was there?
"I didn't leave the house for at least three months," Arianna sighed. "It would have all just died down if I had just waited it out for a few weeks. But no, I just had to make an official statement."
Ralph had also made his own statement. He had testified to witnessing the murderers of Simon and Piggy (whose real name turned out to be Patrick, something he always regretting not asking while he had been alive). Poor Arianna had been forced to give, in excruciating detail, an account of everything Jack and Roger had done to her. Ralph had been in the room when she had been questioned. How many times did you have intercourse? Was that before or after you had consensual intercourse? Did you have a relationship with the subject before the alleged incident? By the way they had been asking the questions, you would have thought that Arianna had been the perpetrator not the victim!
The details of the investigation were never disclosed, but once word got around that it had been underway, the rumors once again circulated. Each time an article was published, the rumors took an even uglier form. People all around the world had some kind of opinion about what they thought had happened. Even after they had escaped the island, the children had to go to battle in order to get through the American news cycle unscathed.
"I wonder where they are now," Ralph thought out loud.
"Not in jail, obviously," Arianna scoffed.
Ralph grimaced. They were talking about Jack and Roger.
The investigation, the hours of interviews, the return trips to the island by the detective teams to retrieve evidence, turned out to be all for nothing. It turned out as they had all been minors, and the uninhabited island had no laws, technically no punishable crime had taken place.
"An absolute tragedy, what you kids had to go through," one of their lawyers had explained to them. "But unfortunately, that's human nature." With that, Jack and Roger walked free and the investigation was scrapped.
"But we're still here," Ralph offered. "Eating together, in a Manhattan diner of all places, after five years."
"Five fucking years…" Arianna murmured, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Cheers to that." She raised her coffee mug, and Ralph did the same. They had been done eating for hours, just sitting at the same booth. Outside the window, the snow had continued to fall even harder. It was starting to look like an actual blizzard.
Ralph let out a low whistle. "I don't know if I'll be able to make it back to West Point through all of that."
Arianna paused. She cocked her head to the side, smiling wryly. "I have some beer at my place, just a few blocks from here." Then realizing how that might be interpreted, she quickly added, "My roommate's at her parents' place for the weekend. Worse comes to worse you can always take her bed."
In the snow-covered streets, the wind started to howl. It was a tempting proposition. "I'd love to," he accepted.
After paying for the meal, they trudged out into the blizzard. The wind was so strong that Ralph found himself putting an arm around Arianna to keep her from blowing away. He couldn't deny the chemistry he now felt between them. They had both survived they island. They understood each other's demons.
I will keep you warm, he found himself vowing to her in his head. I will keep you safe. I won't let you blow away.
"Here we are," Arianna said, leading him until her building. Ralph followed her up the winding staircase to her apartment on the third floor, and watched as she unlocked the door. "It's not much," she said as she unwound the scarf from her neck and hung up her coat. "But for New York, the rent is fairly cheap."
Ralph looked around her apartment as he unzipped his jacket. It was small, with a tiny kitchen and an even tinier common area. He poked his head into the doorway on the right and saw Arianna's bedroom, which had to be the size of a closet. While he was taking his shoes, Arianna was going around and lighting candles and piling up books and throwing dirty clothes into the laundry basket.
"No, it's nice," Ralph smiled. The heat was on full blast and the white walls looked yellow in the candlelight. "It's really cozy."
"It is, isn't it?" Arianna smiled back. She gestured to her bed, as there wasn't any room in her apartment for a couch. "Have a seat and I'll bring you a drink. Beer? Wine?"
"Beer, please," Ralph said as he sunk down onto her twin bed. Unlike other college girls, Arianna didn't have any pictures hanging up with her family or her friends. The walls of her bedroom were mostly blank, except for a print of Monet's water lilies and a map of the world – one of those maps where you can scratch off where you've been. Except for parts of North America, the map was mostly empty.
Arianna walked into the room and saw Ralph looking. "I've been wanting to travel for a while now. There's just that thing with the planes," she explained.
"Right," Ralph nodded. "Planes." He himself had only been on a plane twice since the island, and he nearly had hyperventilated each time.
"One day, I suppose," she sighed, glancing at the map wistfully. Then she handed Ralph a bottle of Sam Adams. For herself, she had poured a glass of merlot. Ralph made room for her on the bed and she sat down cross-legged beside him. They sipped their drinks for several moments in companionable silence.
"Five years," Ralph finally said, staring into his lap.
"I know." Arianna reached over to rest her hand over his.
He looked over at her, and realized how close she was leaning into him. Was he imagining this? No, he couldn't be. He felt his mouth go dry.
All of a sudden, it was like they were on that beach again. Right after they had made a run for their lives. He could hear the helicopter propeller in the distance. He could taste the sea breeze.
"You're the only one," he whispered, his voice cracking. "The only one…"
His shoulders began to shake. He broke down.
"Oh, Ralph!"
Arianna wrapped her arms around him and allowed him to cry into her chest as long as he needed. Ralph knew that he would be embarrassed about this later, but he couldn't help himself. Arianna knew. She knew all the things that he couldn't bring himself to explain to his mother. To Heather, a girl he had dated for an entire year. Arianna knew and he didn't have to say a thing. He needed her.
After a few minutes, when Ralph's sobs quieted, Arianna drew back to hold his face in her hands. "You're okay," she said gently. "You're alive. You're here." She shifted her weight and, involuntarily, Ralph's hand shot up to grab hers, holding it to her cheek. Their dark eyes met. The bond – she felt it too.
Ralph was frozen, struggling with his need to connect with another human for the first time in what felt like years. "Arianna…"
"Shh…" She hushed him. Then she leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his lips. Ralph wanted to stop himself but he couldn't. He kissed her back.
Arianna didn't hold back. She climbed into his lap, deepened the kiss. Ralph last his hands in her dark hair. She saw him in ways that nobody else ever would. He needed her.
Her hands deftly undid the buttons of his military jacket. His white undershirt was next to go. Ralph reached for the hem of her Barnard sweater. She raised her arms willingly. He pulled it over her head, getting a good look at her face in the candlelight. Her eyes were closed.
Ralph started to panic. She doesn't see me.
"Wait," he said abruptly. "Wait."
"What is it?"
Ralph hesitated. "I want to make sure that… that you're sure."
Arianna looked puzzled. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He felt his cheeks grow hot with shame. He thought back to the island, to Jack and Roger and all the times he couldn't protect her.
"Please," he said. "Don't do this just because of me."
He half-expected her to start getting dressed, to kick him out of her room. But instead, Arianna wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him in for a kiss.
"Don't worry, Ralph," she whispered. "I need this too."
He made love to her slowly. He was taking her pain away, and she his. They clung to each other as if the bed was a life raft, the only thing keeping them afloat in a violent sea. He watched her ecstasy, heard her cries, and it was as though all her demons had been exorcised.
It wasn't romantic love that they had between them. Perhaps it was something even deeper than that. A mutual understanding of things that could never be brought to light.
They woke up the next morning in each other's arms. Ralph was holding her around the waist. Even though he was getting overheated under the covers and her hair was all over his face, she was the most magical thing he had ever seen.
"Ralph?" Arianna said, groggy from sleep. "Are you awake?"
"Just woke up," he said, resting his chin against her shoulder. She was quiet for several moments, which worried him. "Are we…" he began tentatively. "Are we okay?"
"I think we are," she replied.
"Just so you know, I didn't come here to… to do that," he explained awkwardly.
"I know."
Ralph swallowed. "Do you regret it?" He had to ask.
"No," she sounded pretty confident about it. "Not in the slightest."
They got dressed, almost as though they had made love a thousand times before. Arianna brewed coffee and made him toast while Ralph used her computer to check the train schedules to take him back to West Point.
They ate breakfast in bed. Outside, the snow had stopped falling but over a foot had already collected on the ground. The sun had hardly started to rise and the snowplows had yet to reach Arianna's street. A white blanket stretched all over New York City, yet to be touched.
"A clean slate," Arianna said as she stared out the window at the sidewalk below.
"What?"
"That's why I came here. A fresh start. To no longer be Arianna, who survived the island. Arianna, with PTSD. To just be me."
"That makes sense," Ralph answered. "Is it working out for you so far?"
She sighed. "In some ways, yes. But in other ways, well, you know…"
He did. No matter how far life took him for the island, nothing would ever come close to a reset. The island would always be dwelling at the pit of psyche. In the darkest corner of the jungle – a stake mounted with the head of a pig.
"That's why you need release sometimes," she went on, smiling self-consciously at the memory of the previous night. "So all the bad stuff doesn't destroy you."
Ralph didn't have an answer for that. He just reached over and held her hand. Every inch of him felt lighter, and he hoped Arianna felt the same. She must have, because she was still smiling.
After a long, pregnant moment, he opened his mouth to say something – anything. Before he could, she silenced him with a kiss. For Arianna was divinely human, and she made him feel like he was in heaven and like he was grounded all at once.
There wasn't any one word to describe what he was feeling. The closest thing he could come up with was catharsis.