"I have something for you" Annie said the next afternoon after everybody else left the study room.
"For me?"
"Yes." She smiled large and gave Britta a dark green box that looked too suspicious to be a present. Britta gave Annie a concerned look and opened the box. Inside was a heavy pocket knife.
"Oh my Gosh, Annie."
"Wait, hear me out," Annie reached out and held the green box and Britta's hand, "I need to tell you something."
Britta stared at Annie and they both sat back down at the table.
"I have no idea how you feel. And I understand that you don't want to talk, but..." Annie looked around again and apologetically sat down and brought her hands to her lap, "I went online to a rape victims website and..."
"Annie!" Britta exclaimed startled and looked around her at the windows.
"I want you to feel safe. I know you're at my house now, you're not alone, like, ever, but I want you to feel safe. And I don't know how to help."
Britta felt tears fill her eyes, but she didn't know why. What would she do with a pocket knife? Would she have used it? Would it have made any difference? Would he have taken it and used it against her? Her mind was brought back to the man on top of her. Grunting. Ripping her open. Pushing himself in. His body was heavy, it pinned her down. He held her face when she couldn't stop crying. His body sliding on the sweat on top of her body.
It went on. And on. Every thrust, Britta wished was the last. She had pleaded, begged him to stop. She had wished she would faint.
"Britta!" Annie shouted, bringing Britta back to the study room.
Britta looked up and realized she was crying. When she tried to clean her face with her hands, she noticed she had a strong grip on the pocketknife and she couldn't let go. Panting, she looked at Annie, who stretched her own hands and held onto Britta's.
"You're ok. I'm here."
Britta dropped the knife and cleaned away her tears.
"I know" She said and took a few deep breaths. After a moment she waved her head.
"What is it?" Annie asked.
"I want him gone," Britta said looking at the wall, "I know it's him, and I want him gone."
Annie nodded, "Ok."
"I'm going to that bar," Britta said, suddenly putting her elbows on the table and getting very close to Annie, speaking in whispers, "I'm waiting until he shows up. When he does, I'm calling the police." Annie sighed nervously. She nodded again.
"We'll leave the bar before it's dark out." Annie suggested. Britta nodded and got up throwing her bag on her shoulder. Annie had to run to try to catch up with her. "Wait! Britta!"
"I need a cigarette!" Britta shouted from the hallway.
It's a warm Spring afternoon in Colorado and although the sun's still out, a chilly breeze runs down the street. Britta and Annie walk out of the lot on the corner and past a pet shop and a record store, reaching the bar. They choose a small two person table to the side, where Britta sits against the wall and Annie with her back to the people.
Britta is wearing sunglasses. Annie watched her fidget with her hair and sunglasses that afternoon, trying to look different, but she had gotten impatient and walked out of the house looking like her usual nervous self.
She sits down, crosses her arms, crosses her legs, uncrosses them, taps the table, finishes her first drink in a few minutes. Annie watches the whole thing with her chin resting on her hand. She sighs and looks around herself.
"Tell me the truth," She whispers, "How do you feel?"
"Ok." Britta answers scratching her neck.
"Tell me the truth."
Britta makes a face looking around herself, but doesn't answer the question.
"You're scared." Annie answers for her.
"I'm not."
"You are." Annie says, and the table is silent for a second, "You need to slow down, you finished a drink already."
None of the tables around them have people sitting down, but the patio is full, a few people are sitting inside and a few more sit at the bar counter. The whole place is filled with a faint sound of conversation and a burst of laughter every now and then.
Suddenly Britta reaches across and grabs Annie's arm. She holds on to the sleeve, panting quietly and lowering her head, "Don't look." Her voice shakes. Annie's back tenses up, she straightens up her own body, suddenly wanting to hide Britta behind a wall. Annie brings her hand to Britta's and helps her let go of her sweater.
"It's ok."
"He just walked in." Through the lenses, Annie sees Britta's eyes dart back and forth.
"It's ok, Britta." Annie whispers, but Britta stares at the bar counter and her panting becomes louder, like she's fighting to breathe, "Britta, listen to me, it's ok, you're alright."
"It's him." Britta reaches for her purse, but she can't find it, so she gets up, hitting the table beside them, startling herself. She turns around and grabs her purse, takes a step back and runs into a chair, knocking it over before she runs away from the bar.
Annie stares in fear and isn't able to look at the counter, for fear that the man recognized her. She gathers herself up, stands up, fixes the chair and walks away.
She steps out and sees Britta speeding down the block to where their car is. Annie runs after her without looking back. Not wanting to shout her name, she runs into the lot, where Britta gets into the passenger seat of her car and shuts the door. Annie gets into the driver's seat and locks all doors, turning on the car.
"Hey, it's alright! It's alright!" She says to Britta, who holds her phone in her hands and sobs, staring at the entrance to the lot. Annie sees this and drives out of the lot. Britta looks the other way when the car come out the sidewalk, "He's not here, Britta, he's not. You're ok." She says steering to the other end of the street. Annie drives on, listening to Britta try hard to contain her sobs, making them become deep breaths while resting her head back with her eyes closed. Her hands are still gripping the phone. Annie knows she didn't call. Without asking, she drives to her own house.
"It was a stupid idea." Britta says that night, when both are staring at the ceiling in the dark.
"It wasn't a stupid idea. You wanted to make sure it was him. Now you now."
"What am I going to do?"
"Well, you want to call the police, right?"
"I don't know anything about this guy!"
Annie turns to the side and sighs.
"We know where he hangs out," She starts, "And we know what he did to you."
Britta sighs but there's no answer.
"Why do you think it was a stupid idea?"
A sound comes from Britta's pillow like she just turned her head.
"You were there, right? You saw me freak out and run."
Annie stays put staring at Britta's side of the bed for a moment.
"This was only the first time you..."
"You don't get it," Britta said lifting her body and resting on her elbows while Annie thought, don't get what?, "Every time I go near this... guy, I'm going to panic." Annie stared at the dark in silence, not knowing what to say, "I can't look at his face and not want to run away. It's out of my control. I tried, but my whole body wanted to run. I don't want him near me."
Annie lays back down, her mind racing, her thoughts running circles around a solution (because there is one), but not being able to look directly at it. An investigation. The police. An arrest. A criminal. A rape.
A criminal. A rape.
A criminal. A rape.
A criminal.
"I'll go check him out." She says.
"Are you out of your mind?" Britta calmly says after a second.
"No." Annie answers softly, still forming these thoughts as she says them, "I have a plan." A few moments of silence went by until Annie turned on her side again and rested her head on her arm. She couldn't see Britta's face, only a faint outline of her body, but she pictured Britta's puzzled look, "He goes to this bar pretty often, it sounds like. If he's a regular, the bartender will know something about him."
"You're going crazy." Britta says, squirming and turning her back to Annie.
"Anything we have about him, anything will help. The bartender will know something, his first name, where he works."
"You haven't seen the guy," Britta moans, "You don't know what he looks like."
"I saw him a tiny little bit..." Annie murmurs, trying to convince herself along with Britta. "Can you describe him?"
Britta squirms back and lays on her back, thinking. Annie imagines she closed her eyes and thought for a while, because for a while the room is silent.
"He... has a wide chest. Or wide shoulders." She starts, "Has short nail beds... I think he bites his nails..."
Annie blinks in silence and waits, but that's it. That's all she's got.
"What does his hair look like?"
"It's, he's... brunette."
More silence. That's all. A brunette man with short nail beds. Annie can't think of any other strategies, but somehow, with the little she has, something inside her tells her this is possible. What's the logic? She thinks. There's no logic.
"This is never going to work." Britta murmurs at the precise time when Annie's brain is wrapping around this mysterious confidence.
"This... pig, raped you! In your bed!" Annie exclaims, and she knows Britta isn't even breathing because the room grows so silent it almost feels like the world stood still. The words, the way she said them, it throbs inside her, her throat feels swollen, she doesn't know what to say next. So she lays back down and exhales.