Throwaway Girl (9 page)

April 2005

M
arcus
has been acting strange for weeks now. He is either crazy about me and showering me with love or he disappears for days on end, sometimes ignoring me when I see him out on the street. I feel confused and hurt until he kisses me and tells me how much he loves me, how beautiful I am, and then I know things are okay.

The days feel so long without Marcus and I sit daydreaming during class, imagining the two of us together. It has been six days since I've seen him last, and I'm uneasy about the whole thing
. Maybe I should find him and go and talk to him. Find out what's really going on,
I think to myself. When the bell rings for afternoon recess, I take my jacket from the hook and close the door to my locker, deciding that I am going to track him down.

Stephanie shoots me a dirty look from across the hall, her eyes following my every move. She watches me head for the doors, and I just know that she's going to rat me out for leaving school before anyone has a chance to realize I'm not there. It's not like she hasn't done it a million times too, but we are barely talking these days; she still thinks I overreacted about her going through my things.

The truth is I don't want her near my things because I don't trust her one bit, but that's kind of hard to do when you share a room with each other. Hunter has been telling me to end it with Marcus. He's never been happy about us seeing each other. I don't get what all the fuss is. I've asked him if he is jealous, but he just shrugs me off saying that Marcus isn't the kind of guy I should be with.

What does Hunter know? He sure sucks up to Marcus and bows down to him when he sees him. Marcus is used to getting respect from the other kids on the street, and that's something I admire about him. I feel proud to be his girlfriend, even when he shuts down and ignores me. I know life is tough; Marcus must be going through some things.

I head to the Puhlers' so I can grab something to eat and freshen up. I have a long, hot shower and take extra care to do my hair and makeup so that I look my best when I find Marcus. It takes me a couple of hours to get ready. I dab perfume on my wrists, behind my ears, and between my breasts, hoping I'm irresistible to him.
I just know we can work things out. I can help him with whatever is bothering him,
I think.

I walk to Marcus's apartment, careful to sidestep the spray of shattered glass that litters the entrance to the building. Half of the glass in the security door has been smashed out, which seems odd to me since the lock on the door doesn't work anyway. I head for the stairs to the basement, my steps crunching over shards of glass. I knock on the apartment door several times, but there's no answer. Further down the hall, the door to another suite opens and an elderly Asian man sticks his head out.

“Go away,” he says in broken English. “No safe for you,” he tells me, waving his hand. I step back in alarm. What could have happened here? And where is Marcus?

I step back over the glass to go outside and decide to head to the tracks. Chances are some of the kids are gathered there and I'll find out where he is. I shove my hands in my pockets and head for the park. I start planning how I can make him feel better when I see him. Night descends quickly at this time of year and although there isn't much snow, the temperature drops quickly in the evenings.

As I enter the park I see most of the regular crowd sitting and drinking. Many of the kids are high and greet me enthusiastically.

“Just in time,” Hunter says. He holds out an unopened twenty-sixer of whiskey. I smile and take it, grateful for the company.

“Have you seen Marcus?” I ask, but Hunter shrugs, indifferent. I turn and ask the others, but everyone shrugs. I watch another couple snuggle and kiss on a patch of grass and it makes me ache for Marcus. If I could just find him, I'd be able to cheer him up. Why does he pull away when I love him so much? I scan the park for him but see nothing. I chug the bottle of whiskey and lay on my back on the grass. The sky starts blurring; the sounds around me fade.

It gets harder to keep my eyes open so I close them for a few moments. I listen to the chatter and laughter of everyone around me until I hear yelling in the distance. I open my eyes and look around. A girl about my age is dressed in a short dress and heels, her hair piled high on her head. Her eyes are cast downward as she hugs herself protectively. The girl starts to cry and the next thing I see is a male figure punch her in the face. She clutches her mouth and doubles over in pain, but the person kicks her and she falls to the ground. He pulls the purse off her shoulder and rummages through it, spilling its contents. All I can see is him pocketing bills while the other items roll carelessly away. He drops the purse on the ground and spits on the girl before walking away. We all watch as she lies on the grass, weeping.

I look to everyone who is standing around watching, wondering why no one is doing anything to stop him or help this girl. Instead, a bunch of the boys laugh and turn to follow the figure who is heading back towards the street. Stephanie is even smiling and shaking her head in disbelief. I'm confused at what's going on. What did this girl do? Why did this guy treat her that way?

“She's always trying to get out of turning tricks.” Stephanie says it like it's no big deal, but she sees the confusion on my face. She raises her eyebrows in surprise and says, “She's Marcus's newest girl and she doesn't like hooking.” Hunter nudges Stephanie to be quiet.

“What?!” she says to him. “How else does she think we get our cash around here?” Hunter coughs and gives Stephanie a small push.

“That wasn't Marcus,” I say, defiant.

“It sure as hell was,” Stephanie says, pointing in his direction. I look past her and see the tall figure in the distance. Although I want to believe that it wasn't Marcus, I know she's right.

“Marcus takes good care of us,” Stephanie says, smiling, clearly satisfied with having told me. Is that what Marcus is really about? He's a pimp? And Stephanie is hooking too? I don't want to come across so naive but Stephanie can see right through me.

“Oh, Marcus likes you, honey,” she says, winking at me. I feel sick all at once, a combination of the alcohol and what I've just learned. “You didn't think he actually loved you and wanted you for himself, did you?” she smirks.

But the world is spinning around me, her words tumbling in my head. I look at the crying girl trying to scoop up the contents of her purse and shiver.

“You're next, Bernice,” Stephanie sings, her laughter echoing through the park like an evil cackle.

But it can't be, I tell myself. That may be true for the other girls, but Marcus loves me. I decide to head in the same direction as Marcus. I need to talk to him and reassure myself that what we have is real, that Marcus feels differently about me. I run across the park, calling for Marcus. It looks as though he's headed home and he doesn't turn to acknowledge me. I continue to follow him, sure that he'll turn and wait for me but he doesn't. I watch as he goes into the building. I break into a run, eager to talk to him. I step back over the broken glass and run down the stairs to his door. I knock, hoping that he'll answer but he doesn't come. “Marcus, I know you're in there,” I say. “Will you please let me in?”

After a couple of minutes, Marcus opens the door. His jaw is set, his eyes dark. “What?” he says impatiently.

“Are you okay?” I ask, though I know that clearly he is not. He steps aside so that I can enter and shuts the door behind us.

“What happened?” I ask. But Marcus is almost shaking with anger and doesn't want to talk. He sits on the couch, his head bent over his knees. He's rubbing his face and his hair. I sit next to him and start rubbing his back. He tenses up even more. I stroke his hair, and kiss his back. Marcus turns to me and pulls me towards him. He kisses me hard on the mouth, his lips crushing mine. I let out a small yelp but it seems to please him. He kisses me without stopping until my lips feel sore and bruised. I try to push Marcus away, but he pins himself down on me until I am unable to move.

Marcus starts pulling down my pants. I squirm to avoid his grasp, but he continues. “Marcus,” I say, but it comes out garbled because he is kissing me so hard. Marcus puts his weight on me, until I can hardly breathe and I realize that he's fumbling with his belt buckle. My mind is racing, my heart pounding. Why can't Marcus and I just talk about things? Why won't he slow down?

I try to tell myself that this will make Marcus feel better, that he'll be happy and relaxed and ready to talk when it's over and that everything will be okay, but Marcus is hurting me. I try pushing him off again, but he has me pinned. My lips hurt from the force of his kisses.

“No, Marcus, no,” I manage in between Marcus's kisses, but he ignores me. “Marcus,” I say again, squirming beneath him.

“Stay still,” he orders me.

“No!” I tell him again, my eyes pleading. “Please stop, Marcus! I love you but I'm not ready for this,” I say. Marcus sits up over me, allowing me to finally breathe properly. I look up at him, relieved that he has stopped. I look into his eyes, but they are cold. He looks me up and down and starts unzipping his pants. Realizing what he's doing I shake my head.

“No, please, Marcus!” But before I know it his fist connects with the side of my face, leaving me almost delirious. The throbbing pain clouds my mind, the room becomes fuzzy. I start whimpering, knowing that Marcus is not going to stop. Marcus rips down my underwear and positions himself. My body trembles with fear.

The next thing I know I feel a plunge of pain that feels like my insides are being torn up. I cry out in pain, hot tears streaming down the sides of my temples. Marcus thrusts himself back and forth, each movement sending searing pains through my body. The room spins and turns to black at times, and my heart shatters into a million pieces.

Finally Marcus rolls off me, says nothing, and walks away. He grabs his coat and heads for the door. My pants are around my ankles, one leg of my underwear torn completely. I hear the door slam and I know that Marcus has left. I reach down for my pants, scared to move. I start sobbing, my body shaking uncontrollably. I try to sit up, but the pain is hot and unbearable. Warm blood stains the insides of my thighs and sticky streaks of blood mark the cushion of the leather couch.

I pull my pants up, my legs wobbly and unsure. My lips and face feel bruised. I take small steps to the doorway, my vision blurred from my tears. I shut the door behind me and climb the stairs slowly, clutching my stomach because I feel like I'm going to vomit. I hear the crunch of the shattered glass under my feet again; I replay the words of the Chinese man warning me of my safety just hours before and picture Marcus sitting over me. The combination of these visions swirl in my head and the agony of what has happened to me becomes almost too much to bear. Unable to push open the security door, I step back and sit on the step, pain vibrating up my back when I sit down. I hold my head in my hands, sobbing. How could I be so sure of someone's love and be so wrong? How could I think that anyone would love me?

I imagine that I am dead, floating weightlessly in the air of some strange world, feeling nothing. I glance down at the pieces of broken glass and pick out a long, thin shard with a pointy end. I look at it like it's my saviour. I run the edge of the glass across my forearms until I see a thin stream of blood. I decide I like it. The sight pleases me, gives me new pain to focus on and makes me numb again. I run the shard up and down my arms, making my body as broken as my spirit. I imagine myself dead, lying in a pool of blood in this dark, damp stairwell and cry even harder.

I
t
's been weeks since Trina's attack. Although she has no idea who attacked her and why, she hasn't been the same since. She is home with me, but she hasn't been back to work since the attack. She will barely get out of bed and when she does, it's to light a cigarette and sit on the balcony, staring into space.

I've tried talking to her, tried finding out how I can help, but Trina has completely shut down. I wish she'd just open up to me, after all, I am her best friend. I'm also worried about the fact that she hasn't been working. Even though many of our expenses are paid for and Trina hasn't exactly been eating much for weeks now, I still can't help but worry.

Her boss has been calling, wondering if and when Trina's coming to work. Her boss had given her six weeks off to recover and take care of herself, but it is now eight weeks and Trina has yet to touch base with her again. I'm afraid if she doesn't talk to her boss soon, there won't be a job for her to go back to.

But working is the least of her problems. It's like Trina has disappeared and left a shell of a girl behind. Seeing her lost in herself makes me nervous. There are no late night talks, no giggles, and no making meals together, nothing but silence.

I think back to what I felt like after Marcus raped me. I shut down, too, and wouldn't talk to anyone. No matter how much I try to tell Trina that I know how she is feeling, she still won't let me into her thoughts and feelings. And that is the worst part, because I remember the pain I felt back then, how dead I felt inside. Knowing that Trina won't let me in, when she needs someone to be there for her the most, really sucks.

I started my first term of university. I love that I can get lost in a crowd, that no one really knows who I am. There are too many of us shuffling in and out of class each day. I'm taking four classes: English, Biology, Sociology, and Psychology. The classes are held in large lecture theatres, sometimes with hundreds of students. It's overwhelming and I'm trying to do my best. It's stressful trying to keep up with school and work. Between reading my textbooks, writing papers, and juggling long shifts at work, I feel like I'm gone all the time.

Today I'm rushing to get home and be at work on time, much like every other day of the school week. I race up the stairs to our apartment, fully expecting to see Trina curled up on her mattress in our room or sitting on the chair on the balcony. When I walk through the apartment and don't see her anywhere, I breathe a sigh of relief.
She must be back at work
, I think to myself.
It's about time
. I quickly slip on my uniform and gather my name tag and visor.

I race across the parking lot of our building and jog to work. It is 4:53 and I start in seven minutes. Not ever having been late before, I don't want this to be the first time. I'm jumping over parking medians and running down the streets, hoping to get to the restaurant in time. I round the last corner at the edge of the restaurant's parking lot and sigh with relief knowing that I'll be in the building in mere seconds. I take a quick glance to my left and continue through the parking lot.

The alarming screech of brakes and a flash of metal fill the space around me. I stop, stunned. A young man driving a small car has just slammed on the brakes, narrowly missing me by inches. I put my arm out and my fingers touch the hood of the car. My heart is pounding uncontrollably, my breath ragged and quick. The driver steps out of the car, visibly shaken, and rushes to my side.

“Oh my God,” he says in between gulps of air. “Are you alright?!” I nod numbly. “I almost hit you! It's like you came out of nowhere,” he says.

I realize that it's mostly my fault. I'm in a hurry, running through the parking lot, the glare of the sun obstructing my vision when there's a car hurtling towards me. I put my hands on the hood of the car to steady myself, anxious to get my bearings and get into work.

“I, I, have to go …” I stammer. But I'm a bit woozy and the driver can see that. He places his warm, shaking hand on my shoulder, his eyes filled with concern. Suddenly my manager comes running out to see if I'm okay.

“Andy! We saw everything!” he says, incredulous. Before I know it, there are multiple people surrounding me to make sure I'm alright. I hear people admonishing the driver for almost hitting me and not watching where he was going.

“No,” I say. “It was all my fault. I just ran out in front of him. I didn't see the car and I just ran out,” I repeat. When everyone is confident that I'm truly alright, my manager puts his arm around me to guide me inside the restaurant. I turn to take another look at the driver, who is still staring at me with concern. He looks to be about my age, maybe a bit older. His sandy coloured hair is gleaming in the sunligh
t. I give him a smile and a wave, hoping to reassure him and he gives me a wide, relieved smile in return before getting back into his car.

“Thank goodness you're okay,” my manager says, shaking his head. I nod, thinking how it could have been much worse.

The rest of my shift is relatively uneventful and after four hours, I punch out my time card and take off my visor. Being that it is fall, it's dark outside already. I rub my arms in the chilly night air, a bit uneasy about my walk home. Since Trina's attack, I'm even more on edge when I'm walking alone. I wave to my coworkers through the drive-thru window and walk across the parking lot. Just as I'm about to step onto the sidewalk, I hear a voice.

“Can I give you a lift home?” someone asks. I turn to see who it is. It's the guy who almost hit me earlier. He looks nervous and uncomfortable. “Please, it's the least I can do,” he says. “I'll get you there safely, I promise,” he says. I stop and study his face. He has kind eyes, bright pools of blue that are looking at me as though he'd give me the world if he could just to make things right. He is clean-cut and handsome, long and lean, and staring at me intently. I don't know who is sizing up the other more, me or him.

He's standing by his little blue car, motioning for me to get in. “How did you know when I was off?” I ask pointedly. He shuffles and grins at me, sheepish.

“I didn't. I decided to come back here about an hour ago hoping to talk to you to apologize again. I asked another worker when you were off and she figured it was at eight. I thought I'd wait so that I could try and make things up to you,” he finishes.

“Look, it's not like you hit me,” I say to him. “So you came close … that doesn't mean you need to stalk me now to make amends. This is a little creepy,” I say, though I can tell by the look on his face that this wasn't his intention and he's clearly embarrassed.

I realize the absurdity of getting into this stranger's car, of all the things that could happen to me, but I see the look on his face and feel strangely safe. I look around the lot and decide to get in. It's colder out than I expected, and the thought of walking isn't very appealing to me tonight. “I'm Austin,” he says holding out his hand, his face registering relief. I give his hand a shake and smile.

“Andy,” I say.

“I'm so sorry for what happened earlier,” he tells me. “I haven't been able to forget it. I promise you, I'm no creep. I just felt like it would be a gentlemanly thing to do,” he says. I laugh, thinking that I've never met a true gentleman, until possibly this very day. He waits for me to buckle my seatbelt and then slowly backs out of the parking space. I can see the manager of the restaurant staring out of the drive-thru window at us, obviously shocked to see me in the car that almost hit me just hours earlier.

“I can imagine I'm going to hear about this tomorrow,” I say, chuckling as we see the manager's gaping mouth. Austin gives me a nervous smile.

“I hope this doesn't get you into any trouble,” he says. I shake my head, knowing that it'll be fine.

“I'm only a couple of blocks away,” I say to Austin. He's driving very carefully, focused on the road. I give him my address and look at his face. His eyes are fixated on the road, his hands gripping the wheel. “Do you work or go to school?” I ask him, hoping for some small talk. After all, if this guy really is a gentleman instead of a creep, then talking with him would be nice.

“Both,” he says. “I'm in my fourth year at the University of Saskatchewan. Drama major.”

I nod, impressed.

“I also work at the public library part-time,” he tells me.

“I love the library,” I answer, and he glances at me in surprise.

“That's not something I usually hear,” he smiles.

“It's true,” I say. “I've always loved books. They're like an escape to another world.”

He nods in agreement.

“I'm at the U of S too. Only my first year though.” I pause. “I don't know what I'm going to major in exactly,” I admit.

Austin seems pleased that I'm in school too, that we share a couple of things in common. His car pulls up to my apartment building and I can't help but feel disappointed. “Andy, again, I'm so sorry for what happened earlier …” he stammers.

“I'm fine,” I reassure him. “Besides, you've already made it up to me. Thanks for giving me a ride home!” I open the car door, reluctant to get out. Talking to Austin has been nice.

“Maybe I'll see you around?” he asks. I smile and nod, hoping that he's right.

I shut the car door and wave before walking to the apartment entrance. Austin waits to make sure I'm inside before waving and pulling away. It's crazy to think this of a complete stranger, but my heart does a little skip at the thought of him. Maybe he's a gentleman after all.