Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

story.”
    And so I did. Starting with the first date I had with Randy last spring, then when he tried to rape me and his roommates intervened. About how I was too ashamed to report it. And how he had cornered me in the kitchen, backed me into that dark hallway, and then stuck his hand up my skirt while holding me against the wall.
    “He was going to rape me,” I whispered. “Dylan stopped him. He was protecting me.”
    All the time I was telling the story, Carrie and Sherman were standing at the other end of the kitchen. Carrie’s eyes were huge and sad. When the questioning was over, without a word, she walked over and put her arms around me. I began sobbing again, breaking down this time completely. I cried like I was never going to be able to stop. I cried for the boy I loved, who had grown not just into a man, but a man filled with rage.
    A man who might be capable of murder.
    A man who had just been led away, his arms locked behind his back in handcuffs.

CHAPTER TEN

    Right where I belonged (Dylan)

    Oh, fuck, I thought, as the police started to lead me out of the apartment. I looked over my shoulder, saw her still standing there against the wall, a cop next to her. She was sobbing, and met my eyes with a look of longing mixed with fear. I would have done anything to erase the fear. But there was no going back. She’d seen what I was capable of. I’d seen what I was capable of.
    Randy, or whatever the hell is name was, had already been carried out by the paramedics before they arrested me. But I couldn’t clear my head of the vision of him, slamming her up against a wall, one hand over her mouth and the other up her skirt as she struggled.
    I didn’t care if I went to prison. I hoped the son of a bitch was dead.
    As they shoved me into the back of a patrol car, a wave of exhaustion and nausea swept over me. Was it really only three hours ago that she whispered, I’m losing my virginity tonight. God, I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to kick my way out of the back of the car, run back to her and throw my arms around her, protect her, love her, take care of her forever.
    But, I’d screwed that up, too.
    So, instead of doing any of that exciting, dramatic, powerful stuff that I’d have liked to do, I sat there in the back of the car for what seemed an eternity while the police continued to do whatever it is that police do. Onlookers on the street walked by, glancing in the back of the car, where I was Exhibit A for the guy you do not want your daughter to fall in love with.
    Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
    I was there for maybe thirty minutes before the police car finally pulled out. Two officers were in the front, a male and a female. Neither of them said a word to me at first, until we got stuck in traffic. Finally, the male officer, sitting behind the wheel, said, “If you care, dispatcher says it looks like the guy you beat up is going to live.”
    My hands, still wrapped behind my back, were hurting like hell, especially the one in the cast. I suspected I’d done more damage to my hand. Worth it.
    I shrugged in response to the officer’s comment.
    “Why’d you do it?” he asked.
    I looked up at him. Conventional wisdom said I should have stayed quiet until I saw a lawyer. But what difference did it really make? I wasn’t going to fucking lie to anyone. Yes, I’d gone way too far. But the fact was, I was protecting her. If I had to go to jail for that, so be it.
    I finally answered. “He sexually assaulted my girlfriend. I intervened.”
    The female officer winced.
    “I call bullshit,” said the male. “I’m guessing she was getting a little on the side, and you got pissed off.”
    I had to swallow the surge of rage I felt. Do not respond. Don’t do it.
    I finally said, “I don’t think I want to talk to you any more.”
    The officer burst into laughter and slapped the steering wheel. “You hear that, Perez? He doesn’t want to talk to me any more. Fucking college kid punk. I tell you what, he ought to be in the fucking Marines learning some discipline, instead of fucking around at penthouse parties on the Upper West Side. You hear that?” he shouted at me. “I fucking hate rich kids. All of you. Think you can do anything, get away with anything. I bet your dad’s lawyer will be pounding on the front door of the police station before we even get there.”
    Perez, the female officer, leaned over and whispered something urgently, to her partner. Whatever. I shook my head, turned