The Rapist - Pt. 1

"Can I come in?" she said.

"Sure," I responded. She was one of my frosh. Blonde hair. Sweet girl. She came in and I figured she just wanted a place to hang out. I had returned to residence for a second year to head up the social committee and basically, avoid growing up.

It was the second week into school. We had just started classes -- which meant we could party hard for a few more weeks as exams weren't until October.

I can't remember exactly what I was doing. Probably painting my nails or reading a magazine. I definitely wasn't studying. I had one of the single dorms that they assigned to Sophomores who returned to residence to "work" on residence council. And, it was pretty typical for the frosh to stop in and say hello; either as a way of escaping their roommate or just to get to know me a bit better.

"What's up?" I asked. She wasn't making eye contact. The body language was a bit different. I thought she might be homesick. She sat on the edge of my bed and played with her hands. She didn't look up.

"Is everything alright?" I said. I sensed that she wanted to talk -- really talk, so I turned down the music and stopped whatever I was doing.

"I need to talk to you. I don't know who to talk to, and I need to talk to someone." Her voice was now a whisper. The air had shifted.

"Close the door," I told her. She stood up, closed the door, and returned to the edge of my bed. I didn't know what she wanted to talk about -- but my gut told me it wasn't going to be good.

We had been trained on some basic level to deal with potential problems that the frosh might be experiencing; homesickness, fights with their roommates, and not doing well in school. But we weren't councilors. There were RAs and Dons on staff for that. But sometimes, the frosh felt more comfortable talking with us because we were, essentially, one of them -- just a year older.

"What is it?" I said.

She bit her lip. "I have something -- a piece of information; bad information. But I don't know who to tell because I don't know who will believe me".

I lost my breath, regained my composure and looked at her. "I'll believe you", I said. This was not going to be a good conversation.

There was silence. I continued, "You don't have to tell me anything you don't feel comfortable telling me -- but if it's something bad, if you need to get anything off your chest, I want you to be able to tell me what it is".

She looked up. There was extreme discomfort on her face.

"I don't know if there is anything you can do about it", she said. So I responded, "Maybe not, but if you just need someone to talk to, I'm here. It doesn't have to be now -- it can be anytime. Day or night, ok? You can always talk to me about anything".

That seemed to appease her. She turned to face me, crossed one leg over the other, and began to speak.

"I'm worried about a girl on our floor", she said.

OH! I thought, and breathed a sigh of relief. A cat-fight. I can handle this. I relaxed.

"Did you two have a fight?" I asked.

"No. I don't even really know her" she said. I had no idea what she was trying to tell me. She was cryptic. Non-impulsive. Slow. When she talked to me she looked past me; over my right shoulder and out the window that was behind me. I was someone to talk to -- but in her mind, it seemed, this was not really happening. She was disconnected from the moment.

I sat quietly. I waited to hear what she would say next. She continued, "I'm worried about her because the guy she is dating -- that she just started to date. I know him. He's from my home town. I know him because he raped my friend".

She continued to talk. I was having a hard time focusing on what she was saying. The room became blurry. It was if a window pane separated us, and her words began to melt, like rain on a window. She spoke, but I was overwhelmed and the words slipped past me. I'd catch the odd one; creep and didn't press charges and he's evil. But the actual verbatim contents of the conversation are lost to me. I felt sick to my stomach. She talked. And I listened, trying to catch what I could -- trying to hold back the tears and the frustration. I couldn't let her see me cry.

What this girl didn't know - what she couldn't know; was that the boy, the evil boy she was talking about was my ex-boyfriend. And, I had serious concerns that he was only dating a girl on my floor in order to keep tabs on me.