It was curiously cool for a September night, even in New Jersey, and as I walked the short distance from my dorm room to Jack’s apartment, I realized the mistake I had made in choosing a dress over jeans. My fashion consultant and roommate Carmen was home for the weekend unenthusiastically attending a distant relative’s wedding, so I’d had to dress myself. I hated when she left me alone in the dorm. I didn’t feel unsafe exactly, but there is just something about a vacant bed that inspires goose bumps along my arms. I zipped my black leather jacket in a vain attempt to protect myself from the howling wind and hurried along the sidewalk.
     The party itself didn’t interest me. There would likely be a bunch of girls in tight skirts that I didn’t care to know sipping mixed drinks in the corner until some fraternity assholes deemed them good enough to take to the bedroom, and those were not the people I liked to be around. I only decided to go because my gay friend Thomas begged me to be his wingman with this British guy in my art history class. I was also tired of microwaving Ramen and watching bad movies alone. So, despite my inhibitions, on Saturday night at 9:30, I found myself knocking on Jack’s door.
     “Hey, Sam! I didn’t think you would come.” Jack’s girlfriend Amy opened the door with a wide smile.
     “Yeah, well. Here I am. Where is everyone?”
     “Oh, everybody is kind of everywhere. Most people are just through the hall.”
I followed voices to the kitchen and found Andy, the handsome British boy, sitting on a barstool. We hugged and he complimented my dress, which made me feel strangely self-conscious. He asked if I wanted a drink, but I was beginning to feel nauseous, so I sipped a Coke.
    “So where’s your friend?”
     “I actually don’t know, I just got here. But he should –” I looked across the room and noticed a guy in a gray t-shirt talking to a girl I recognized from my dorm. I’d never seen him before, but I knew his kind. At first glance, he seems pretty nice – an attractive enough face with a casually flirtatious smile. He’s the kind of guy who knows everyone at every party and has the hypnotic talent of making you feel singularly special. But he is poison. He will swallow you whole and spit you back up, regurgitating every ounce of self confidence in your weak body. And in that moment as I stood there studying him, our eyes locked on each other. I could see in his strained veins and tense jaw that he was hungry, on the prowl. I felt shivers travel up my spine and returned my focus to Andy. “I’m sorry, what was I saying?”
     “I was asking about your friend –”
     “Oh, there he is; hey, Thomas!” He kissed me on the cheek, and I introduced them before excusing myself from the conversation. I felt a bottomless pit forming in my stomach and stepped outside on the back patio for some air. Parties made me claustrophobic and left me feeling empty, and I always found myself alone.
As I sat down on the cold concrete, the sliding door opened. Gray t-shirt had followed me outside. I could feel my heart begin to race, and I worried he might hear it pounding
in my chest. He stared into me for a moment, and I stared back, until he took a seat next to me. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
     “No, we haven’t.”
     “Yeah? Well, what’s your name?”
     I knew to be cautious of his piercing blue eyes and warm, inviting voice. “What’s yours?”
     “I asked you first.” His words were stern, and he never left my gaze for a second. He didn’t even blink. I told myself to get up and walk out, but something pulled me closer to him. His eyes moved down to my thighs, then crawled back up my body. He smiled a crooked smirk. “I’m waiting.”
     “Sam. I’m Sam.”
     “Drew Randolph. Very pleased to meet you, Sam…?”
     “Just Sam.”
     He laughed and licked his soft lips, “Okay, ‘just Sam,’ tell me about yourself.”
     “I’m a sophomore, majoring in journalism. I’m from Connecticut. Your turn.”
     “No, no, I want to know about you. What’s your story? What do you like, what do you hate? What annoys you, what turns you on?” I looked at him with uneasy eyes. “Here, I’ll show you what I mean. I like hiking and playing football with my brothers when I go home for Thanksgiving. I like writing songs on my guitar and singing them at coffee shops. I like cooking for my friends and playing with my dog. I don’t know, I’m sure I sound like such a dork, I’m sorry.”
     “I’ll tell you something about me. I don’t like parties. I hate most of the people here, and I always feel like I’m trapped in this miserable little moment. But I never leave. I
always just sit alone. And I keep going to them, even though I know I will always hate them. I also complain a lot. Hmm, what’s something I like? Well, I like writing. I think my special talent is that I just see things the way they are. My feelings never get in the way because I can always cut through all the bullsh*t, which is pretty helpful for journalistic writing, I guess. Honestly, I’m not sure I experience a full spectrum of emotions. I know that sounds dumb, I just sometimes have trouble…relating.”
     “You make perfect sense to me. You know what else I like? I like women, specifically pretty women. I like complicated girls with pretty green eyes and soft hair wearing beautiful red dresses sitting on patios. I like the way you talk. I’m not afraid of a little difficulty. I’m quite good at coaxing.”
     He smiled again and lightly touched my knee. He began tracing shapes with his finger – circle, square, triangle, heart.
     “Would you want to go back inside with me, Sam?” He stood and offered me a hand. I was hesitant, but when he bit his bottom lip and stabbed me with those sapphire eyes, I couldn’t help but go with him.
     We made our way back to the dimly lit living room, where people were dancing to the pumping bass of pop songs I didn’t know. Andy and Thomas were in the corner, each entirely immersed in the conversation, and I was happy for them.
     “Hey, you want a drink?”
     “Sure.”
     “Okay, stay here, I’ll be right back.”
     I leaned on the arm of the couch and watched the couples dancing, wishing I could be the kind of girl who would dance with anyone. It takes a very special person to get me on the dance floor. It takes a very special person to get me to do anything.
     And I recognized that Drew was not special. He was the typical college boy. He would try to get my pants off before he knew my last name. I was aware of what he was – a ravenous, merciless wolf. But I was strong enough to take care of myself and it was nice to have someone interested in me, even if just for a night.
     “Here you go, beautiful.” I took a sip of what I couldn’t quite recognize as vodka and started to ask what I was drinking when Drew forced me towards him. He began to sway, his hands on my hips. I was uncomfortable dancing, and I thought he could feel that, but he kept tugging on the hem of my dress, inching it up my thigh. Once the song ended, I pulled away and went to the couch. I quickly finished my drink because if there was to be more dancing, I needed to get really drunk. But Drew didn’t make me dance anymore. Instead he sat with an arm around me, whispering in my ear.
     He rubbed my legs and kissed my neck, and I was beginning to feel very sick. I didn’t want to be around him anymore. I didn’t like the way he made my heart feel like shards of glass stabbing my chest. I didn’t like the way his hands slithered across me as if he owned me. But I couldn’t move – it felt as if my limbs were pinned to the couch and the colored disco lights began to swirl inside my head. I could feel my eyelids growing heavy and my body sinking into itself and fear building in my veins.
     I felt myself becoming lighter, and I saw a blur of darkness as I sailed through the trees in the hands of an angel. I glided through the forest seeing familiar faces – Thomas and Andy in the chirping birds, Amy and Jack in the grazing deer, my distorted reflection in the splashing puddles. I landed in a sea of white cloth and felt a buzzing on my neck and bare shoulders. From top to bottom, I began to feel a breeze blow over my body. I could hear twigs snapping with his every stride and the fight left within me vanishing. I surrendered to the weight on my chest and tried to focus on the swimming sky of blue.

     It took a few days for me to walk normally, a few months for me to leave my dorm, and a lifetime for me to trust again. I was hurt – physically, mentally, emotionally – and exhausted beyond words. I awoke from nightmares so often that Carmen started staying up for hours after I went to sleep. I didn’t want to talk about it – for people to see me as the poor, pitiful, taken-advantage-of Sam. Still, I couldn’t shake the image of him leaving me unconscious, naked, and bruised in a bed I did not know. How he would walk out and talk to his friends as if he hadn’t just ravaged my frail, shaking existence. How he would get in his car and blast tasteless rap music and feel good about himself. Strong. Powerful. How he would sleep soundly, the moment replaying in his mind and a sly smile pasted on his face. How he would add my three-letter name to a long list of girls he had “won.”
     Boys are never punished, and that is the sick, twisted truth. But maybe when he shaved the next morning, trying to wash away the ugly face of guilt, he would hear for a split second my shattering screams the moment before he pounced.