Cheyenne lowers her hands to her lap. Her lips are closed tight and thin as she sits up a little straighter.
“I knew I was supposed to tell the cops right away,” she says. “I know that’s what they’re always saying on those detective shows. But I was so tired. I just wanted to take a shower. I had to. There’s no way to describe it. I didn’t care about turning them in, or justice, or any of that. I didn’t care about them at all. I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted it to be over. I just wanted to make it go away. I had just dealt with it for the whole time it happened, I didn’t want to deal with it any more.” She looks up. “I’m sorry. I should have told someone. I shouldn’t have waited this long.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Grace says. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“They were so nice to me at the party,” Cheyenne says, shaking her head. “They were asking me all sorts of questions about myself, like they really gave a shit. And then I realized I was drunk, and I said it. I remember. I said, ‘Hey, I’m drunk,’ and started laughing, and then they looked at each other, like they were giving each other a sign, like that’s exactly what they were waiting for. I should have known then. I shouldn’t have gone outside with them. God, I was so stupid. They said they were going to walk me to my car and drive me home because I wasn’t fit to drive. I thought they were being so nice. I thought they were helping me.
“I didn’t know something was wrong until it was too late. We were outside. I handed one of them the keys to my car. He opened the back door and told me to get in. He was older. He was the leader. His voice wasn’t nice anymore. He told the others what to do.”
“Do you need to take a break?” Grace says. “You don’t need to tell all the details if you don’t want to.”
The way Cheyenne shakes her head reminds Erin of how her mother shakes out the kitchen rug. Like she’s trying to beat it clean.
“Only two of them ended up doing it,” Cheyenne says. “The third one ran off. I remember he had a goatee. I could hear him throwing up in the bushes while it was happening.”
“Jesus,” says Rosina.
“I haven’t touched my car since I drove home that morning. I never want to go in that car again. God, there’s probably still their fucking condoms on the floor. Who fucking does that? Who rapes someone with a condom and leaves it lying around like that? Either they’re really fucking stupid or they’re so delusional and arrogant they think they’ll never get caught.”
Cheyenne stops speaking abruptly. Her face turns pale, gray tinged. She covers her mouth, throws the blanket off her lap, and stands up. “Excuse me,” she mumbles, and runs out of the living room into a room off the hall, closing the door behind her.
Erin moves off the floor and back to the love seat. She tries not to listen as Cheyenne throws up in the bathroom.
Erin’s nerves are all on fire. It hurts so much she almost can’t stand it—this caring, this remembering. This letting go. This letting the world back into the places she’s worked so hard to shut it out of.
“You guys,” Rosina whispers. “What are we doing here? What are we doing to this poor girl?”
“What do you mean?” Grace says. “We’re helping her.”
“She’s so upset she’s puking in the bathroom. How is that helping her?”
“She’s choosing to talk to us, Rosina,” Grace says. “We’re not making her do anything.”
“We don’t know that. Maybe she was afraid to say no to us. Maybe she’s in so much shock she’s not thinking straight. We want to get these guys so bad maybe we’re not thinking about what’s best for Cheyenne. Maybe we’re taking advantage of her.”
“You’re not taking advantage of me,” Cheyenne says from the hallway. “I want to talk.” She walks to her chair and sits back down. “I want to get those guys as much as you do.”
“Okay,” Rosina says.
“My car is full of evidence,” Cheyenne says. Something about her has changed. All of a sudden it’s like she’s leading a business meeting instead of talking about her own rape. “Fingerprints. The condoms. All kinds of DNA.” She pauses. Swallows. “I have bruises.”
No one says anything. Erin knows it’s because there’s too much to feel and no words for it. Disgust. Horror. But also the thrill of hope that Cheyenne may help them finally get these guys.
“Do you think you could identify them?” Grace says. “In a lineup or whatever?”
“Yes,” Cheyenne says. “Definitely.”
Erin unzips her backpack, pulls out the yearbook she brought, the one from last year that Mom insisted on buying even though Erin knew she’d never ask anyone to sign it. She opens to a page near the middle, an entire half page dedicated to Spencer, Eric, and Ennis, the three kings of Prescott High, arms around each other and smiling like they rule the world. Erin walks slowly, carefully, across the room, the book open in her hands like an offering, a gift.
Cheyenne flinches and looks away. “You can close it now.”
“Is that them?” Grace says.
Cheyenne nods, looking down at her lap. She fiddles with a snag on her blanket.
Then all of a sudden she looks up, eyes wide. “Oh, shit,” she says. “Are these the same guys who raped that girl last year?”
“Yes,” Grace says.
“Of course they are,” Cheyenne says. “Jesus, I can’t believe that didn’t even cross my mind until now. Isn’t that sick?” She emits something like a laugh, but also the opposite of a laugh. “I just assumed it was entirely different guys. Like anyone could do this. Like it’s that common.”
“It is, though,” Rosina says. “Way too fucking common.”
“We have to stop them,” Cheyenne says. “I have to stop them. I have to talk to the cops.” She stands up. She pushes her hair behind her ears.
“Are you sure?” Rosina says. “Your life is going to totally change. People will find out. Your parents, your school. It’ll probably be in the news.”
“But what else am I going to do?” Cheyenne says. “Sit around here forever trying to forget about it? Keep it inside me for the rest of my life and not do anything to make it right? If I don’t do anything, they’re just going to keep raping other girls. Then I’ll have to live with that the rest of my life. They need to go to jail.”
“But there’s a chance they won’t,” Rosina says. “There’s a chance they’ll get away with it, just like they did last time.”
“I know,” Cheyenne says. “But I have to at least try. I have to fight. I want to tell the police. Right now.”
“We’ll take you,” Erin says, her voice so strange in this room that has barely heard it. “We’ll stay with you as long as you need us.”
“Thank you,” Cheyenne says, holding Erin’s gaze with her own. “Thank you.”
ROSINA.