Free Just Jelly Beans and Jealousy by Tammy Falkner

open. Like I wasn’t just raped. Defiled.
Used. I tug at my skirt, and he looks around the room, opens a
cabinet, and lays an unfolded towel over me. I start to adjust my
clothes beneath it. He looks down and picks up my shoes, which I
must have kicked off when I was flailing. He sets them next to my
feet. He sees my panties hanging over my ankle, and he reaches for
them, lifting my leg gently so he can pull them off my foot. “I
need those,” I say. I really, really need them.
    He shakes them out and holds them up, as if I
was putting them on. “They’re torn,” he says.
    “I need them,” I say again. A tear rolls down
my cheek, and his face softens. He finds the scraps of fabric where
the man who hurt me ripped them at the hip, and he ties a knot in
them. He holds them up, like I’m two and need his help getting
dressed. I put my feet in them and stand up, unsteady on my legs.
He reaches out to support me. My hands are shaking so badly that I
can’t pull them up. He helps me. He hisses in a breath when he
pulls them past the blood on my inner thighs. He lifts his gaze,
looking into my face as he pulls them over my hips, and then he
tugs my skirt down to cover them. I lower the towel, and he closes
my shirt with gentle fingers. He bends over and picks up my phone
where I dropped it.
    “Can I call someone for you?” he asks.
    I nod. But I can’t think of who. I can’t call
my parents. I wasn’t supposed to be at this party. I was supposed
to be in my dorm room studying.
    “Call Rachel,” I say. I lean against the
counter, feeling like I can’t hold myself up anymore.
    He scrolls through my contacts until he finds
her name. He calls, and I can hear the faint ring through the
phone. “Hello, Rachel?” he asks.
    “Who are you and why do you have that hussy’s
phone?” I hear Rachel ask.
    He looks at me. “Do you want to talk to her?”
he asks me over the phone.
    I shake my head.
    He closes his eyes and says, “My name is
Peter Reed, and I’m here with your friend…” He stops and looks at
me, his eyebrows scrunching together. “What’s your name?”
    “Reagan,” I whisper.
    “I’m sorry,” he says. And he really looks
like he is. “I can’t hear you.” His tone is soft and much more
sympathetic than I deserve.
    “Reagan,” I bark. I groan inwardly at the way
I said that. It was a spurt. But he heard me. That’s what
matters.
    “I’m here with your friend, Reagan. She needs
you.”
    “Where?” I hear Rachel say.
    “J-just tell her the party. M-master
bathroom, I think.” I look around.
    “Do you want me to just go find her?” he
asks, looking at me over the phone.
    My gut clenches. “Don’t leave me,” I whisper.
My jaw quivers, and I hate it. But this man makes me feel safe.
    He reaches out and very gently lays his hand
on the side of my head. I jerk back, and he immediately realizes
that touching me was a mistake. “I won’t leave. I promise,” he
says. He turns back to the phone. “We’re in the back bedroom, in
the bathroom. She’s hurt.” He looks at my face while he says it.
Not at my abused body. His eyes stare into mine. “She’s strong,” he
says. “But I think she needs you.” He looks down at the phone. “I
think she hung up on me.”
    I nod. “Thank you,” I say.
    “I’m going to stay with you,” he says to
assure me. “I’m not leaving. I promise.”
    I nod and lean against the counter, crossing
my arms beneath my breasts.
    “I’m going with you so I can be sure you go
to the hospital,” he says.
    I shake my head. “That’s not necessary.”
    He looks into my eyes. “A rape kit is
necessary.”
    Oh, I’m going to the hospital. I need to be
tested for STDs. And get a morning-after pill. And do all the
things I never thought I’d have to think about, much less do. “I
know. I’ll go.”
    “I’ll go with you.”
    I shake my head. He’s already seen enough of
my shame.
    “I can’t walk away and leave you like
this.”
    There’s a