The Harmless Sip

Red Solo Cups. Digital image. Pinterest. N.p., 2013. Web. 11 Dec. 2015. <https://41.media.tumblr.com/08eae30799561acb29913f58bc5b7865/tumblr_miyoaaqUNZ1rnsa9lo1_500.jpg>.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Uhhh...” She responded, hesitantly. “Sure?” Although she was told to never accept drinks from strangers, this one seemed charming. His voice sounded familiar, older, and protective. He’s probably just being a gentleman.

He nodded his head, flashed a cheeky smile, turned around, and disappeared into a horde of people behind him. She readjusted her mask and listened to the pounding dance music of the costume party until he returned momentarily, handing her a red Solo cup.

“Thanks,” she said reluctantly, taking it from him. She hesitated for a second, thinking of the countless facts she’d been told about date rape drugs. She’d heard of nail polishes that detected their presence, but as someone who rarely attended parties, she was unprepared for such a situation. She thought of putting the cup down and getting herself a soda, but that seemed rude, so she discarded the thought.

“I’m Shawn, by the way,” he said, extending his hand. The loud music made it arduous to hear, so he repeated himself, louder this time. She shook his hand and introduced herself.

He smiled a genuine smile and she decided that she was simply being paranoid. Not all boys at parties were rapists. Besides, even through his mask, he seemed sweet. He had affable eyes. There was nothing wrong with taking a drink from him.

She took a sip.

A disgusted look crossed her face. It was cheap beer.

“I know, it’s gross, but that’s all there was,” he said, noticing her discomfort.

“It’s okay,” she nodded politely and continued to drink.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed that he was watching her, a furtive smile spread across his face. But, as soon as he noticed her gaze, he became suddenly coy, hid further behind his mask, and quickly turned back to his drink.

When they both finished drinking, she asked him to dance. He took the cup from her, placed it on a table, gingerly took her hand, and lead her to the dance floor. She couldn’t remember how long they danced for. It could have been minutes or hours. She felt comfortable around him despite just meeting him. His scent made her comfortable, as if she recognized it from an unknown source of protection. For those few minutes, she felt carefree. Relaxed.

As she looked around, she noticed that everyone’s masks were working, doing their job perfectly. They covered everyone’s problems, their secrets, their desires, showcasing only a beautiful facade of their best features. The dancing bodies around her, protected by merely a simple piece of cardboard, looked flawless. It was a unique situation that she, an insecure teenager, was perfectly content being a part of.

“Can we sit down for a second?” she requested as the room began to swelter.

“Would you like another drink?” he asked, sitting her down.

She nodded, but just as he reached the bar, a concerned someone in a dark violet mask whispered something in his ear. He immediately turned around and re-approached her.

“They’re out of beer,” he said bluntly. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” she told him, shrugging it off. Her words were slurred and her senses weren’t completely alert, or she would have found something odd with the bartender continuing to pass out red Solo cups.

What happened in the next three hours, she could not recall. Only a few moments were stored in her memory. The short conversation that they shared. The sudden wave of nausea that passed over her. How he consoled her, leading her upstairs, to the bathroom. The discarded red cups they passed on the way there. The dizziness she felt. Him carrying her like a princess. But she didn’t remember throwing up. She didn’t even remember reaching the bathroom.

She remembered being led into an empty bedroom and being thrown onto a bed. She remembered the feeling of helplessness. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced.

She remembered feeling violated. The involuntary pull of her clothes off her body. The ruffling of him discarding his own clothes. Being too drowsy to protest as he removed her mask, her last source of protection from the cruel world.

He loomed over her, and peeled off his mask, revealing his true face.

“M-M-Mr. Clark?” It was her English teacher, of all people. Exploiting his position of power for his own personal gain. She felt stupid. All of the signs had been there. An older guy. The familiar scent. The voice. How could she not have noticed it? Yes, he did drug her, but the whole ordeal felt so obvious now that she couldn’t help but use her last minutes of awareness to scold herself.  

He didn’t answer, but with a beleaguered smile, he leered at her, renouncing his revered title. Then, he kissed her, forcefully, making sure that she could feel his dominance. She tried to scream, but whenever she did, he bore his nails deeper and deeper into her skin. He continued to unrequitedly kiss her until she was on the verge of losing consciousness. He noted this and decided to move forward.

“Just in case you were wondering, my dear, this doesn’t count as extra credit,” he softly whispered into her ear, vehemently caressing her hair. “This is me giving you a gift like no other.” She shivered in trepidation. “But tell me, Love, because I’m concerned with your behavior tonight: haven’t you ever been told to not take drinks  from strangers?” 

A lone, rueful tear traveled down her cheek. And, just like that, he stole her innocence, starring in her eyes, observing as the last ray of light escaped her gaze forever.