tried to have a conversation about movies or art- or anything she was into- she could tell he was zoning out. She’d made it clear to him many times that she was interested in him for sex only, and he’d always say he was cool with that, but then after they’d hook up a few times he’d start getting possessive, calling her all the time and getting weirdly jealous about any guy she even mentioned in casual conversation, and she’d have to cut him off. She knew if she slept with him tonight it would just start the cycle all over again, and she didn’t feel like dealing with all of that.
As the cab pulled up in front of his parents’ building, she decided she definitely wouldn’t have sex with him. She’d just hang out for a while and call it a night.
Marissa had been to Darren’s parents’ apartment a few times before. The space was awesome- three bedrooms, high ceilings, crown molding, hardwood floors- and it was extremely well furnished. She even liked the borderlinetacky Pizza Place- esque oil paintings of Venetian scenes in the dining room. She didn’t know where his parents were tonight, but she knew it was highly unlikely that they knew anything about this party.
As she’d expected, the apartment was infested with Vassar people- i.e., people she’d hoped she’d never have to see again once college ended, but in the four and a half months since graduation it seemed like she was running into them on a regular basis. It amazed her how this could happen. New York City had like twelve million people, and sometimes it felt like she was still in a college town and it was impossible to meet anyone new.
She hung out for a while talking to Megan and Caitlin, who’d lived in her dorm freshman year. They were both from Scarsdale-’nough said. Then this guy Zach Harrison came over and lamely started hitting on her. Zach had dated one of Marissa’s old house mates; he was one of those boisterous, heavyset guys who laughed loudly and sprayed saliva when he talked, especially when he was drunk, like right now. He cornered Marissa- literally, backing her into a corner in the dining room, blocking her escape with his huge stomach- and told her stories about people from school whom she either didn’t know or didn’t care about. Of course he thought the stories were hilarious and kept belly laughing, spitting in her face. Finally Drew McPhearson came over and said something to Zach, and Marissa jumped at the opportunity to escape and headed down the hallway, past more Vassar people and some non- Vassar people, toward Darren’s room.
Darren and several others were sitting around, chilling, listening to Daughtry, getting wasted. Aside from Darren, the only other Vassar person in the room was Alison Kutcher- sadly no relation to Ashton. The non- Vassars all looked skanky, and one woman looked burnt- out and in her thirties. Marissa figured they were some of Darren’s drug clients.
“Hey, there she is,” Darren said, and he got up, his eyes glassy and bloodshot and kissed her on the lips. She didn’t have a chance to turn her head or she would’ve.
M arissa sat- purposely not next to Darren- and someone passed her the bong.
“It’s Northern Lights,” Darren said proudly.
Marissa took a long, deep hit, closing her eyes, savoring it, and then she exhaled and her brain moaned, Thank you.
“Awesome shit, right?” Darren asked.
She didn’t answer, just leaned back and smiled, enjoying the rush of mellowness.
They passed the bong around a few times, then Marissa suddenly had to pee and went to the bathroom. When she came back everyone was gone except Darren. Did he really expect her to believe that this wasn’t planned, that everyone had just left on their own?
He was sitting on his bed with the bong and waved her over and actually said, “Come on, come over here, I won’t bite.”
She really wanted another hit, so she sat next to him and lit the bong and inhaled deeply, holding it in her lungs until she started feeling dizzy and then letting it out very slowly through her mouth and nostrils.
Then she realized that Darren was kissing her neck, under her jaw.
She shifted away and said, “This is a bad idea. I just want to be friends.”
She was aware that she was talking extremely slowly, or at least she felt like she was.
Something about her delivery must’ve seemed funny to Darren because he started giggling. Then he said, “We are friends,” and tried to nibble on her ear again.
“I mean friends friends,” Marissa said, moving away again.
“It’ll be just sex,” he said.
“You can’t have just sex,” she said.
“Oh, yeah,” he said and tried to touch her crotch.
She stood up and said, “Stop it.”
“Come back here,” he said and unsnapped his jeans.
She tried to leave, and he grabbed her arm.
She turned and said, “Get the fuck off me.”
“Okay,” he said, letting go. “Chill.”
Marissa left the room and walked, very unsteadily, into the living room. She tapped Sarah on the shoulder and said, “I wanna go.”
“Now?” Sarah asked. It was obvious she wasn’t budging.
“It’s okay, stay,” Marissa said. I’m just gonna take a cab to Penn Station, there’s an LIRR train I can catch.”
Darren was heading down the hallway saying, “Hey, come on, just chill,” and she just wanted to get away. She went through the dining room and left the apartment.
She knew Darren was following her, so she didn’t want to wait for an elevator and took the stairs instead. After two or whatever flights she felt dazed- from the alcohol and pot, though she also had mild vertigo- and she had to stop for a few seconds to steady herself. Then she continued down to the lobby and out to the street.
She went to Broadway and hailed a cab downtown. What was up with the way the Jamaican- looking cabdriver kept eyeing her in the rearview? Shit, he was going to drive her someplace and try to rape her, she was sure of it. She’d read some article online, linked to somebody’s blog, about how a fake cabdriver in Manhattan had picked up this woman and taken her to Connecticut or Long Island or someplace and raped her. What could she do to stop him? He looked like he was a big guy, and she had no way to protect herself.
“Stop the fucking cab!” she screamed.
He was looking back at her with his rapist’s eyes again, saying, “What you want to do?”
“I said stop right now!”
He seemed to be driving faster, zigzagging, saying, “I can’t stop in traffic.” Shit, he was really going to do it. It was really happening.
She gripped the door handle, figuring she’d jump out when the car was moving if she had to, and the cab screeched to a halt. She got out, and the driver said, “Hey, where’s my money?”
She reached into her purse, grabbed some crumpled bills, and threw them through his window.
“Crazy lady,” the driver said and drove off.
Shaken and on the verge of tears, she rushed along the sidewalk. As she waited to cross a street a woman asked her, “Are you okay?” and Marissa ignored her and crossed against the light, a car nearly hitting her.
After going a few more blocks she started to realize how ridiculous she’d acted. Had she really gotten out of the cab? That cabdriver hadn’t done anything wrong; he hadn’t even been looking at her, for chrissake. It had been a normal cab ride, and she’d totally freaked out. It was all Darren’s fault; his goddamn pot had made her paranoid. God, this sucked so bad. Now she couldn’t even enjoy being wasted. This was officially the shittiest week of her life.
She took another cab to Penn Station and caught the train to Forest Hills. She could’ve taken the subway, but late at night she usually took the Long Island Rail Road because she felt safer and the ride only took twenty minutes. Walking home from the station she felt a lot less wasted but still a little drunk. She was dreading what her dad would say to her when she walked into the house. Of course, this time she actually had been drinking and smoking, so he’d feel even more justified in attacking her. Maybe he’d hit her with You really need to get focused, Marissa or It’s time you start setting your priorities straight.
When Marissa turned the corner onto her block, she saw a police car doubleparked in front of her house. What the hell? There were two cops in the car, and they looked at her as she turned up the walkway.
In the house she heard voices- her mom was talking and, oh no, it was Detective Dick Clements. She didn’t know if Dick was his actual first name, but that’s what she’d been calling him in her head.
