Little Mermaid Ch. 06

At the dorm they only had a glorified broom closet left for her. 'For now,' they said. She didn't care. Lying on the narrow field bed, her first tears came, and they wouldn't stop for a while. Of course, Carl was right; she had been raped. The signs were all over her body. Fragments of the night before didn't leave much to be guessed, did they? She recalled a whirlwind of sweaty bodies and many, many glasses of alcohol. She remembered the omnipresent hands. She must have fainted, but, considering the bruises, the soreness and the stench, that hadn't stopped them, had it? She chuckled through her tears; the goddamn irony of it all. At last, someone had deigned to poke his hard cock into her, and she hadn't even noticed. The ugly therapist had been right: boys don't care as long as there are holes, willing or not. New tears soaked her face, flushing away even the beginnings of logical thought.

She must have fallen asleep of sheer exhaustion. When she woke, her thoughts seemed clearer. Sitting on the wobbly edge of the bed, she knew she couldn't very well stay. She would keep bumping into people who saw her at the frat house dressed like that, getting drunk, kissing guys and doing things she couldn't remember. And then she would meet the guys who took her upstairs and, well... She wouldn't recognize them, but they would remember her. Maybe Robert Whatshisname had been one of them. They might blackmail her. And to top it off, there were Carl and Bimbo Cunt Marshmallow.

She shivered. How could she even go to college like this? No, fleeing was the only choice. At least she was great at that, wasn't she, having done it her whole life. Even coming here had been a flight, hadn't it? So many reasons to fly, but where to this time? Home? Oh, fucking please! To another town, another college? Where would she find the money? Or should she just get a bus and drive to a godforsaken place and be a waitress or whatever... Well, that only worked in movies.

She rocked back and forth, holding her face with both hands. Okay, if not flight...fight? It was an expression, wasn't it? Something about basic choices. Fight, as if that was even a choice. Fight how? Ariel chuckled, thinking of the little Swedish girl she saw on TV when she was a kid, the girl with the pigtails who could lift a horse. She used to say: 'I've never done that, so I must be good at it.' Maybe she was right? She was ugly enough to be like her. What kind of fight could it even be? It had to be something nobody expected. So very crazy that they'd all be flabbergasted, like not knowing what hit them. So far beyond expectations that she'd finally make them all shut their fucking mouths. She sighed. Yes, nice fantasy. At least it had lifted her gloom a little. Grinning, she collected her toilet things and went down the hall to the shared showers. She hated them, with their tufts of hair and unspeakable stains everywhere. But her gloomy expectations were contradicted: the shower was clean and there even had been hot water throughout her stay.

While drying her skin, the rough towel scratched a still angrily swollen nipple, making it tighten. It reminded her of a remark Carl made as they lay in bed after yet another drunken night. Carl had circled that same nipple before taking it into her mouth, suckling it. Pointing at the shining morsel, she'd asked: "If it bothers you so much, why don't you get a nice doctor to pump them up? I've heard of a good one."

"Ewww, no way!" Ariel remembered crying out, pushing the girl away. Now she cupped her microscopic left breast and wondered if it might be that simple. It would cost thousands of dollars, of course, money she didn't have. It would also mean surgery, knives, blood, hospitals. And all those possible complications: leaking implants, horrible mistakes, scars. Besides, was she really that shallow? Two bags of silicone and all her problems would be solved? She tightened the towel around her, picked up her stuff and plodded on her slippers across the hallway to her broom closet.

"Ari? Ariel?" Turning around, she saw Carl and a woman at the entrance to the hallway. Would the girl never give up?

"Go away!" she said as she opened the door to her room. Carl ran towards her.

"Please listen," she said, panting. "This is Debra, she's a nurse. She's great. You must let her look at you. They raped you, honey. My God, they raped you. You can't let that pass. Whatever you think of me, let her help you get the fuckers nailed." Debra stood smiling. She was a plump, brown, middle-aged woman, holding a case of some sort. Ariel wanted to say no, she even did so, adding that it was no use anyway, as she'd just showered, and yesterday too. But when she stepped into her tiny room, she left the door open.

The nurse filled out a form with all kinds of embarrassing questions. Ariel often had to answer that she didn't remember, that she'd been too drunk, that it was no use, but the nurse went on, never losing her smile. Nurse Debra also asked for the clothes she'd worn that night, but Ariel had thrown the soaked, torn-up rags away at Carl's place. Carl said she'd go look for them in her garbage can. Then the woman took Ariels hands and scraped dirt from under her nails, putting what she found into tiny plastic bags. Finally, she asked Ariel to lose the towel so she could check for bruises.

Sitting on her bed, she reluctantly unwrapped her upper body. There were purple and brownish marks everywhere, on her arms, up her throat, but mainly around her nipples; some looked like teeth marks. They gave her a bewildering mixture of feelings. There was shame, but why the fuck would she feel ashamed? There also was this other feeling; was it defiance, was it pride? At least they had tried to find her tits. The nurse took pictures of all the spots and bruises; she also penciled their exact locations into the outline of a woman's body on one of her forms. Ariel noted that the outline had wide hips and generous tits. Of course, the nurse wanted her to get naked and show the rest of her body. She stood and let the towel fall. Carl gasped.

"Please, lie down on this sheet and spread your legs," the nurse said. Ariel saw a big plastic sheet on the bed. She hesitated. Then she laid down, closing her eyes as she opened her legs. The plastic felt cold and slick. She knew why Carl had gasped. Her lower belly was black and blue, as was most of her upper thighs. Her cunt lips looked red and swollen, her anus too. She felt the probing fingers of the nurse, wincing when they reached her vagina. She never opened her eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I need to get a few more samples," the nurse said. "It may get, ehm, uncomfortable." It did.

When she finally opened her eyes again, Ariel saw the nurse filling her kit with all kinds of little bags and small bottles. Then she asked Ariel to get up and folded the plastic sheet carefully, shoving it into another plastic bag. Finally, she closed the kit and put it back into the case.

"I'll get this to the lab; in a few days we'll know more," she said, rising. "It's a pity you showered, but I'm sure there is enough evidence left. Meanwhile, I really must advise you to see the police. Do it today. Please go to the precinct just off campus and ask for officer McPhee. She is a woman and very, ehm, experienced in cases like this. You're in good hands with her, so please go see her and file a report. Really, honey, these bastards must be stopped." Ariel held the woman's gaze. She had a friendly face, even as she tried to look stern. She also had big, soft tits.

After she let the nurse out, Carl returned. Ariel lay on her bed again; she turned away from the girl.

"Fuck off, Carl," she said, pulling the blanket over her head.

***

The next days were a circus. Ariel met with officer McPhee and she was all the nurse had promised: warm, patient and thorough. Carl, meanwhile, was omnipresent: on her phone, at the police station and at her doorstep with food, drinks and magazines. That doorstep had miraculously changed. The day after Ariel went to the police, the dorm manager gave her the key to a real room, all to herself. The school-principle let her know they were very, very sorry for what had happened, and she should of course use whatever time she needed to recover.

Ariel mainly used that time to lie in bed. The whole world seemed at a standstill, nothing happened. She ignored Carl but ate and drank everything she brought. Memories came and went, but were they memories or just pictures to go with what she'd been told? She'd been out, hadn't she? How could there be images? The only true memories were the memories of her body. Shapeless sensations they were, a deep, pulsing ache that even now made her shiver and caused her heart to race.

Then McPhee called, asking her to come by as she had important information. It took her an hour to rise and dress. When she finally arrived at the station, another woman joined them at a table in a small office. McPhee introduced her as Ariel's lawyer, added to the case by the university. Ariel gave her a lame hand. McPhee asked if she wanted anything to drink, then sat opposite of her.

"We have news," she said, sorting through a pile of paper. "Great news. We've found reliable witnesses who pointed out two suspects, both members of the fraternity. A third man wasn't a member but has been seen harassing you. We talked to the men. They all admitted having sex with you, but they insisted that you were willing." She looked up from the papers, smiling widely. "Bullshit, of course. All we now need is a declaration from you that you weren't willing." Ariel looked back at her, saying nothing.

"You must make that statement, honey," the lawyer said, "or we won't have a case." We, she said, Ariel thought. And 'honey.' She kept staring at the policewoman, saying nothing.

"I...," she then said, finally. "I don't know if I was willing or not. I was unconscious, most of the time." The lawyer laid a soft hand on hers. It irritated her.

"That's fine, sweetie," she said, talking with the inclination of a preschool teacher. "Just tell us that you were drunk and even unconscious. It's the same as not willing. Just say it and we'll record it."

Ariel wondered why she hesitated. Of course, the boys had fed her drinks. Of course, she'd been too drunk to resist and of course, she'd blacked out. But she also knew she hated this patronizing lawyer woman. She hated Carl for obvious reasons, she even hated this sweet McPhee officer. And most of all, she hated herself for allowing these women to make her do all this, putting her at the center of their circus. Their circus. Who were they? Why did they suddenly bother? So, she'd been fucked by drunk and horny college boys. Wasn't she allowed to? She had been there of her free will, hadn't she, in that fucking whore's dress Carl had forced upon her? She'd walked in and accepted the drinks. She'd kissed them, she'd let them, suddenly realizing they actually saw her. Of course, she'd let them! They had found her fuckable, hadn't they? Her, of all people! Wasn't she supposed to be fuckable; should they have ignored her? Did these women begrudge her the attention? Ugly, pitiful her? The drunk boys had been deluded enough to take the trouble, hadn't they? Now look at these women with their fat tits and big soft bodies. Sitting there, purring in their obvious comfort: having had all their life the quiet damn privilege of choice.

"I... I won't," she said, rising to her feet. "I won't make that statement."

***

They had been stunned by her decision. Of course, they had. The lawyer lady begged her to change her mind and not let the damn assholes get away with it. She'd really used the word assholes. The policewoman just sat and stared. Then she stopped the recorder and rose with a sigh. For Ariel it all seemed unreal and distant, like everything she'd felt since the rape. No, since before, to be true. Maybe since she saw Carl betray her. No, even earlier: since she left home and came here. Even since what she saw at the hospital, really. She had no right to claim rape, as she hadn't been there.

Carl was seething. Ariel heard her angry tirade already way before she entered her new room, barging in without knocking. Ariel lay on her bed and closed her ears with her hands. Still, highlights like 'what is fucking wrong with you?' and 'are you even a woman?' seeped through. When Carl at last seemed to have lost steam and stood panting in the middle of the room, Ariel sat up on her mattress and told her to leave. That's when the scolding turned into begging, and the begging into sobbing. Ariel just lay down on her bed and turned her back to the girl.

***

Things quieted down, more or less. Several people tried to change her mind, of course. She just heard them out, feeling more stubborn with every meeting, until they gave up. Somehow, they forgot to kick her out of the new room. But, as school life resumed its drudging monotony, Ariel decided not to take part anymore. 'Decided' might sound too active a word, she just dropped out, staying in bed most of her days, ordering food, showering, crying and masturbating over and over as she stared at her ceiling in between. Then her phone rang, it was her mother.

"What's going on, Ariel?" Her voice sounded small, far away and metallic. "Why didn't you call us, it's been weeks? You make us worry so much!" 'Us', she said, Ariel noticed, wondering if her father even knew she was calling. In the first weeks, her mother had called her regularly. Ariel had tried to discourage her, by often not responding at all. After a while, the woman gave up, only checking on her once in a while. All Ariel gave her were vague platitudes. She knew her mother didn't deserve the way she treated her, but she just couldn't bear to even hear her voice.

"I'm fine, mom," she said, making her voice sound up-beat. "I really am fine, don't worry. I'm just busy all the time. People really like me, here, you know, they all do! And that's why I have to run now, I really must! Say hi to daddy." And she pushed the button to end the conversation, before throwing the device on her bed. Sinking back into her pillows Ariel for the first time since the rape started wondering where she'd ended up and why. Why she'd done what she did, where she was going, where all this might lead to, if ever it would lead to anything.

This whole week had been wrapped in a haze of indifference. She didn't care. Whatever anybody said, it didn't matter. But it was a charade, she knew. The haze would have been long gone if she hadn't so desperately clung to it. She also knew why. There was pain under that haze, old pain, new pain. Nobody needs pain, nobody'd want to go there. When your life is a constant accumulation of disappointments, you learn how to separate yourself from pain, if only for survival. Ariel knew very well how to do that, but she also knew there was a price to be paid; the price was a dull, empty life, comfortable, maybe but lonely, monotonous. Dead, really.

She remembered trying to find a way out of that. Dressing up like a shameless goth punker back home had scared her, she'd died of embarrassment, but she'd felt alive, hadn't she? With Tim she'd taken risks, but she'd lived, ah, so much so! Even the pain of betrayal had made her feel alive. When she'd been with Carl, she'd felt alive too. Finding her with the big-titted bimbo had deeply hurt her, but at least she'd felt something, anything. When she'd been mangled at the fraternity, she'd felt scared, but alive, well, okay, until she'd blacked out. Even now, when everything tasted like vomit, she knew the only way out was risking yet another disappointment...ah, not so much risking: already knowing it would end in disaster again. But before that, she'd be alive; scared for sure, but alive. Did she dare? Every fiber in her body resisted. But did she even have a choice? It was on a Friday at ten o'clock in the morning, a week after her rape that Ariel Elizabeth Moore decided to risk everything one final time or die trying. It was what she yelled into her condense-clouded mirror, not feeling pathetic at all.

***

You're supposed to feel safe behind the closed curtain of a fitting room, aren't you? Even if you disregard the buzz of voices all around, the people walking by, and the occasional mistaken hand to open your curtain? Not really. Ariel looked at her trembling fingers, feeling hot and sweaty. There were three items waiting at their tiny hooks, a fourth sent its sinful, slippery message to the tips of her fingers.

Why had she had to go to this one shop of all the shops in this mall? This brainless sugar palace catering to Marshmallow Tits Kimberley and her Barbie ilk, where for utter sweetness the enamel cracked off your teeth the moment you entered? Yes, she'd had to go here, even though her stomach hit her throat, and her feet wanted to turn around and run away. Moreover, she didn't just enter this store, she passed all the just mildly disgusting racks in the front to find this one corner where everything gleamed and shone and sparkled: the corner of fake satin, plastic leather, dazzling sequins and shining latex. Her shaking hands had to sort through shimmering fabric to find the smallest sizes and shortest hems. And now she was in here, her bony body exposed to the floor-to-ceiling mirror, her hands holding the first sheer-to-almost-nothing item to try on.

She closed her eyes as the tiny dress slithered over her skin, coming to a halt not even one third down her long thighs. Her mind might protest, but her body remembered, and shivered. Ariel opened her eyes to search for the flaws that mirrors had been offering her all her life, and surely, they were there: the clumsy skin-clad bones, the too long legs and arms, the total lack of curves. What she saw was a stretched child's body wrapped in a shining candy wrapper. A piercing laugh from outside shook her out of her trance. Irritated, she grabbed the hem of the dress and took it off. She should leave, shouldn't she? Run! But her hands took the second outfit off its hook.

Maybe it didn't matter what her decision would be. The shiny pink number, or the red pleather mini skirt and tube top leaving her belly free, or the all-white latex little jumpsuit, or even the gold, sequined, backless mini dress. They all made her into this Bambi-like pedophile-teasing creature. In the stifling closeness of her fitting room, Ariel found out that there was a niche where ugly or beautiful didn't count, where tits and curves lost their dominion to the doe-eyes of a pulp-lipped child and the perverted promise of innocence. As her mind shrank back in horror, her weeping pussy chose.

***

The air thumped around her, music blaring. The hall was filled with the buzz of people; perfume and sweat mixing into a mind-numbing cocktail. Earlier, Ariel had been primping and brushing and painting and dressing/undressing until the evening neared midnight. She'd sung shrilly along with her favorite music to drown her doubts. She'd done her eyes until they were someone else's, painting her lips into a bloody gash. Her hair was a silver-white angelic bob she'd bought at a salon that afternoon. She'd walked and walked around her room on new, crazy heels. She'd drunk a bottle of white wine to drown more doubts. And, finally, she'd stood in front of her mirror, watching a wide-eyed child with a clown's face, dressed in tight gold and glittering sequins. She'd wobbled on plastic hooves, giggling, too drunk to be scared.

And now she was here at another frat house function held in this huge disco place, her heart beating as loud as the music. She ignored the people around her. The bouncer had had to ask her twice for her ID. The air was as hot as her blood when she waded in. Between her and the distant bar hundreds of bodies jumped and swayed to the music. Their waving arms were painted red and gold by the roaming floodlights. It sure was a big party, so big indeed that she could easily slip into the anonymity of it all.