couch and
fell at once into a deep and exhausted sleep.
She came sharply awake to find herself in darkness. Her
heart was pounding, her blouse soaked in sweat. Had there
been a noise? The crack of glass, the tread of a footstep?
Was that what had startled her from such a deep sleep? She
dared not move a muscle, for fear she would miss the telltale
sound of an intruder.
Moving lights shone through the window, the headlights of a
passing car. Her living room briefly brightened, then slid back
into darkness. She listened to the hiss of cool air from the
vent, the growl of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Nothing alien.
Nothing that should inspire this crushing sense of dread.
She sat up and summoned the courage to turn on the lamp.
Imagined horrors instantly vanished in the warm glow of light.
She rose from the couch, moving deliberately from room to
room, turning on lights, looking into closets. On a rational level,
she knew that there was no intruder, that her home, with its
sophisticated alarm system and its dead bolts and its tightly
latched windows, was as protected as any home could be.
But she did not rest until this ritual had been completed and
every dark nook had been searched. Only when she was
satisfied that her security had not been breached did she
allow herself to breathe easily again.
It was ten-thirty. A Wednesday. I need to talk to someone.
Tonight I cannot deal with this alone.
She sat down at her desk, booted up her computer, and
watched as the screen flickered on. It was her lifeline, her
therapist, this bundle of electronics and wires and plastic, the
only safe place into which she could pour her pain.
She typed in her screen name, CCORD, signed onto the
Internet, and with a few clicks of the mouse, a few words typed
on the keyboard, she navigated her way into the private chat
room called, simply: womanhelp.
Half a dozen familiar screen names were already there.
Faceless, nameless women, all of them drawn to this safe and
anonymous haven in cyberspace. She sat for a few moments,
watching the messages scroll down the computer screen.
Hearing, in her mind, the wounded voices of women she had
never met, except in this virtual room.
LAURIE45: So what did you do then?
VOTIVE: I told him I wasn't ready. I was still having
flashbacks. I told him if he cared about me, he'd wait.
HBREAKER: Good for you.
WINKY98: Don't let him rush you.
LAURIE45: How did he react?
VOTIVE: He said I should just GET OVER IT. Like I'm a
wimp or something.
WINKY98: Men should get raped!!!!
HBREAKER: It took me two years before I was ready.
LAURIE45: Over a year for me.
WINKY98: All these guys think about are their dicks. It's all
about them. They just want their THING satisfied.
LAURIE45: Ouch. You're pissed off tonight, Wink.
WINKY98: Maybe I am. Sometimes I think Lorena Bobbitt
had the right idea.
HBREAKER: Wink's getting out her cleaver!
VOTIVE: I don't think he's willing to wait. I think he's given
up on me.
WINKY98: You're worth waiting for. You're WORTH IT!
A few seconds passed, with the message box blank. Then,
LAURIE45: Hello, CCord. It's good to see you back.
Catherine typed.
CCORD: I see we're talking about men again.
LAURIE45: Yeah. How come we can't ever get off this tired
subject?
VOTIVE: Because they're the ones who hurt us.
There was another long pause. Catherine took a deep
breath and typed.
CCORD: I had a bad day.
LAURIE45: Tell us, CC. What happened?
Catherine could almost hear the coo of female voices,
gentle, soothing murmurs through the ether.
CCORD: I had a panic attack tonight. I'm here, locked in my
house, where no one can touch me and it still happens.
WINKY98: Don't let him win. Don't let him make you a
prisoner.
CCORD: It's too late. I am a prisoner. Because I realized
something terrible tonight.
WINKY98: What's that?
CCORD: Evil doesn't die. It never dies. It just takes on a
new face, a new name. Just because we've been
touched by it once, it doesn't mean we're immune to
fell at once into a deep and exhausted sleep.
She came sharply awake to find herself in darkness. Her
heart was pounding, her blouse soaked in sweat. Had there
been a noise? The crack of glass, the tread of a footstep?
Was that what had startled her from such a deep sleep? She
dared not move a muscle, for fear she would miss the telltale
sound of an intruder.
Moving lights shone through the window, the headlights of a
passing car. Her living room briefly brightened, then slid back
into darkness. She listened to the hiss of cool air from the
vent, the growl of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Nothing alien.
Nothing that should inspire this crushing sense of dread.
She sat up and summoned the courage to turn on the lamp.
Imagined horrors instantly vanished in the warm glow of light.
She rose from the couch, moving deliberately from room to
room, turning on lights, looking into closets. On a rational level,
she knew that there was no intruder, that her home, with its
sophisticated alarm system and its dead bolts and its tightly
latched windows, was as protected as any home could be.
But she did not rest until this ritual had been completed and
every dark nook had been searched. Only when she was
satisfied that her security had not been breached did she
allow herself to breathe easily again.
It was ten-thirty. A Wednesday. I need to talk to someone.
Tonight I cannot deal with this alone.
She sat down at her desk, booted up her computer, and
watched as the screen flickered on. It was her lifeline, her
therapist, this bundle of electronics and wires and plastic, the
only safe place into which she could pour her pain.
She typed in her screen name, CCORD, signed onto the
Internet, and with a few clicks of the mouse, a few words typed
on the keyboard, she navigated her way into the private chat
room called, simply: womanhelp.
Half a dozen familiar screen names were already there.
Faceless, nameless women, all of them drawn to this safe and
anonymous haven in cyberspace. She sat for a few moments,
watching the messages scroll down the computer screen.
Hearing, in her mind, the wounded voices of women she had
never met, except in this virtual room.
LAURIE45: So what did you do then?
VOTIVE: I told him I wasn't ready. I was still having
flashbacks. I told him if he cared about me, he'd wait.
HBREAKER: Good for you.
WINKY98: Don't let him rush you.
LAURIE45: How did he react?
VOTIVE: He said I should just GET OVER IT. Like I'm a
wimp or something.
WINKY98: Men should get raped!!!!
HBREAKER: It took me two years before I was ready.
LAURIE45: Over a year for me.
WINKY98: All these guys think about are their dicks. It's all
about them. They just want their THING satisfied.
LAURIE45: Ouch. You're pissed off tonight, Wink.
WINKY98: Maybe I am. Sometimes I think Lorena Bobbitt
had the right idea.
HBREAKER: Wink's getting out her cleaver!
VOTIVE: I don't think he's willing to wait. I think he's given
up on me.
WINKY98: You're worth waiting for. You're WORTH IT!
A few seconds passed, with the message box blank. Then,
LAURIE45: Hello, CCord. It's good to see you back.
Catherine typed.
CCORD: I see we're talking about men again.
LAURIE45: Yeah. How come we can't ever get off this tired
subject?
VOTIVE: Because they're the ones who hurt us.
There was another long pause. Catherine took a deep
breath and typed.
CCORD: I had a bad day.
LAURIE45: Tell us, CC. What happened?
Catherine could almost hear the coo of female voices,
gentle, soothing murmurs through the ether.
CCORD: I had a panic attack tonight. I'm here, locked in my
house, where no one can touch me and it still happens.
WINKY98: Don't let him win. Don't let him make you a
prisoner.
CCORD: It's too late. I am a prisoner. Because I realized
something terrible tonight.
WINKY98: What's that?
CCORD: Evil doesn't die. It never dies. It just takes on a
new face, a new name. Just because we've been
touched by it once, it doesn't mean we're immune to
Similar Books
