The Music of What Happens - Bill Konigsberg Page 0,92

I need to say, and that’ll be it. I’m not calling the cops. I’m telling him that he hurt me, that he won’t hurt me again, and that if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll make sure guys say yes in the future. And that’s it.

Kevin is sitting on the second of four square wooden benches in a horseshoe formation, facing away from the back door. It’s perfect, because it’s dark and while there are people around, they’re mostly wearing headphones. I see his forehead first, and my throat tightens involuntarily.

“Hey,” I say, sitting down next to him. Leaving a little room in between us.

“Hey,” he says. He has a coffee. “You gonna get one?”

“Nah,” I say, and he laughs.

“Um. Okay …”

“Wanted to talk to you again,” I say, and he starts to stand up. I pull him back down by the shirt. “Nope. You’re gonna listen this time. Just shut up and listen.”

He looks super uncomfortable, and he’s looking around like he’s afraid and hoping there are witnesses.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” I say, careful to keep my voice low as I hear someone sit in the next bench over, like right behind where we are. “I just need to say something.”

“Fine,” he says. “Say whatever. I really don’t care.”

“You … raped me,” I say, my voice catching when I say the word, real soft so no one else can hear.

“That’s just. Wow,” he says. “I …”

“Shut up. Really. Just shut up. I told you no. You don’t get to decide what no means. It’s called consent. I’m not gonna like call the cops. I just want you to know that I know now that you raped me.”

“Wow,” he says.

I sit up tall so that he remembers that I’m bigger than him. He shrinks ever so slightly.

“I got an HIV test and it’s negative, so that’s good. I don’t know if you gave me anything else.”

“Maybe you gave me something,” he says.

“Yeah, no,” I say. “You’re the only person, asshole. I’ve done that with.”

He smirks. “Right. Of course. Sure. Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

“You could get in trouble anyway, dude. I’m seventeen. How old are you?”

“None of your business, dude. And that’s so lame. I’m still a teenager. I’m not some creepy old guy taking advantage of a young guy. Grow up. Take a little responsibility for your actions. You were there. You’re a big dude. You could’ve stopped me. You didn’t want to stop me.”

I don’t know what to say to that, and for about the millionth time in the last four weeks, I wonder if he’s right. Maybe I did want this. Maybe I’m being a big old baby —

“You did it because you were horny, and you’re no better than anyone else, even though obviously you think you are. You’re a horny dude, which makes it weird that you’re so frigid.” He laughs. “I figured you’d be more chili pepper and less … I don’t know.”

My head pulses. “What?”

He shakes his head and laughs. “You look Mexican, but really you’re a white guy with dark skin,” he says.

“What does that even mean?”

“You’re supposed to be passionate. You’re the opposite. You’re actually bad in bed.”

The fist glances off his chin. The bone-on-bone crack is gratifying, but also surprising.

Because it isn’t my fist colliding with Kevin’s jaw that creates that sound.

“Ow,” Kevin says, shocked.

I look to my left and there is Jordan, staring at the back of his hand like it’s operated without his consent. Everyone is staring at us, eyes wide.

Kevin’s hand is squeezing the center of his chin, like he’s popping a big zit. His mouth looks funny.

“Jesus. You misaligned my jaw, what the fuck.”

“He what?” I ask.

“It’s a thing that happens,” Kevin says, his mouth sideways, and in that moment I realize for the very first time that he’s a person. A bad one, to be sure. I’d never do what he did to another person. But it floods me that this person who hurt me has a mother, and probably wore braces, and they probably hurt sometimes.

“Go. Now. You fucking rapist piece of shit,” Jordan says, making his hand into a claw. “Next I claw your eyes out.” He says it calmly, and I am putty at his slender feet.

The guy runs. People go back to doing what they were doing, like they didn’t just watch my boyfriend punch my rapist and misalign his jaw.

I just stare at Jordan, my unlikely, shocking savior, and part of me feels humiliated that I needed