Hidden Pain by KB
Table of Contents [Report This]
Note: Rape warning!
Mattie died today.
I called her house to find out if she wanted to come over for dinner. Her mom answered and said she thought Mattie was here. That was when we all started searching. It took a couple of hours, but we finally found her. Thank God I didn’t. It’s hard enough that she’s gone, without me having to have seen her hanging from the rafters in the gym at school, her belt around her neck. The police came a couple of hours ago. Don’t know how much I told them. Think I’m in shock or something.
But I don’t know why she’d kill herself. I mean, she didn’t do it after the thing we don’t talk about, so why would she do it now? She would have told me if anything had gone wrong, and we’d only talked about an hour before I called her house. She was fine then. The police seem to think it’s a really clear-cut suicide. God, that’s a sh*t word. Like Mattie would have tied the belt around her neck, chucked it over the rafter and then kicked over the chair! But that’s exactly what the scene looked like, the way Henry described it to me. He was one of the people who found her. It just doesn’t make any sense…
Mattie’s funeral.
The whole class and a few other people from school came, as well as the basketball team we both played for. Her parents were really devastated -- she was their only child. I didn’t cry. I kept looking at the box with the flowers on top and just thinking that she wasn’t inside it, that she was somewhere else, and when this was done, I’d go off to meet her. Somebody said that the police had done an autopsy, and I saw a show about that once, with all the scars. I can’t imagine that Mattie’s body looks like that. I don’t want to think about it. But there’s nothing else to think about. It’s all everyone talks about, even Mr. Peterson, and I would’ve thought he’d be the one person who wouldn’t dare open his mouth. But I have to keep reminding myself that the only ones who knew what he’d done are Mattie and me. I guess I’m the only one, now.
I went to school today. I didn’t go yesterday, because I couldn’t face the sight of her desk without her sitting at it. But Mom said I could come home whenever I want, so I went. She’s being really good about it -- Dad, too.
There are times when I just want to scream out to the world “Be Normal!” I don’t want to hear any more stories about her, what a great person she was, and how nice and everything. Even Angela is being nice about her, and she used to bitch behind Mattie’s back all the time. What a cow. How can people be so two-faced?
Anyway, there was a new teacher today. Mr. Malcolm, but he’s told us to call him Jarod. It’s funny but I thought I remembered seeing him at the funeral, not that I can remember it too clearly. Considering I didn’t cry, it seems really blurry. But anyway, the usual suspects preen themselves before he walks into the room, just in case he notices them. Like he would. He’s at least 20 years older than them, if not more. They’re so pathetic.
Skipped school today and went to Mattie’s grave instead. They put the headstone up yesterday, a big block of marble with her name on it, and a photo, and a picture of an angel crying. For almost the first time since she died, I cried, too. Just lay down on the ground and bawled my eyes out like a baby. I guess I finally realized that she’s gone and won’t be coming back.
Her grave was covered with flowers, and I didn’t even bring any. Forgot it’s what you’re meant to do at a graveyard. I didn’t read the cards. They’re for her, not me, although she’ll never see them. There are some nice flowers, though.
I was about to leave when I saw Mr. Malcolm walking towards the grave. He had a bunch of roses -- pink ones, Mattie’s favorite. She never told me about him, but I guess he knew who she was.
“She was your friend.”
No kiddin’, genius. My baby brother could have figured that one out. “Yeah.”
He got this sad look in his eyes when he put the flowers on her grave.
“Want to tell me about it?”
“Not really.”
Even just talking made me go all stupid and teary again. He put his arm around my shoulders, and it was weird because our family is really hands-off, but it was nice, like he actually cared about me.
“It always helps to talk.”
Maybe this guy’s a shrink. That sounded like the typical lines they spin on TV. Mattie and I used to watch those sorts of things. Come to think of it, we used to watch drama where this kind of thing happened all the time. I used to tease her, ‘cause she’d cry when the characters did. It’s all fake, I used to tell her, but suddenly it’s not fake anymore.
Suddenly I realized that I was crying even more, and all over Mr. Malcolm’s shirt, because he was giving me a hug, which was kind of nice. Maybe he’s right; maybe it would help to talk.
“I just don’t know why she killed herself.”
That’s always been my problem with this thing. She shouldn’t have done it, or at least not without telling me, so I could talk her out of it. I could always talk her out of doing stupid things, and this is one of the most stupid.
“Do you really think she did?”
“The police do.”
“I know what they think. I’d like to hear what you think.”
What is this guy, a cop? He’s got this really thoughtful look on his face, like he’s waiting for me to tell him something he already suspected.
“I don’t know. I just don’t think she had any reason to. She wasn’t the type of person who would.”
He nodded. “Do you think someone else might have been involved?”
I shrugged, knowing that this would be a great moment to drop Mr. Peterson right in it, but I still can’t forget what he said, and I know he’d do it.
“I saw the way Neville Peterson looked at you at the funeral,” he went on, and I stared hard at the ground. He put one hand on either shoulder and although I was still looking at my shoes, I knew he was looking at me. “What did he do to you?”
There’s no way I’m telling you this. I don’t even know who you are.
“Do it for Mattie,” he told me quietly, in a really understanding voice. “I know she’d want you to tell me. I can help, Judy.”
Yeah, right. That’s a joke. Nobody can touch Mr. Peterson. Not me. And certainly not a substitute teacher who appeared out of nowhere.
He sighed when I didn’t say anything, and slid his finger underneath my chin to lift my head so I had to look at him.
“I can’t help her, or you, unless you talk to me. I know he did something, and I know he’s involved in all this. What I need from you are the details, what he did and how both of you are involved.”
He reached into his pocket and took out a card, offering it to me. “This is where I’m staying. If you feel strong enough, come and tell me. If I’m not there, you can call my cell phone.”
I don’t know what made me take the card. Who was I fooling? I wouldn’t tell anyone about it, ever. When I looked up again, when my eyes had cleared enough to see, he was already gone. I sat on Mattie’s grave and thought about whether telling him would really make any difference.
I didn’t sleep last night, just kept staring at the ceiling, trying to think of something apart from the expression of satisfaction on Mr. Peterson’s face when he’d finished with us, how I couldn’t have got away even if I’d tried, how it’s haunting me more now than it did right after it happened. There was even a point last night when I thought that maybe death would be preferable to this, to having it play over and over in my head. Maybe this was what happened to Mattie. Maybe this was why she’s dead. And then I started imagining what she would have looked like, just hanging there.
I was on my bike and riding down the street before I realized I’d even left my room, a note left on my bedside table that I was going for a ride but I’d be back. Promise. I know Mom and Dad are more jittery about me since Mattie died. We’ve done more as a family in the past two weeks than we ever did before.
There was a light on in the shed when I arrived. Jarod was standing beside me before I’d finished chaining up my bike. I don’t know when I started thinking of him as Jarod and not Mr. Malcolm. He took me inside and gave me a towel to dry my hair. I hadn’t even noticed that it was raining. I never thought I’d feel comfortable being alone around a man again, especially one that age, but he was so non-threatening and I just couldn’t believe he’d do anything like what Mr. Peterson did.
I sat on his bed while he took the chair opposite, sitting backwards on it, his elbows propped up on the back and his chin in his hands.
“Tell me,” he offered quietly. “I looked at the reports about Mattie’s death, and there were signs to suggest that she had been raped.”
There it was. That word we both swore we’d never say, because we didn’t want to admit that we could have been violated like that, especially not by our teacher, and not when there were two of us against him.
I hadn’t cried after Mr. Peterson did it, but I was crying now, great heaving sobs that made my chest hurt and floods of tears that soaked the tissues Jarod gave me. He was sitting next to me, his arm around me, kind and gentle and silent, so that I could talk without feeling pressured.
And then it all came out. How he’d invited us around to his house for extra tuition, how he’d taken us into his basement, locked us in and raped us both, one at a time. How we tried to stop him, but he was too strong, how he threatened to kill my brother, Joshua, and Mattie’s paraplegic mother if we ever told anyone, how we had to hide sprains for weeks afterward, and he came into our sport classes and made us work harder than anyone else, just to make them hurt more.
It took a long time until I was cried out, still leaning against Jarod's shoulder, his arm still around me, not saying anything. When I finally looked up at him, his eyes were so full of sympathy that it was almost enough to set me off again. I was hiccoughing and sniffing so much that I barely heard what he said.
“I’ll take care of it.”
I believed him. Something about the way he said it was like a guarantee. And it was such a relief to have told someone, that someone knew, that it wasn’t a secret anymore.
“We’re going to talk to Dr. Jennings,” he told me quietly. “I trust her. She’s a good woman, and she’ll be able to help you through this. She can talk to your parents, too.”
Mom and Dad. I hadn’t even thought that they would need to know, and I was about to beg him not to, but he turned so that he was facing me, placing his hands over mine.
“They have to know,” he said firmly. “You can’t keep something like this from them. You’ll have to have tests to make sure it didn’t cause any problems that need medical treatment. They’ll want to be supporting you for those.”
I nodded. He was right, and although Dad would want to kill Mr. Peterson personally, I got an idea that Jarod would get in first.
He helped me off the bed and walked with me out of the cabin. His car stood nearby and he took my bike over to it, putting it into the trunk while I got into the passenger seat.
The drive to Dr. Jennings’ house didn’t take very long, and she seemed to know we were coming because she met us at the door. Come to think of it, maybe Jarod phoned her. I don’t really know now. But she took me inside while Jarod unloaded my bike and left.
I cried again while I was telling her about it. She told me evidence had been found at the scene of Mattie’s death suggesting that she had been murdered and then set up to look like suicide. Jarod had proposed that Mattie was planning to tell someone what happened, that Mr. Peterson found out and killed her so she wouldn’t be able to. Dr. Jennings called Mom and Dad and asked them to come over. We talked for almost the whole day, and Dad was as angry as I thought he’d be, but he was trying really hard not to show me.
Mom said it explained why I hadn’t been as willing to hug Dad as I’d been before, and I guess that’s true, although I hadn’t realized it until she said so. Dr. Jennings said it would probably help if I kept talking to her about it, maybe a couple of times a week, and Mom agreed. They took me home and we talked again, just Mom and me, until almost midnight. For the first night almost since it happened, I was able to sleep all night without waking up. It made a big difference to how I feel.
The whole school was in a mess today. Mr. Peterson was arrested for Mattie’s murder last night. No one else could believe it, and some of the students who’d liked him said that he was definitely innocent. According to the papers, though, the police have enough evidence to get him sent to jail for a really long time. The best part to me is that now nobody thinks that Mattie killed herself anymore, and I know that’s really good for her parents, too.
Jarod walked me home from school. He said he didn’t have anything to do with the arrest, but I’m not convinced. There was something like satisfaction in his eyes when he was talking about it. He said that, if I wanted, I could go to the police with what he did to me, but I don’t have to. They found his DNA on Mattie’s body, and also her hair in his basement. Apparently there’s some of mine there, too, but I’m not sure I want the whole world to know that I was one of his victims. I’ll have to talk to Dr. Jennings about it and see what she thinks.
Apparently Jarod's leaving tonight. He said he’s got another job to go to. He gave me a red book and asked me to give it to anyone who might come looking for him. When we got home, I looked at it and found articles about Mattie’s death and Mr. Peterson’s arrest.
Who is this guy, really?
Well, they came today. A woman with legs to kill for, a balding guy and an older man. I gave them the book and told them what he’d done. The older guy was interested, asked a few questions, but the woman just rolled her eyes and walked off after I’d told her where Jarod had been living.
I had all the tests at the hospital and those we’ve got results for are clear so far.
I don’t know if I’ll ever see Jarod again, but he’s done so much for me that I hope so.
My life’s getting better every day. Joshua started talking last week, and his favorite word is ‘Judy.’ We spend time together every afternoon after school, and I just hope I can protect him from the worst parts of the world as he grows up. Mom and I have decided that that’s our most important aim in life. She treats me like a grown-up now, and that’s helping, too. Maybe my life can still be good, even though I lost my best friend, not bad, like I thought it would always have to be…
