Here We Lie by Paula Treick DeBoard

Author:Paula Treick DeBoard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Park Row Books
Published: 2017-11-28T13:55:13+00:00

OCTOBER 12, 2016

Megan

I’d been counting on Anna Kovics. She was intelligent, well-spoken, sympathetic. Her attack had been less than a year ago, and because it was within the statute of limitations, the district attorney could take her case seriously. I entertained, in between moments of shock and heartache, the fantasy of a dramatic arrest on the steps of the Capitol.

But by Wednesday, less than forty-eight hours into my rekindled nightmare, Anna Kovics had withdrawn her complaint and dropped out of sight. An attorney for Senator Mabrey said that she was seeking counseling, and that while they “were shattered by the grave and inflammatory nature of her false charges,” the family “wished her well on the road to healing.”

In other words—she’d taken the money, and the Mabreys had won.

* * *

All day Wednesday, my tears threatened to come in the middle of the most mundane activities—filling out a purchase order for office supplies, processing a request for a grade change. I was crying just as much for Anna Kovics as for myself, not to mention all the other women, victims who had fallen prey to the charm, the money, the inherent power that came with being a Mabrey.

I wondered what stories Anna had told herself, and if they were anything like the lies I’d been living with for fourteen years.

I’d told myself the I-must-have-led-him-on story, one that offered as evidence the black one-piece I’d bought that spring at Target, admiring my rear view in the dressing room mirror, not to mention all the times he and I brushed against each other at the dinner table, reaching for a pitcher of water or a pat of butter.

I’d told myself that I’d sent the wrong signals, that maybe it had been natural or understandable or at least not monstrous for him to see my friendliness as flirtation, to take a smile as a suggestion.

I’d tried to tell myself that it was only sex, that I wasn’t a victim. I’d tried to place it alongside my last night with Kurt Haschke, the night of Becky Babcock’s party.

And mostly, the only thing that could help me get back to sleep when I’d woken from the nightmares of footsteps on the path behind me and a hand on the back of my neck, was the story that I was the only one—a fluke, an aberration in an otherwise normal and law-abiding sex life, a one-off, a mistake he wouldn’t ever repeat.

Anna Kovics had blown that theory to bits, and the fragments ricocheted in my brain. I’d been attacked fourteen years ago; Anna Kovics had been attacked last year. In between us, and maybe before and after, must be a trail of other women. And all of us, collectively, were too ashamed to do anything other than keep quiet and try to move on with our lives.

* * *

Bobby held me that night, smelling faintly of sweat from his after-dinner run, his body a reassuring weight. In his arms, I was wooden. “What can I do?” he asked over and over.

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