Blow My House Down

Chapter 20

*Warning: mentions of sexual assault*

Cecily and I made our way way home around 4, stopping by the supermarket to grab some food so we didn't starve. She was excitedly chattering away about her and Peter's idea to start their own record label one day, because they knew they would be better than Kirshner. I had to admit it would be a great idea, but my encounter with Boyce lingered heavily on my mind, so I didn't give her more than nods and "hmmm"s.

When we got home and put our groceries away, she rounded on me as I was making a peanut butter and banana sandwich.

"Okay, what's going?" she asked.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, no -- don't give me that look of innocent confusion. Usually, you're joining in on the verbal destruction of Don Kirshner but all you did was ask me if I wanted graham crackers."

I stared at her, then made a "yikes" face.

She rolled her eyes. "Spill, Kat -- what's biting your ass?"

I sighed and put the butter knife down. "It's Boyce..."

"What the hell did that rat-faced son of a bitch do?" Cecily snapped.

"It wasn't anything bad! Well, it was, but it wasn't. He made a proposition and I shot him down and then he got mad and threatened me. I shouldn't have said no..." I explained, sighing at the end. I could still feel his hand on my breast and felt my stomach turn.

"You have a right to say 'no,' Kat. He isn't entitled to you. No man is." Cecily said sympathetically, rubbing my shoulder. I flinched from the sudden contact, and she narrowed her eyes. Her voice was suddenly low. "What else did he do?"

I swallowed. "I tried to walk away... but he grabbed me and shoved me against the wall. It all happened so fast, I couldn't react... and when I did fight back, he just pressed himself against me." I closed my eyes to keep the nausea at bay. "He pushed his knee against my crotch and grabbed my breast... I should have done more to stop it."

I started crying and Cecily just sighed, then asked if she could hug me. I nodded, and as she embraced me, she murmured, "It's not your fault. It's never your fault, okay?"

When she pulled away, she said, "Go sit down. I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone else, not even Peter."

I complied, going to sit on the ugly floral couch. A few minutes later, she came in with hot chocolate and handed me a mug.

"When I was 17, a few years ago, I worked at an ice cream parlor in Hartford. It was a groovy little place -- all the cool kids hung out there, and I felt lucky to be at the center of a social scene... mind you, I only worked there so no one really noticed me. But I loved it, so I didn't care.

"One night, at the end of July -- I remember because the AC broke and the ice cream was melting fast -- I was closing. I had already cleaned the counters and tables and shut the blinds when the bathroom door open and out walked Tom Ferris.

"Well, of course it's scared the shit out of me because I thought I was alone. Once my heart stopped racing, I laughed and asked him if the chocolate ice cream had given him the runs. He chuckled and said, 'Something like that.' I should have known then that something was off, but it didn't phase me. Why should it have? Tom was my friend. I trusted him.

"We talked as I mopped the place. Suddenly, I felt him really close to me, far too close. He told me I wasn't mopping right, and leaned over me, guiding the mop. I remember feeling his breath in my ear, and his sweaty grip on my hands. I remember my heart thudding. My brain was telling me to run but my feet couldn't move. I was frozen.