Heteronym

Chpater 29

The second day is always the worst and that's a fact for everything. School, periods, surgery, finals; the shine wears off and reality hits you like an unmedicated brick of pain and suicidal urges.

The aftershocks of anesthesia and morphine had worn off leaving me in perpetual pain and misery. Beck might have skipped work but I forced him to go to his classes considering he only had one a day. No offense to him, but I could only stand his worrying and insistence on doing everything for me for so long. It was undeniably sweet but right now I needed time to be able to mutter about how I wanted to die every five seconds without worrying if I was annoying him. I was a complainer and I wasn't afraid to admit it.

All day I had been avoiding the news. It didn't take a genius to figure out the top story. My phone was blowing up so much I had to turn it off. One of the best hockey teams in the country was broken into and their star goalie raped for the second time, leaving on a stretcher unconscious with her boyfriend and rapist in handcuffs after a prime time game. That's quite a headline.

My phone had been pinging with seemingly every person I ever met texting me to make themselves feel better. Though there was a noticeable exemption from my parents, but I didn't don't care to be completely honest. Even Beck's mother, whom I had met once for five minutes, was texting me how sorry she was. It was a nice gesture, but I didn't have the heart to respond to any of them.

Just like I didn't have the heart to avoid the news. There are only so many episodes of The Office that you can rewatch in one day without getting bored. I wasn't Sylvia; she could do that for the rest of her life. Instead I watched the news like the actual masochist I was. It seems there's nothing else to talk about ther than the rape in the Ranger's stadium last night.

There were reporters camped out of practice like they expected to see Beck or I. It didn't surprise me one bit that a few had tracked Zeke down when he was leaving the lab. I think he was the only person I actually texted to let them know what the fuck was going on. Normally I would be nervous, but then I remember a majority of the people I know are media trained athletes and affluent people. They all knew how to handle themselves. 

The news had caught Beck going into his class a few hours ago. I watched his blank face walk past them, letting their questions bounce off his solid body like Beck's chiseled jaw was reflecting them. He carried himself like they weren't even there. I could do that but I'd end up looking pissed off. Beck had mastered the neutral face and I was sure it had something to do with his father's fame. Though out of all the questions that rang through the air, one of them stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Your girlfriend has been raped twice now. Does any part of you think she's the problem and that it's just not worth the trouble because of how it might affect your performance on the ice?"

Beck stopped walking, turning to the reporter to the left of the camera and in a completely calm voice, responded with his eyes blazing holes in the male reporter, "I usually ignore gossip but the fact that you can insinuate rape is a survivors fault is absolutely disgusting and appalling. Yes, there is a person out there that's gone to extreme lengths to rape my girlfriend twice over the course of seven years, but that says a hell of a lot more about him then her. And how does this affect my performance on the ice? It doesn't because we are professionals. This matter is personal, which is exactly why asking shallow questions like this make you the problem. Danielle did not ask for this, so do don't act like this is a choice of hers that will affect our careers. This is a tragedy that I will always stand by her in it and it shouldn't be anything more to the media."

I almost dropped my jaw at how harshly Beck had said that. I don't think he had ever addressed a reporter with so much contempt, like he wanted to punch them in the fucking face. Beck wasn't wrong, though. I don't think I could have said what he just had any more eloquently. Somehow, when my boyfriend turned and walked away, leaving the reporter shellshocked with a partially open mouth, I'd never been more in love with him.