I've Learned to Play on the Safe Side

What seemed like endless hours later, someone knocked on my door. When I didn't say anything, they quietly opened it.

"Ashlee?" someone whispered. It was Jake's mom. I nodded. She closed the door and sat on the bed next to me.

"Jake told me what happened. You poor, poor thing," she said, her eyes brimming with tears. She reached out to stroke my cheek. I felt a sudden wave of fear wash over me, and I shrank into the sheets. She looked confused, but slowly withdrew her hand.

"Are you gonna be OK? You're all white and sweaty. Why don't you go wash your face or something?" I nodded, hoping she would take that as agreement with her statement and go away. She didn't.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she continued. Maybe I was going cazy thanks to the stress of everything that had happened, but I thought it looked like she was hiding from me. Go away, I thought, but I shook my head. She sighed.

"Honey, are you sure? I can't imagine what you're going through. You look terrible." She was sobbing now. Shockingly, my eyes were dry. I guess you really can run out of tears after awhile.

I finally forced myself to speak. "It's OK. I'm... I'll be OK."

She shook her head like she didn't believe me, but finally left. I closed my eyes, trying to empty my mind- make it a black tunnel I could lose myself in. It didn't work.

A loud pounding cut through the dull noise from outside. At first, I thought a bomb had gone off or something. After about a minute, I realized someone was banging on the front door, probably trying to break it down.

The pounding stopped, so I assumed Jake's mom or somebody had opened the door. Then, I heard all-too-familiar voices echoing off every wall in the house.

"WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?! WHERE HAVE YOU TAKEN HER?! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO-"

"Ashlee's in our guest room," Jake's mom replied, a little afraid. I pictured her taking a step back.

"SO TAKE ME TO HER! WHY DID YOU KEEP HER LOCKED UP ALL LAST NIGHT?!"

"My son, Jake, felt Ashlee would probably rather be left alone tonight. The police agreed."

"TO FUCK WITH THAT! SHE'S OUR DAUGHTER, WOMAN! DON'T TRY AND TELL ME MY OWN DAUGHTER DOESN'T WANT TO SEE ME! AND WHO'S THIS JAKE? WAS IT HIM? WAS IT? YOU GET HIM DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW AND I'M GONNA-"

"Please," Jake's mom replied. "I'll ask Ashlee if she's ready to see you. And you're damn lucky my Jake was there, or Ashlee would probably be wandering the streets right now,"

"WITHOUT YOUR JAKE OUR ASHLEE WOULD BE PERFECTLY SAFE AND HAPPY IN HER OWN BED RIGHT NOW! AND DON'T YOU GO ASKING HER IF SHE'S READY TO SEE US LIKE YOU FUCKING OWN HER; OF COURSE SHE'S READY TO SEE US!"

I groaned. My head ached. So despite my warnings, Jake had allowed his mother to contact the police. I felt the fear wash over me again. They were gonna get me. And hurt me. Again.

But the more immediate problem was the one screaming its lungs out in the Sauters' living room. I privately thanked Jake's mom for reminding the police it would probably be best for me to be alone and to request that if they had to contact my parents, they request they not show up until morning. But here they were. The last people on earth I wanted to see right now.

My door opened with a loud bang, and my parents strode in. "Ashlee!" my mom cried, throwing herself on top of me. I felt her touch and was suddenly drowning in fear and the tears- which I guess I hadn't used up yet- returned.

Fianlly, my mom stood up, wiping her eyes, although I couldn't see any traces of tears. "We were so worried about you!"

My dad patted my leg under the covers. "Let's get you outta here, kiddo," he said.

That surprised me. "Ou-outta here?"

He looked at me. "Do you really wanna hang around with these... people anymore? We should get you cleaned up. You look a mess."

Yeah, I'm sure I do. I feel a mess, too. But you don't care about that, obviously.

Part of me wanted to jump out of the bed and follow my parents and get as far away from Jake as possible. Jake was, after all, only a room above me. Who knew when he could hurt me again? But a bigger part of me reminded me of the vulnerability in Jake's eyes and how he had tried so hard to comfort me, how safe I had felt in this little guest room, and how, no matter what, I did not want to go back home.

"Mom, Dad," I said clearly, still lying in the bed, "I'm staying here."

My mom's eyes widened. "Ash, honey, don't be silly. You can't stay here. Come home with us and get cleaned up."

"No, Mom. I want to stay here."

"Ashlee, stop this. I know you're going through this little rebellious phase, but this is taking it a little too far. C'mon. Get up."

"You think this is part of my 'rebellious phase'? Because it's not. Maybe I want to stay here because I like it better. Because the people here actually care about my feelings." Oops. I hadn't meant to say all that. Tears were spilling from my eyes. Again.

"Ashlee," my mom said, sternly now. "Get up. You can't stay here. You aren't safe. You can't have forgotten-"

"THIS WASN'T JAKE'S FAULT, MOM! YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT! I WOULD BE HIDING IN SOME GUTTER RIGHT NOW IF IT HADN'T BEEN FOR JAKE! DON'T COME MARCHING IN HERE LIKE YOU KNOW EVERYTHING! LIKE YOU ACTUALLY HAVE MY BEST INTERESTS AT HEART!"

"We knew something like this would happen when you started becoming so... different. Maybe if you were more social, you wouldn't have to go to these measures. Maybe you wouldn't have to make up stories about-" my dad said quietly, sneering. My mom was looking at him, her eyes wide and afraid.

"YOU THINK I- YOU THINK JAKE AND I MADE THIS STORY UP? WHY WOULD I MAKE UP SOMETHING LIKE THIS?"

"Honey, he didn't mean it... don't listen to him..."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! HE SURE AS HELL MEANT IT AND YOU KNOW IT! YOU BOTH THINK I'M MAKING THIS UP! JUST BECAUSE I'M NOT YOUR PERFECT LITTLE PRINCESS WITH PERFECT GRADES AND A PERFECT, FAKE, FUCKED-UP LIFE YOU TREAT ME DIFFERENT! YOU DON'T GIVE SHIT HOW I FEEL! YOU'RE EMBARRASSED BY ME! ADMIT IT!"

Neither of them answered. We sat in silence for a few seconds. Finally, my dad grabbed my arm, and pulled me out of the bed. "Get up, young lady. And get out of those clothes. Where are yours?" My mom shrank back, looking scared.

"I don't know," I retorted. "Why don't you let me go and go find them?"

My dad pulled my jeans and panties off the floor, not registering the blood on them. He thrust them at me. "Change. Now." Shaking, I changed in front of them, more tears falling as my legs were exposed once more.

My dad dragged me out the door, almost running into Jake, Jake's mom, and Jordan, who appeared to have come to my door at the commotion. Jake's eyes met mine. And in that moment, I wanted more than anything to hug him, to hold him tight and pretend everything was going to be OK. And I knew that if it had been in that moment, I wouldn't have been afraid.

The three of them couldn't help me as my dad dragged me to the door, down the steps, and shoved me into the backseat of the car. I pulled up the sleeve of Jake's hoodie, and looked at the large bruise my dad had left on my forearm. Then I looked at my reflection in the car window. My usually-straightened hair was a complete mess. I was dead-white and sweaty. Tears and smeared eyeliner ran in puddles all over my face. As I looked at my reflection, I felt like I was looking at someone I didn't know. I had never seen a face that scared before. That wasn't me. It was then I realized my back and the back of head were still throbbing.

We drove down a few unfamiliar streets. "Where are we going?"

"To the police station. They want to question you," my dad replied. I could tell he thought it- and probably I- was a waste of time.

We arrived at the police station, and the man at the front desk sat me down to me a few questions. I said I preferred my parents leave the room.

When it was just the two of us, he started to ask me about the boys. What did they look like? About how old were they? Did I recognize any of them? Would I mind preparing a written statement? I said sure, but it wouldn't be of much use, because it had been too dark to see any of them. I refused to reveal any information. I was sure that if I did, the boys would come back and hurt me even more. Finally, the officer seemed to decide he wouldn't get any more information out of me. He stood up, thoughtfully offered me a tissue and the use of a bathroom to clean my face, both of which I accepted. Then he opened the door and let my parents in.

During the drive home, neither my parents nor I spoke a word. I stared out the window, at all the people we were passing- people with problems like lost keys and missed mortgage payments. People who would never know me and never know exactly what I was going through. People who probably wouldn't even care if they did know. "So what?" they'd think. "It was someone else. It's always someone else."

No. Not always.