I was not really sure what I would do when I uncovered the mystery man's identity, but I knew I had to put a name to the face. Maybe, if I could find out who he was, I could go to the police and press some sort of charges against him. I needed some form of closure.
After two weeks, I still had not patched the hole in my wall. It was not that I thought of it as evidence that he had been in my home, that he had attacked me. It was still there because it had become a part of my daily routine. I did not watch television after work anymore. Instead, I came in, lied down on the couch, and stared at the gaping drywall wound. I had every detail committed to memory, every rusty brown spots of blood, every crevice, the grey paper peeking through. I was vividly aware that it could have been my face that his fist had made contact with.
Everywhere I went, I looked over my shoulder, worried that he truly would return to finish what he started. Every time I left my apartment, I double checked the locks. At home, I kept the door locked at all times. I installed a security bar lock as an added measure. It did little to alleviate my paranoia and fear.
I wondered why he had not really hurt me--even my arm had not really visibly bruised. Nothing that photographed well, anyway. What was his intent? Why did he leave so abruptly when he easily could have done whatever he wanted? Why was I wondering all of these things--I survived; I should be relieved and thankful and just move on, right?
Casey and Mark returned from their two week honeymoon. Of course, I made sure to humble myself and apologize profusely for interrupting her big day. Still riding the honeymoon high, she readily forgave me.
I questioned her and Mark about the stranger. Casey did not remember him, and Mark never saw him. I described him in great detail...about 6'2", dark hair, light skin, blue eyes, thick lips, slender frame, clean shaven,. They were both fairly certain that neither knew the man. There was no name in the registry that they were unfamiliar with, and none they knew who matched the description.
Casey, of course, wondered why I was asking so many questions. I took her aside and told her what had happened. She felt terrible, and a small part of me took a little satisfaction in that. I told her it was not her fault, that she did not know, that I would take care of it, once I knew who he was. She wished she could help me.
A month went by. I found myself avoiding social interaction, when I could. I was not even hanging out with my friends on the weekend. I just laid down on the couch and meditated on the crater. All of my inquiries had led to nowhere, and I had spoken with many of the wedding guests, and few recalled him. Those who did, had no idea who he was, but had found him charming. I started to feel like I was missing something...someone.
As I gazed at the depression, the scene replayed in my mind...over and over again. I could feel his wrists against my shouders, his leg between mine, his lips on my neck. My body responded to the memory as it had, and I felt such a deep shame. I knew it was an automatic, irrepressible reaction, yet it made me feel repugnant. It made me wonder if--subconsciously--I wanted him to have his way with me. I shuddered at the thought.
Casey and my other best friend, Samantha, were starting to worry about me, two months after the wedding day. They insisted on a girls' night out, to get me out of the apartment. I finally gave in. I stared at the mirror for a long time. Minimal makeup, light coppery hair braided over my shoulder, blue kimono blouse over black camisole and black leggings. I pulled the front panels of the top closed across my chest. I felt exposed. Maybe, I should change into something...more demure.
Samantha barged in the bathroom. "Oh...my...god! You look so CUTE!" she squealed, dragging me out of my hidey-hole. Before I knew it, we were sitting at a table in Club Rav3, surrounded by sweaty, moving bodies.
"Round of vodka sodas, on the rocks," Casey called out to the cocktail waitress over the clamor.
"Hold the vodka, in mine," I followed. Samantha frowned sideways.
"Come on, you need to cut loose! She's definitely getting the vodka...matter of fact, get her two!" Casey insisted. The waitress looked at me and shrugged playfully. Samantha handed her a wad of cash, and I sank a little. I really did not like losing control, and I was a lightweight, when it came to alcohol.
We talked about men while we waited on our drinks. Casey was enjoying newlywed life, and Samantha had just met the man of her dreams, a young British architect. We were all agreeing that British accents were sexy as hell, when our drinks came. The waitress winked when she placed both of mine on coasters before me. Just soda. I sighed in relief.
An hour later, we were on the dance floor, having a great time. The movement and music and the frivolity of my friends eased my tensions and I surrendered to the positive vibes that enveloped me. The crowd was alive, pulsing with the electronica beat, and I was dancing with no one in particular.
"Hey, we're going to the ladies room, you coming?" Samantha yelled in my ear.
"I'm good, thanks," I replied. They disappeared behind a wall of bodies, and I felt an arm wrap around me and pull me against a torso. "Hey, hands off, buddy!" I yelped.
A chin pressed against my ear and a familiar voice spoke just loud enough for me to hear. "Didn't you miss me? I missed you." I stopped dead, suddenly terrified. I wanted to scream, but my voice caught in my throat. The arm released me, and I spun around in time to see his back vanish in the throng. I pushed after him, but I had lost sight of him entirely, and could not find him again. I returned to the table, shaking and on the verge of tears.
