Leslie Liautaud

Chapter One:

“Here’s what they don’t tell you: When a caterpillar turns into a butterfly, the metamorphosis is gruesome. The creature self-destructs, disintegrates, and then morbidly digests itself. It rips its own cells apart, then uses those mutated bits to recreate its very being, like a phoenix rising from ashes.”

If I’d known just how terrifying rebirth would be, I never would have ever stepped foot on that campus last fall.

The man stares at me as if waiting for an explanation, as though I am simply lost in thought and haven’t spoken a word. His gaze is intense and I’m relieved when the intercom on his desk announces that Mrs. Highsmith is in the front lobby. He excuses himself but stops at the door and turns back to me, “You won’t leave?” I shake my head ‘no’ and he disappears into the hallway.

I find I’ve been holding my breath, afraid of making any missteps or of saying too much. I hear the voices outside the door grow fainter and finally disappear. They’ve gone into another office to finish their business. I don’t mind waiting. I believe I’m somewhat safe in this room. I stand, stretch my arms above my head, and do ten jumping jacks in short, quick succession, trying to shake away my nervous energy. My knees protest sharply. The scabs that covered them fell off many months ago but the damage to the tissue and cartilage will stay with me indefinitely.

A quick glance into the empty hallway tells me I’m allowed the freedom of a brief moment to peruse.

The man’s desk is custom-built in dark mahogany and matches the high paneled walls. A framed law degree hangs front and center to assuage any concerns that the man is not qualified. Built-in shelves flank the frame on all sides, as if the space had been designed around the certificate. The shelves are lined with crystal awards and engraved plaques showcasing the man’s many career milestones and achievements. I spy a “World’s Greatest Dad” mug among his treasures and give a cynical chuckle.

I next turn to the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk. The city of Chicago sprawls in front of me as far as I can see. The sun is out, belying the actual February chill that turns mid-day commuters into walking cocoons, wrapped in overcoats and bundled in layers of scarves. This city once represented a new life and endless possibilities but now has lost all sheen to me.

I walk behind the desk and open the man’s closed laptop on the off chance it’s not password protected. No such luck. There are various framed photos sitting next to the computer along with a yellow notepad and pen. One photo is of the man and his beautiful wife. The mountains are behind them and they wear ski goggles and puffy, brightly colored jackets. They are triumphantly holding their poles in the air and I can tell by their lack of wrinkles, the picture is from years ago.

Three photos are of groups of people. Extended family, friends, and coworkers from what I can gather. Beers are held up in cheers with arms slung around each other, loved ones flock around an elderly woman clutching a cupcake and bouquet of flowers, and four men feigning handshakes while holding a plaque between them. Despite the dark rumors that I am positive still swirl around him, the man is popular.

A small photo towards the back of his desk catches my eye. It is partially hidden behind a stack of manila folders, but I know immediately who it is. I pick it up and my breath catches. The platinum blond hair is longer, just past her shoulders and her head is thrown back in laughter. Her cheeks are flushed, healthy. She is beautiful. Behind her is a blurred scene of Mediterranean-style homes.

Glancing at the door again, I quickly slip the photo out of the frame and slide it into my back pocket then toss the frame into the trash and cover it with discarded papers. I never knew her to look like this but, oddly, it’s how I want to remember her.

I know I don’t have much time left before the man comes back and so I begin opening the drawers of his desk. I’ve made the step to come talk to him. He has been overly eager to meet me, and it seems there is nothing he wants to hide. I don’t know what I’m looking for and don’t have a clue what I expect to discover but I find myself back in the familiar desperate mode to know more, to make sure I didn’t overlook some key writing on the wall. I want to trust what I’ve been told but I’ve learned that everyone has their own version of the truth and it isn’t always truthful.

I rifle through the top center drawer finding only a handful of identical pens and a bundle of post-its. My hand searches the back of the drawer and I pull out a stack of business cards bound with a rubber band. The top card reads, Dr. Joan Kraft, St. Luke’s Hospital, Psychiatric Care. My heart begins to race. I palm the card as I close the top drawer and quickly move on to the next. The other drawers hold nothing of interest: a bottle of men’s health vitamins, a clean tie in a box, and a box of tissues. I begin to wonder why he needs a desk at all since his laptop makes personal file folders obsolete. I begin to step away when I spy a small safe under his desk, screwed into the floor. I bend down and reach under the desk to give the safe handle a tug when I hear footsteps.

As the door opens, I jump to my feet and spin around to face the windows.

“Quite a view, isn’t it?” His voice is calm and friendly.

I take a silent deep breath and try to match his ease. “It must be nice to see the river every day.” I turn to him and give a casual smile.

He returns to his chair behind the desk and settles in as I move back to my original seat. I glance at his face to see if he notices anything out of place.

He doesn’t.

The man leans forward, placing his elbows on the desk, and closes his eyes as he laces his fingers together. He takes a moment and then looks at me. A wave passes over him and his face changes, as if another being has taken over. I’ve seen this metamorphosis before, and it gives me chills.

“Marin,” his face is serious, “I’d like to hear the story again.”

“I’ve told you everything I know.”

“I know you have. But this is a serious matter.”

I bristle. “You don’t think I know this is serious?”

The lawyer doesn’t back down. “I need to know every detail. I want to make sure every stone is turned over and thoroughly examined.”

“I’ve told you everything.” I haven’t.

“Marin.”

Of course, he knows. He would know better than anyone and I’m being naïve in thinking I can dodge the truth. My mind is racing like a trapped mouse trying to find an escape but there is none. I stare at the ground, praying for some miracle to whisk me away from this room. Finally, I rub my hand over my face and flinch at the scar running across my cheek. He blinks at this as he possibly remembers there is more than one victim involved.

“Haven’t I done enough for you already?”

The man considers this for a moment and softens as he sits back in his chair. It swivels slightly and I think of the safe under his desk. I wonder if it is filled with envelopes of cash ready to be distributed at a moment’s notice. He taps one finger on the desk as he regards me before speaking.

“Marin, I know this has been extremely difficult for you. It’s been hellacious for the family, as well. I’m sure you can imagine.”

Her family, I think. I crack and tears spring to my eyes.

He continues. “What I’m trying to do is to make sure we haven’t looked over anything important. When so many large details and events are involved it’s easy to dismiss something small as irrelevant. But I have found in my line of work that the small details are the most important ones. I know it’s hard to understand but I’m trying to protect you along with everyone else involved.”

I’m handed a box of tissues which I gratefully accept with a nod.

“I’m not here to ask you to paint yourself into a corner. I’m here to be your partner and am asking, after everything that has happened, if you can find the strength to be mine.”

I’m crumpling a damp tissue in my hand, shredding it bit by bit. This is my life now. This room and this man are my truth. I will never again be an innocent. I will never again be able to trust blindly or be free of the memories that I carry in my heart. I may one day find happiness, I may find love, but it will far into the future. It will take painful work to get there. It will take an immense amount of healing.

Maybe this moment is an opportunity to take a step in that direction.

I decide I will tell him the whole story again, from the very beginning. This time I will not hold back. I haven’t forgotten anything. There are no small details to me. There is nothing I deem irrelevant.

I know who did this to me.

I know the girl who tried to destroy me.

She had been my best friend.

Chapter Two:

Marin gave her Mom one last hug and shut the door behind her, turning to face the messy pile of clothes and crumpled sheets lying in disarray on her small bunk bed. She sighed. Her mother had apologized for not staying to help unpack, citing the stack of papers on the kitchen table waiting for her to grade when she returned home. Marin hadn’t argued, already embarrassed that the woman had been forced to drive her 21-year-old daughter to college. But after selling her car to pay for room and board, which had turned out to be cheaper than any of the available Chicago area apartments, Marin had been left with no other options.

Her roommate had already moved in, that side of the room resembling a photo straight out of a home décor catalog. Pencil holders that matched a tape dispenser, which matched a stacked file cabinet, which complemented perfectly a fuchsia floral bedspread. Framed posters of Audrey Hepburn and the Eiffel Tower were hung with the care and precision only a doting father could show. Books were stacked with corresponding folders and notebooks next to the paper-thin, state-of-the-art, fifteen-inch laptop, already plugged in and charging. Marin gingerly stepped closer to study the framed photos lining the shelves above her desk. Family and friends, all smiling, laughing, hugging. Every single one exuding love. It hadn’t even occurred to Marin to bring any photos.

She glanced at her own bedding, the same faded soft mint green with small pink roses she’d had for twelve years. There had been no college dorm shopping spree for her. Any extra money had been allocated to the many textbooks her meager tuition wouldn’t cover. No pencil holders, no matching organization sets, and no personalized travel mug. The last of her financial resources had gone towards her cafeteria meal plan. Marin glanced into the shared closet and saw her roommate’s many clothes hanging neatly on pink padded hangers, price tags still attached. Feeling heavy and defeated, she slid the closet door shut.

Later, as Marin shoved the last of her faded jeans into a miniature built-in dresser, her roommate came tumbling in, followed by a handful of girls, all with similar long swirling hair. They were flushed, smiling, and seemed to have stepped straight out of a Clearasil commercial. They reminded Marin of Sarah. Sarah, her best friend. Sarah, her former best friend. Sarah had walked out of Marin’s life while the world crashed down around her, crushing her, forcing her inward. No one was had been there to pat Marin’s head and tell her things would get better, and she found she was constantly on high alert for the next bomb to drop. It was the drastic difference that ultimately separated Marin from Sarah and separated her from the carefree, bubbly girls in front of her.

“Oh my God, you’re here! Hi! I’m Cassie!” she squealed.

“Hi. Marin.”

The girls in the doorway waved and shouted over each other.

“We’re going to stop in my room and grab the cooler bag!”

“I’m getting my sweatshirt!”

“See ya, Cass!”

Cassie laughed, exposing a perfect set of brilliant white teeth. “Okay! Be there in a few!” She turned back to the room. “It’s so nice to meet you, Marin! I’ve totally been wondering about you. Like, what would you look like? What stuff do you like to do? What music do you like? Oh my God, this is going to be a great year, isn’t it? Are you pledging a sorority? I want to get into Tri Sig. My mom was one and so hopefully legacy, ha!” She crossed her fingers and winked. “How about you? What classes do you have? Oh, maybe we have one together!” She rattled off the questions and comments like a machine gun firing rapidly, and all Marin could muster was a dumbfounded stare. She didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know how to be the kind of a girl that Cassie apparently was. She had always just followed Sarah and her lead. No one had ever asked Marin her opinion—she had never needed it. Her opinion had been what Sarah told her it was.

The silence that followed was a defining moment. Marin could see, in the course of five seconds, a slight dimming of Cassie’s sparkle. Just enough for her body language to say, “This is my roommate? Bummer.”

Cassie smiled politely and grabbed a tube of pink lip balm from her desk. “Do you need help with anything? Moving in the rest of your stuff or setting up?”

Marin shook her head and smiled the best she could. The old familiar lump of anxious tears formed low in her throat. “No, I think I’ve got it.”

Cassie nodded slowly and moved toward the door. “Um, a few of my friends…those girls who were just here…we’re heading over to the Frisk Field. There’s a football game going on. Delta Chi vs. Alpha Phi. The frats have this competition before classes start every year and— ” She paused then added, “Anyway, would you like to go?”

With all her heart Marin did. She had planned to make this her year of change. Her year to break out and discover a new life, experience a new journey, find a new self. Find any sort of self. But the day -- the entire past year -- battled with her heart and mind. And her mind, overpowered, was not ready to join her heart. “I think I’ll pass, but thanks.” She summoned everything she had to add, as Cassie walked out the door, “Next time?”

Cassie, with her self-assured smile, nodded. “For sure.”

As the door closed behind her, the tears made their way from Marin’s throat to her eyes.

Weeks later, Marin sat at her desk trying hard to master the ill-fated final battle plan of Napoleon. In between paragraphs, though, a distracting giggle erupted from across the room. When she got to the footnotes, a frustrated sigh escape from under the covers. Marin allowed herself to steal only one quick glance in the direction of the moan as Cassie and her boyfriend, intertwined on the small twin bed fondled, kissed, and laughed. More and more frequently, Chad stayed over illegally in their room at night. He arrived after classes to take Cassie out for dinner, and they returned later to huddle together, head to foot, studying on Cassie’s bunk, or to curl up under covers to watch a movie on her laptop. Then Chad would just stay. The next morning, their body parts dangled over the side of the bed greeting Marin as she maneuvered around their soft forms, trying not to wake the pair. She felt like an intruder in her own room.

The situation escalated as, on one particularly awkward morning, their moans intensified as Marin studied quietly at her desk. Both shocked and awed by their complete indifference to her presence, Marin quietly gathered her books and supplies, stuffed them into her already bulging backpack, and slipped out the door.

A cold rain pelted Marin’s face, turning it a splotchy red. Cursing the weather and without an umbrella, she started to run and then, realizing speed was futile, glumly shuffled across campus towards the library. The university’s new library was massive, a structure that reminded her of a space station or a city out of a sci-fi movie, with its stilt-like legs and angular precipice. Even with all the glamour and shine of new construction, which pulled the majority of students in, Marin preferred the original old library. Gothic and foreboding, its buttresses, arched windows, and elaborate wood-paneled ceilings made her feel like she was roaming through a palace full of medieval intrigue. The immense wooden doors welcomed her with the warmth of a familiar hug. Once through the grand archway and mahogany door, Marin stood for a moment, allowing the excess water to drip from her fingertips, willing herself not to shake like a dog after a bath.

But when Marin entered, she sighed. The library was unusually packed. Students bustled from rows of bookshelves, arms weighted and overflowing, to their laptops at long communal worktables. The first papers of the term were soon due and most professors insisted the students rely on published books for research and citation, not just an unreliable quick Wiki search on the web. The tables were cluttered and overrun with mountains of texts, reference books, and scientific journals.

Marin scanned the room for an empty seat. She was astonished by the way everyone seemed either to know one another, if only slightly, or was assured enough in themselves to smoothly assimilate and interact without any noticeable apprehension, while she herself, felt like a kid on the first day at a new school, trying to find anyone to sit with in the lunchroom. She paced back and forth along the vast center aisles, occasionally bumping people on the head or back with her bag. She mumbled embarrassed apologies and quickly moved on, wishing for a miraculous invisibility shield to consume her. Finally, she found a small side table in the back corner only half occupied and slid her backpack into the chair. A girl sat opposite with her head down in a book. The small side table was designed only for two, and Marin felt intrusive in such an intimate space. It seemed she was doomed to intrude no matter where she went.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Marin whispered to the head bowed over the library table.

The hair reminded her of an old Hollywood movie star. A satin platinum blond that fell just below the girl’s ears, with pin-curl waves running throughout. The girl slowly raised her head, fixing her eyes on Marin. Marin immediately drew back, frozen mid-breath. The girl’s skin was flawless porcelain, her makeup so perfectly applied she seemed to wear none.