Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 175455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 877(@200wpm)___ 702(@250wpm)___ 585(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 175455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 877(@200wpm)___ 702(@250wpm)___ 585(@300wpm)
I lose the whole night that way, traversing rabbit holes about a decidedly unpleasant topic. I feel so desensitized, so academically removed from the situation by the time I stop researching, that I’m able to relive that experience in the classroom in a detached way, without feeling as uncomfortable as I usually do when it crosses my mind. The one article was quite thorough, and it suggested that men who do these sorts of things generally start right around this age—high school or college. Some may commit the crime once or twice, while others are serial offenders.
But why? What makes the difference?
I could probably spend years studying this and not know the simple answer, but to be honest, right now, I only want to know the answer in regards to Carter Mahoney. I don’t like to let Grace’s words hang around in my head, and I’m by no means some angel of outreach, trying to save every soul I come across. That’s more Grace’s arena than mine, but knowing what I know about Carter, I can’t deny feeling a certain level of culpability. A responsibility for his behavior, because I know about it, and maybe no one else does. I’ve already sworn I wouldn’t tell anyone what happened in that classroom, and I meant it, mostly because I’m afraid of him. But I need to know some other innocent girl isn’t going to be hurt because of my silence. I want to know why Carter wants to hurt me, but I need know he won’t hurt someone else.
The problem being, of course, that’s not the kind of information I can collect in a group-hang or from dissecting his social media posts. To keep myself safe, I can’t be alone with Carter, but I don’t know how else I can communicate with him. I don’t think he’s dumb enough to discuss any of this via text, because then I would have evidence to use against him.
I wish I could just divorce myself from this whole situation, but I can’t. It’ll drive me crazy wondering. I’ll lose sleep every night worrying about every other girl who ever crosses Carter’s path. What if he has the taste for it now? What if his inability to further abuse me only frustrates him, and he find someone easier to victimize? I’m not one of them, but there were 42 eager girls commenting all over his shit. It wasn’t because they found the football field so compelling.
Carter is perhaps the most dangerous predator around because he can attract prey so easily. How many girls might be uncomfortable by things he wants to do sexually, but rather than voice that, they would feel pressured to go along with it and keep their mouths shut because he’s Carter Mahoney?
My imagination is running away with me and by the end of my pondering session, I’m so hyped up, I feel like I need to tie a cape around my neck and go protect every woman in town from the presumed predilections of the damned quarterback.
Why does he think it’s okay that he did what he did? Nobody thinks they’re the bad guy, right? In his mind, he must have some justification for his behavior. When I asked him what I ever did to him, asked what his excuse was in the classroom that day, he was blasé, told me didn’t need one, but he was bullshitting me.
There is a reason, there has to be, and I won’t find peace until I know what it is.
Chapter 8
Weekend slips away and before I know it, it’s Monday morning. Time to start a whole new week.
I worked both days of the weekend, but when I wasn’t studying for school, I was studying for my pet project—my Carter Mahoney project. I did more and more research online, trying to peg him. It’s useless to try to understand his actions separate from him, so I’ve made understanding him my mission. A tricky project with perilous research that I can’t conduct easily, but at least research is something I’m comfortable with.
Given a sense of purpose, I find it much easier to get through the days. No longer a numb bundle of feelings wrapped up in a blanket without the ability to feel safe anymore, now I am a woman on a mission. Now, I have an objective. Once I have achieved that objective, I can let this whole thing go and move on with my life.
I don’t even see Carter until history class today, and he doesn’t get to class until seconds before the bell, so there’s no chance for interaction until afterward.
And of course, because I’m curious, he pays no attention to me whatsoever and leaves class talking to his friends instead of harassing me.
Tuesday morning I show up to a renewed chorus of “Zoey the ho” chants, and Carter is right there at the center of the asshats doing the chanting. He doesn’t add to the noise, but he leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching me hear it. He looks like a king holding court, and his subjects are all assholes.