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Authors: Mary Frame
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“This’ll be much easier if you do it my way.” Freya is standing in my room, holding a dress that has less fabric than a t-shirt.
“No,” I say resolutely.
“Come on!” She shakes it in my direction.
“No.”
“Fine. But don’t blame me when this doesn’t work.” She throws the article of clothing onto my bed.
“I don’t need to dress like that to get what I want. As a matter of fact, that will send the exact opposite message than the one I’m going for.”
“Okay, but for the love of all that’s holy, will you please wear something other than a business suit?”
“But this sends the message I want. What I’m offering is a business proposal.”
She goes into my closet and comes out with a handful of clothes. “Compromise. This is more than a business proposal. You also need someone you’re attracted to and they won’t return the sentiment if you look like a woman of strict morals. How about a pair of jeans with a nice top and boots? No slacks, no blazer.”
It’s a fair settlement. “Fine.”
An hour later, we’re outside a nightclub. Freya is still grumbling because I didn’t let her cover my face in junk. I did make another concession and now the only makeup I have on is a small amount of lip gloss.
She knows the bouncer—a very large, very tattooed bald man dressed all in black—and in less than a few minutes, we’re inside the dark cavernous space with the pulsating lights and loud music. It vaguely reminds me of the frat party, but this time at least I have an expert with me. She pulls me around the dance floor to an elevated area that has a variety of couches, chairs and tables. A group of people sit in a circular booth and that’s where she leads me.
When we approach, a tall, lanky guy with shaggy, light brown hair stands to greet her.
“Hey, babe,” he says, kissing her on the cheek. When he turns his face, I see he has a black eye and his cheek is swollen.
We slide into the booth, Freya first so she can sit next to her friend.
“Lucy, this is Cameron,” she introduces him. She has to yell over the loud music.
My eyes fly to her face. “ The Cameron?”
He laughs. “My girl’s been talking about me?” He wraps an arm over her shoulder. Just then, the guy on his right asks him something and he turns his face away from us to answer, giving me a clear shot of the bruising on his face.
Freya leans towards me. “Don’t judge me,” she whispers.
I’m confused by the statement. “Why would I do that?”
She sighs. “Ted and Bethany aren’t here because I didn’t tell them about it.”
“I thought they had to study.”
“Only you would believe that excuse.” She shakes her head at me, but she’s smiling. “The truth is that Cameron and I got back together, and they don’t all exactly get along.”
“Why not?”
“Cameron likes to gamble, and he’s sort of wild, and the whole cheating on me thing, you know.” She shrugs. “He didn’t like me hanging out with them so much. He thinks they’re judgmental bitches.”
I consider her statement and run through my possible responses before answering. My first thought is that Cameron is exhibiting controlling and manipulative behavior. It’s common in abusive relationships for the abuser to attempt and isolate the victim from others who care about them, but I don’t think this is the proper place for that conversation, and perhaps I am over-analyzing or reading too much into the situation.
“I don’t think they would be angry at you,” I tell her. “I think they would only be concerned for your well-being.”
“I’m sure you’re right, I’m just not ready for the lectures, yet.”
“Freya?”
“Yeah?”
“What about the, uh, black eye and…” I gesture to the side of my face and then look pointedly at Cameron’s injuries.
I very clearly remember our first conversation in the clinic. Freya mentioned, albeit in passing, that there was a person on campus
“This’ll be much easier if you do it my way.” Freya is standing in my room, holding a dress that has less fabric than a t-shirt.
“No,” I say resolutely.
“Come on!” She shakes it in my direction.
“No.”
“Fine. But don’t blame me when this doesn’t work.” She throws the article of clothing onto my bed.
“I don’t need to dress like that to get what I want. As a matter of fact, that will send the exact opposite message than the one I’m going for.”
“Okay, but for the love of all that’s holy, will you please wear something other than a business suit?”
“But this sends the message I want. What I’m offering is a business proposal.”
She goes into my closet and comes out with a handful of clothes. “Compromise. This is more than a business proposal. You also need someone you’re attracted to and they won’t return the sentiment if you look like a woman of strict morals. How about a pair of jeans with a nice top and boots? No slacks, no blazer.”
It’s a fair settlement. “Fine.”
An hour later, we’re outside a nightclub. Freya is still grumbling because I didn’t let her cover my face in junk. I did make another concession and now the only makeup I have on is a small amount of lip gloss.
She knows the bouncer—a very large, very tattooed bald man dressed all in black—and in less than a few minutes, we’re inside the dark cavernous space with the pulsating lights and loud music. It vaguely reminds me of the frat party, but this time at least I have an expert with me. She pulls me around the dance floor to an elevated area that has a variety of couches, chairs and tables. A group of people sit in a circular booth and that’s where she leads me.
When we approach, a tall, lanky guy with shaggy, light brown hair stands to greet her.
“Hey, babe,” he says, kissing her on the cheek. When he turns his face, I see he has a black eye and his cheek is swollen.
We slide into the booth, Freya first so she can sit next to her friend.
“Lucy, this is Cameron,” she introduces him. She has to yell over the loud music.
My eyes fly to her face. “ The Cameron?”
He laughs. “My girl’s been talking about me?” He wraps an arm over her shoulder. Just then, the guy on his right asks him something and he turns his face away from us to answer, giving me a clear shot of the bruising on his face.
Freya leans towards me. “Don’t judge me,” she whispers.
I’m confused by the statement. “Why would I do that?”
She sighs. “Ted and Bethany aren’t here because I didn’t tell them about it.”
“I thought they had to study.”
“Only you would believe that excuse.” She shakes her head at me, but she’s smiling. “The truth is that Cameron and I got back together, and they don’t all exactly get along.”
“Why not?”
“Cameron likes to gamble, and he’s sort of wild, and the whole cheating on me thing, you know.” She shrugs. “He didn’t like me hanging out with them so much. He thinks they’re judgmental bitches.”
I consider her statement and run through my possible responses before answering. My first thought is that Cameron is exhibiting controlling and manipulative behavior. It’s common in abusive relationships for the abuser to attempt and isolate the victim from others who care about them, but I don’t think this is the proper place for that conversation, and perhaps I am over-analyzing or reading too much into the situation.
“I don’t think they would be angry at you,” I tell her. “I think they would only be concerned for your well-being.”
“I’m sure you’re right, I’m just not ready for the lectures, yet.”
“Freya?”
“Yeah?”
“What about the, uh, black eye and…” I gesture to the side of my face and then look pointedly at Cameron’s injuries.
I very clearly remember our first conversation in the clinic. Freya mentioned, albeit in passing, that there was a person on campus
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