Rust and Stardust

Rust and Stardust

Oct 18, 2022

// Content Warnings: Sexual grooming, teen sexual exploitation, manipulation, emotional abuse, brief mention of self-harm & substance abuse, strong language //

"He broke my heart. You merely broke my life." –Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita


“Els, hey.”

A tap on her right shoulder. Elspeth Green wheeled around, startled, and the expression of polite surprise froze on her face.

He had aged since they last met. Crow’s feet had emerged at the corners of his eyes, and deep frown lines creased his forehead. His beard, which he had grown out, was mostly grey. His hair was shorter now, concealed beneath a faded black ball cap that said ‘Asbury Park’ in bold letters across the front. But his honey brown eyes, they were the same. Framed by thick lashes, his gaze was alert. Perceptive, hawklike. Just as she remembered it.

Elsie’s mouth fell open slightly in surprise. The greeting she’d been about to utter before she’d realized who she was speaking to died in her throat. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. Her lungs seemed to constrict in her chest, as if a great pair of fists were wrapped around each of them, squeezing the air out of her. They had stopped in the middle of a busy sidewalk, but the chatter of people passing by in either direction faded out and was replaced by a strange rushing sound in her ears. It was deafening.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. The expression was achingly familiar. His impassive face swam in front of her as Elsie’s vision blurred and she swayed on her feet. “It’s been a while,” he added when she did not reply. 

She had dreamed of this moment at least a thousand times. She’d rehearsed countless times in front of the bathroom mirror, written endless unsent letters and scribbled out diary entries. But in her mind, she was always prepared when the moment came. She imagined herself as cool, confident and effortlessly put-together. But today Elsie's unwashed hair was hidden haphazardly beneath a beanie, her baggy sweats were covered in dog hair and there were dark shadows beneath her tired eyes. Elsie was recharging after a particularly stressful week at work, on her way to the bagel truck around the corner from her apartment. She’d planned on spending her Saturday watching reruns of The Office with her fiancé. She hadn’t even brushed her teeth.

“Joel." Her voice was high and strained. She swallowed the lump in her throat, desperately willing herself to get it together. "W-what are you doing here?"

Joel turned and gestured to the laundromat across the street. “My AirBNB doesn’t have a washer or dryer," he said, shrugging. "I’m in town for a book signing.”

“Oh,” she replied, clenching her fists at her side to still her trembling hands. 

“Where’re you headed?” he asked. “I have a few minutes to kill, you looking for some company?”

Absolutely not, her mind screamed. No way in hell. “Bagel truck,” she replied instead, pointing. Damn it.  

Joel smiled, and her heart squeezed uncomfortably. “I like bagels,” he said simply, starting off toward the bagel truck without looking back at her. 

Elsie strongly considered turning tail and running back to the safety of her apartment, where her dog and her fiancé were waiting for her to return with their breakfast. But instead, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, she followed Joel toward the bagel truck. 

“You still live around here?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead. She heard the awkward tension in his voice. 

Elsie felt equally awkward. Her daydreams of this moment never included them getting bagels together. “Yeah,” she replied curtly. More awkward silence.

It had been seven years since they had seen each other, and their last meeting had ended… badly. The scene flashed behind her eyes like a bad movie, Joel's venomous voice echoing in her mind. They were standing in the entranceway of her apartment, the same one she now shared with her fiancé. Elsie's face was wild and desperate, streaked with tears and mascara. Joel had one hand on the doorknob, and he wasn’t looking at her.

“Why are you being such an asshole?” she demanded. Her voice was hoarse from crying. “After everything that’s happened between us? You can’t even talk about it?”

Joel turned to face her. His eyes were dark with anger, his mouth twisted. When he spoke, his voice was soft and lethal. The words hit her like bullets. “There is nothing between us,” he said. “And there never has been.” 

Elsie froze, stunned. She did not reply; she couldn’t find the words. More tears streaked down her cheeks as she watched him turn back to the door, wrench it open and walk through it without looking back. She could hear his footsteps echoing down the hall as the apartment door swung closed, enveloping her in darkness. She hadn’t seen him or spoken to him since… until today.

“What do you want?” Joel asked, wrenching her back to the present. She hadn’t even realized they had reached the bagel truck. Raphael, the friendly owner, was smiling down at her from inside. Joel was gesturing toward the menu, fishing in the pocket of his hoodie for his wallet. 

“I’ve got it,” she snapped, more aggressively than she’d intended as she withdrew her own wallet. Joel shrugged and turned back to order while Elsie took deep breaths through her nose, trying to compose herself.

“Morning, Elsie,” Raphael called through the window as he began preparing Joel’s order. A whole wheat bagel with tomato and avocado. Apparently Joel's healthy living phase hadn't been a phase after all. "What’ll you have?”

Elsie waved back at Raphael, managing a smile. “Morning,” she replied. “I’ll get the usual, please. Two. And no tomato on mine.”

“You got it,” Raphael said. “Give me five minutes.”

“Tomatoes are good for you, you know,” Joel joked, grinning at her. His smile reminded her so much of the Joel Ryan she remembered from the beginning that her heart began to race. She never expected to see that smile again. She felt suddenly nauseous.

“Well I don’t like them,” she muttered, making her way over to the shade of a large oak tree. She sat on the bench beneath it to wait for her order. To her chagrin, Joel sat beside her. She rolled her eyes and cursed under her breath. It’s not too late to walk away, her rational brain reminded her. But she didn’t. Idiot.

“Two bagels, huh?” Joel said, sounding amused. “One for your boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”

“My fiancé,” she corrected, her tone sour. 

“I see,” he said. Joel's gaze flicked down to the ring on her finger. His tone was infuriatingly genuine when he said “I’m happy for you, congratulations.” 

“Thanks."

“Why so grumpy, kiddo?”

Hearing him call her kiddo again was like a knife to her chest. She winced. Now’s your chance to tell him the truth, her brain urged, but she opted instead to lie for the sake of civility. She could feel herself losing her nerve, and she hated herself for it. “I just didn’t expect to see you here,” she said. There, see? Not a lie. 

No, that was true. Last she’d heard he was living overseas. And even if he had returned to the city, she always figured she was safe from ever running into him in this neighbourhood. It wasn’t exactly the upscale vibe Joel Ryan preferred. 

“I didn’t know you still lived here,” he offered, as if he could read her mind and was trying to justify being here. There were a few more seconds of awkward silence. “So…” he continued slowly, trying to make conversation. “What have you been doing with your life? I’ve heard some great things. You have a new book coming out, right?”

Heard some great things? From who? “Yeah,” she nodded. “In the fall.”

Joel smiled again, and her heart lurched into her throat. “I love seeing my former students succeed,” he said cheerfully. “It lets me know I’ve done something right, at least.”

Elsie stared at him, thunderstruck. Those words, combined with his flippant attitude, awoke the rage that had been long dormant in the pit of her stomach. It began to bubble and spit inside her, spreading fire through her veins. And what about the things you’ve done wrong?

“You didn’t do anything right,” she said through gritted teeth. “I did. My success has nothing to do with you.”

“Well, I’d say I deserve a bit of credit,” he smirked. His voice was smooth as butter, like it had been on the day they met. “I always said you had potential, didn’t I?”

All at once she was 16 years old again. A high school student standing wide-eyed in the parking lot of the university’s dorm building watching as her parents drove away. She clenched the signed permission slip in her fist and adjusted the duffle bag on her shoulder, turning to make her way into the building. 

In her junior year, Elsie had been invited by a prospective university to apply to participate in an exclusive workshop for young writers. She'd begged her parents for weeks to allow her to attend. It was a two-week summer program where they’d be assigned their own dorms and everything, like a practice run for uni. At least, that was how Elsie explained it to her parents. She’d agonized for a week over her entrance essay; the program was highly competitive. It had a different teacher each year. That year it was some local non-fiction writer who was an alumnus of the university. The workshop would look great on her academic resume. Plus, the opportunity to get some one-on-one advice from a bonafide author was too good to pass up. Her parents had finally relented when she had shown them the glowing feedback on her entrance essay. "Transcendent," it had said.

She deposited her bag in her tiny dorm and made her way to the building where her first class would be held. It wasn’t as far as expected, and she arrived 45 minutes early. With a sigh, Elsie walked around the corner of the building to an empty courtyard between it and the adjacent building. She sat alone in the grass and fished around in her purse, pulling out a lighter and an old Mini M&Ms tube full of pre-rolled joints. It was the most inconspicuous way to hide them from her mother's ever-watchful eye. She looked around to make sure no one was around and lit up. She turned the music up on her iPod and lay back in the grass, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply.

“Is this part of your creative process?” The voice was unfamiliar, a rich tenor.

She sat up and removed her headphones, flushing with embarrassment. “It is, actually,” she retorted, looking the man in front of her up and down.

He looked quite a bit older than her, but his laughing eyes were vibrant and youthful, the colour of amber. His mop of sandy brown hair was windswept, and stubble covered his strong jaw. He wore limited edition converse, faded Levi’s and a short-sleeved button up. He was tall and lean, with tanned arms. Damn.

"Stephen King did some of his best work under the influence, you know," she pointed out.

The man laughed. "I think he was smoking a little more than weed, but you make a good point."

A coy smile tugged at the corners of Elsie's lips as she held the joint out to him, testing the waters. “Care for a hit?”

He grinned. It was bright, like pure sunshine. “No thanks,” he replied breezily. “It makes me paranoid, and I probably shouldn’t be teaching under the influence. I'm no Stephen King, after all."

Elsie’s blush deepened. “You’re the teacher? For the writing thing?” She’d been expecting some pretentious old man in a suit.

He nodded, and his eyes were alight with amusement. “Last I checked, there wasn’t much else going on around campus right now. Joel Ryan. I assume you’re also here for the writing thing.” He was still grinning, and although he hadn’t said anything to indicate it, she got the feeling he was making fun of her.

“Elspeth Green,” she replied. “But Elsie’s fine.” Realizing he wasn’t going to reprimand her for the joint, she took another hit. “You look way too young to be a teacher.”

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Elspeth Green… Wait, yeah. I remember your entrance essay. Looked it over myself. Impressive."

Elsie looked down at the grass, smiling sheepishly. "Thanks."

"Just being honest. I’ll see you in class, don’t be late.”

She watched him walk away, chewing her lower lip. Well, she thought, at least if I get bored I'll have something to look at.

They had class for four hours in the morning, then a break for lunch, and another two hours of class followed by a two hour “freewrite.” Elsie got along well with her classmates, but though she didn’t say so, their talent intimidated her. Back home, she was a big fish in a small pond. She knew she was one of the best writers in her year; she had won every writing contest, and achieved the highest grades in her English and Creative Writing classes. Her teachers all encouraged her to make it a career, and her parents gushed over every word she wrote. But here, she was in a much bigger pond. More of a lake, really. Her fellow classmates were as good, if not better than she was. 

The classes were interesting and engaging, but as the days went by Elsie found herself becoming more drawn in by Joel Ryan than the actual writing part of the program. His teaching style was laid back and contemporary, the antithesis of her high school teachers back home. He insisted they all call him by his first name, and they spent the majority of their class time sitting outside by the wide, shallow river that split the campus. He insisted it was easier to be creative outside in the fresh air. On the first day, Joel gave them a brief rundown of his career and qualifications. He mainly made his living writing biographies about famous rockstars, like Jimmy Page and Billy Joel. He put one novel out early on in his career, but it wasn't as well received. The biographies sold better, he said. Joel was brutally honest about those things. Elsie respected that.

“Don't take it from me, though. I have bills to pay," he warned them, sitting cross-legged on top of the teacher’s desk at the front of the room. "You're all young, write what you're passionate about while you can. Don’t write for the money, because that’s not a guarantee. In fact, it’s a rarity. Writing isn’t glamorous, trust me. You’ll be eating a lot of ramen, and a lot of publishers in the market right now will take you for a ride if you let them. Do it because you love it. Fuck the rest of it.”

Every evening after class Elsie sat in that tiny courtyard to smoke a joint and every evening, to her mild surprise, Joel Ryan joined her. Elsie was intrigued by his cavalier attitude and proud cynicism. After a couple days, he started walking her back to the dorms after class. He never smoked, though, just walked and talked. Sometimes he bought them both coffee from the campus café. And he never came inside the dorms.

At first they talked about class, and writing. One night she asked him about his novel. They walked slowly, taking a meandering route through campus, along the river. The August sun was setting, turning everything a dazzling gold. “I’ll never tell,” he said, chuckling. 

But back in her dorm, a 30 second Google search revealed that the novel was called “The Long Road to Nowhere.” The first page of search results also yielded a link to his professional Facebook page. His profile picture showed him smiling in a pair of aviators. On a whim, she clicked ‘follow.’

The next day, she found the paperback novel at the campus library and signed it out. She couldn’t put it down—she stayed up all night reading. His writing had an unexpected romantic flair—not the vibe she expected, but it made him all the more intriguing to her. At around 2:30 that morning, her phone buzzed beside her. A Facebook friend request. “Joel Ryan wants to be friends.” It was a different photo this time—he was laughing in this one, his arms wrapped around the neck of a massive great dane. This must be his personal profile. Elsie accepted the request, wondering if any of her classmates had received one. 

In class the next day, Joel didn’t give her any special attention. In fact, he barely looked her way. Their growing acquaintance was an invisible secret that hung between them like static. It felt almost forbidden. It was thrilling. Their after-class walks grew increasingly long, and it was often dark before they arrived at the entrance to the dorms. Since it was summer, there was next to no one on campus. Her fellow writing students kept to themselves, and if anyone saw them together no one said anything. 

Elsie learned that Joel lived in the city, in an apartment in the west end (the 'nice' part of town) that he shared with his best friend. He was 32, exactly twice her age. His parents lived two cities over with his sister, and he visited them most weekends to help out around the house and see his niece. He showed Elsie pictures of her on his phone—she had sandy hair, like him. Beyond that, he didn’t offer up much about himself or his personal life. He mostly asked questions about her, about her family life and her ambitions. She told him about her little brother and her closeness with her mother, and about her strained relationship with her step-father. He listened with rapt attention, as if her boring small-town life was the most interesting thing in the world.

After their last class together, something had been weighing on her mind. “Be honest,” she demanded. It was Friday night; her parents would be arriving in the morning to pick her up. “Do you really think I have what it takes? To be a real writer, I mean.”

“You have a lot of potential,” Joel replied, smiling. “It’s been a pleasure to help you unlock it. I’m excited to see what you do going forward. If you can stick it out, that is. Having what it takes isn’t just about being a good writer, kiddo. You have to be patient, and understand that it doesn’t always pay off. But even then, just keep going. Start the next thing and keep your eye on the prize. And most importantly, know what the prize is.”

“What’s the prize?” she wondered, confused. 

He laughed and shook his head. “That’s just it. The prize is different for everyone. Figure out what it is for you and roll with it.”

They stopped at the doors of the dorm building. Elsie glanced at Joel. “What am I going to do without your words of wisdom?” she teased.

He paused for a moment. His hawk-like gaze studied her, as if there was a battle happening in his mind. After a moment he threw his hands up. Fuck it, his sigh said. “Here,” he said, holding out his hand. “Give me your phone. If you ever need my sage advice or a second pair of eyes to look over your writing, I’m just a text away.”

Elsie handed over her phone, her heart pounding in her chest. Her stomach was doing flip flops as she watched him create a contact for himself, snapping a quick smiling selfie for his contact photo. She found herself staring at that photo often in the months that followed.

“See you around, kid,” Joel said, handing back her phone with a quick wave. Then, he turned and strode off across the parking lot.

And so began the worst years of Elsie Green’s life. 

They spoke from time to time after that, over text or Facebook. Elsie texted him during class, and on the bus ride home from school. As time went on, their conversations became less about writing and more about everything and anything else under the sun. She asked him for advice a lot, and he was more than happy to oblige. She hung on his every word. He told her about the legendary rockstars he’d interviewed for his books, and how their work changed the fabric of the music industry. He knew everything there was to know about rock history. He was always recommending new music for her to listen to. "I'm starting to think you might secretly enjoy writing all these boring biographies," she remembered joking one night.

She never told her parents. One day her mother glimpsed Joel’s name lighting up Elsie’s phone screen while they were watching a movie. Elsie cobbled together a flimsy explanation about how Joel had offered to mentor her, and that he was helping her work on her university entrance essays. Her mother had accepted the excuse without question. This made Elsie feel guilty, despite the fact that there wasn’t anything explicitly inappropriate about their relationship.

That all changed the night before Elsie’s 17th birthday. She was celebrating early with her best friend, Karessa. They had sneaked a six-pack of vodka coolers into Karessa’s parents’ basement and were in the middle of a late-night horror movie marathon when Joel Ryan’s name lit up her screen.

Happy early birthday, kiddo!!

“Ooh,” Karessa giggled, looking over Elsie’s shoulder. “That’s that cute writing teacher of yours, right?”

Elsie blushed and nodded. She hadn’t told anyone about Joel, not even Karessa. Joel insisted on keeping their friendship on the down low. Every night at the end of their conversations, he asked her to delete the messages between them... just in case someone got the wrong idea, he said. But the liquor had softened Elsie's resolve, and she’d been itching to talk about it with someone. 

So, she did. And for reasons she couldn’t place at the time, the release felt good. It flooded her with relief. Karessa, of course, thought it was the coolest thing in the world. Emboldened by alcohol, they decided to see how far Elsie could take it before he shut it down. It would be fun, they thought. Harmless. What could happen?

Only, Joel Ryan didn’t shut it down. 

You turn 18 tomorrow right?

No, 17… lol

17!?!?! Oh, wow. You’re pretty mature for 17 :P

Thanks. You’re pretty cute for an old guy lol

Not so bad yourself, haha. Whatcha doing?

Watching movies and having drinks :)

Nice. I wanna see your face. Send me a pic? 

Ok!

Ok. Not here tho. Text me, and make sure you delete this convo…

That conversation went down in history as the worst mistake of her life. Years down the road, Elsie would find herself wishing she’d just ignored that happy birthday text and focused on Jason Voorhees bludgeoning horny campers instead. 

After that, the entire dynamic between them changed. A fuse had been lit, and the brightness of it was enough to blind her. Months went by, and Elsie was texting with Joel pretty much constantly. He made her laugh, and he made her feel pretty at a time when she didn’t have much confidence in herself. Of the two of them, Karessa had always been the pretty one. The outgoing one. The charming one. Elsie wasn’t used to this kind of male attention, let alone from someone so cool, so smart, so confident, so talented. Someone who had his shit together and knew what he wanted from life. And by some miracle, he wanted her. It all felt so very adult. 

To the people around Elsie, it probably came off as a harmless schoolgirl crush. At least, at first. Later on, the signs may have become more obvious. Elsie couldn’t be certain, and she never asked. 

She didn’t even realize it was happening as she stepped off the cliff and tumbled straight down the rabbit hole. She told herself repeatedly that she was still in control, that it was she who had him wrapped around her finger, but deep down she knew that wasn’t the case. From the beginning it was Joel’s hands that held the wheel. She continued to delete their conversations at the end of each night as he requested, ignoring the twinge in her gut that screamed "something isn't right."

Elsie continued to send him photos and videos. Joel almost never reciprocated. The only time she got to see him was during their late-night “talks” on Skype, when he would ask her to strip on camera for him. Because he spent so much time overseas on book tours they’d sometimes talk as late as two or three in the morning. Elsie didn’t care—if she had to go to class tired for the rest of her high school career, so be it. She barely noticed her grades slipping. One night, in a memory so clear it could have happened yesterday, Joel called her “his teenage vixen.” At the time, it made her heart sing. Now, looking back on those words, they made her want to throw up.

All the while, Joel continuously reminded Elsie that they were only in this for a little fun. No strings attached, he’d say. She was perfectly fine with that… until one day she wasn’t. But even then she pretended everything was fine, because she would have done anything to keep him in her life.

What was more, at the rare times when Joel allowed her a brief glimpse into his life, she began to notice the cracks in his "cool guy" façade. She learned he was sensitive, thoughtful and considerate toward others. He even struggled with his body image, which was ridiculous to Elsie because to her, he was Adonis. She thought she was seeing sides of him that he didn’t show the rest of the world, and it made her feel special. Of course, now she saw things for what they really were. He had been showing her exactly what he wanted her to see. Hindsight is 20/20, she thought.

“You cut off your hair,” Joel was saying, returning her attention to the present once again.

Elsie shook her head, trying to clear the daydream from her thoughts. “So did you,” she replied. Her expression was stony.

He shrugged, and they were silent again. But all that reminiscing had given her a sudden burst of courage. The rage was still roiling uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach, but now it had been joined by a convoluted mess of old feelings that had also bubbled to the surface. The nausea was almost unbearable now, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Where was Raphael with those fucking bagels?

The words tumbled out in a rush before she could hold them back. “What are we doing here, Joel?”

“Uhh,” he looked confused. “I thought we were catching up, but I could be wrong.”

“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped. Oops. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again, taken aback. Seven years ago, she’d have never had the backbone to stand up to his glib sarcasm like that. “Why, though? That’s what I want to know. I thought I was 'crazy?' A total stalker, wasn't that what you said? I’m surprised you’re even willing to be seen with me.”

Her voice was growing louder and louder with every word. Despite her attempts to stay calm, she couldn’t stop her lower lip from trembling with frustration. She felt like a bottle of soda that had been shaken and shaken, and now the cap had finally burst. It was too late. All bets were off. Joel was looking around, apprehensive. A few people walking by were looking at them from the corners of their eyes. Elsie didn’t care, but clearly it bothered him. Good, she thought bitterly.

“Come on, Elspeth. Don’t be like that,” he hissed, crossing his arms. He had always reserved her full name for times like this, when he needed to make her feel small. When he needed to remind her that he was the mature adult, and she was the petulant child. Some things never change. “You’re making a scene,” he added. “I was trying to be nice, I wanted to see how you were doing after all these years. Bygones, y'know?”

“You don’t care how I’m doing.” She hurled the accusation at him with the force of a torpedo. “Bygones my ass. I know that’s what you’ve been telling people,” she continued. “That I’m so fucking crazy. And now you're sitting here making small talk with me?” 

She’d heard this from a mutual friend a few months after they’d stopped talking for the final time. Apparently Joel had been telling anyone who would listen what a stalker she was, and how out of control her silly little crush on him had grown. Protecting his own reputation by throwing her to the wolves. The rage coursed through her veins like molten lava. 

“Well,” he said slowly, his voice low. “You kind of did act crazy, Els. Be honest with yourself.”

“Of course I did,” she seethed. “You made me that way, Joel. But you didn’t tell them that part, did you? You’re perfectly happy to keep on gaslighting me if it means saving your own ass, right?”

“Please,” Joel rolled his eyes, smirking. “I didn't 'gaslight' you. You’re just throwing around buzzwords.” 

She wanted to wipe that stupid smirk right off his face. He looked amused now, which made Elsie’s fists shake more violently at her sides. The most frustrating part about all this was that he had a point. She had acted pretty unhinged, toward the end. The memory filled her with so much shame that she rarely let her mind dwell on it. 

After their relationship became sexual in nature, Elsie fell. And fell. And fell. She fell hard, and the fall nearly ruined her. As the months and years wore on, things started to change. Joel could see that she was in too deep, and that was a problem.

He started sending her news articles of people in their same situation, adults that lost their livelihoods or even went to prison for doing the exact same thing they were doing. “This is what could happen,” he’d say. “I could lose everything I’ve worked for.” Elsie didn’t want that, of course, so she kept quiet for the most part. Years later she told her mother and her brother, but in large part, she kept their secret close to her chest like a sacred oath.

More time passed, and as it did the dynamic between Elsie and Joel continued to shift. Things took a turn. He would often get annoyed with her, impatient. She’d stare at her phone, waiting days for a text back from him. Sometimes he wouldn’t reply at all. They got into massive fights over the most ridiculous things, and often didn’t speak for weeks. When they were speaking, Joel criticized everything about her from the music she enjoyed to the things she said, the clothes she wore, the food she ate and the things she liked. To Elsie, it sometimes felt as if her very existence was an inconvenience to him.

Unless, of course, he wanted something from her. Then he was all charm and smiles. 

Each time they stopped speaking, Elsie found herself feeling hopeful that it would finally be over. But then he’d get sad or lonely, and his name would light up her screen, and the cycle resumed. She couldn’t resist him. She was the moth and he was the flame, and she knew he counted on that. But she couldn’t bring herself to stop. 

At one point they went 14 glorious months without speaking. Elsie was over the moon—she was moving on. She even started dating a guy from her high school, someone her own age. It got pretty serious, and she was happy. But then, sure as shit, Elsie’s phone buzzed at 2AM one night, waking her from a dead sleep:

Hey

She answered it. Of course she did. And within a month, Elsie had completely self-sabotaged her relationship and was back firmly at square one, like putty in his hands.

Things went on this way for another year or so. She continued to ruin friendships and relationships to keep Joel around, despite the fact that nothing she did ever seemed to please him. They continued to fight, and soon Elsie was overcome by a deep depression. She was drinking most weekends, getting blackout drunk to the point where she'd wake up the next morning with no idea what had happened the night before. Her smoking habit became a crutch. She smoked between classes at school and late at night so she could sleep. She even took up cigarettes. And when the world felt too heavy on her shoulders, she'd lock herself in the bathroom with a pack of razor blades. Her parents had no idea. Even Karessa didn't know quite how bad it had gotten. And it never once occurred to Elsie that Joel Ryan was the most likely cause.

Her depression annoyed him most of all. He reminded her constantly that no one would ever want to be around her or take her seriously if she kept acting that way. “You have nothing to be depressed about,” he’d say. “You know nothing about how hard life really is, you’re just a kid. There are people who have it so much worse than you, you should be grateful.”

By then Elsie was starting university. She could go out to bars and she even had her own place. Most importantly, she was old enough to fuck without consequences. But they never did. A blessing in disguise, she later realized.

They came close, once. Joel came to Elsie's shabby off-campus bachelor apartment, sat on the edge of her bed and read over the first few pages of a novel she’d been working on. “It feels a bit contrived,” he’d said. Embarrassed, she shoved the unfinished manuscript into a drawer, where it sat and collected dust until she finally threw it away many years later. Another regret.

Then he’d slammed her against her apartment door and kissed her furiously, devouring her. She let him, running her hands along his shoulders, arms and chest in an attempt to memorize the planes of his body. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he moaned into her mouth. His fingers dug into her waist as he pulled her roughly against him, planting kisses along her jawline and neck. As he looked up, their eyes met.

At that moment, Joel suddenly pulled away and placed her back on the ground. “I have to go,” he said, his voice husky. And that was that. It was their first and only real kiss. As she watched him walk off down the yellow-lit hallway, straightening his shirt, Elsie knew in her heart that it was already over. Whatever they might have had in the beginning, it was broken beyond repair. Maybe, she considered for the very first time, it had been broken the entire time. The realization filled her with horror.

Thinking about this time in her life made Elsie want to throw herself into traffic. She stared at Joel across the bench, so different now, but somehow the same. He was older, obviously, and more tired now, but he still radiated that cool confidence that was once so attractive to her. Now, it just pissed her off. “I’ve been waiting years to tell you exactly what I think of you,” she muttered.

“So shoot,” he replied, shrugging. "I'm a big boy, I can handle it." Per usual, he seemed completely unbothered. 

His challenge was gasoline, and the rage inside her exploded in a ball of flame that Elsie could no longer control. Fuck it. “You’re a miserable, narcissistic predator,” she growled, vibrating with fury. “You ruined my life and I fucking hate you.”

Despite how long she had been waiting to say those words to his face, somehow it didn't make her feel any better. She meant them with every iota of her being, but they still felt hollow.

Joel cocked an eyebrow. Something flashed behind his eyes, a single chip in his carefully curated public persona. “Tell me how you really feel, why don’t you,” he said, laughing humourlessly. Although his tone was still light and casual, there was a threatening darkness to his expression. “I seem to remember that you were more than fine with what we were doing back then. In fact, you started it. And you let it get out of control. I tried to tell you there was nothing between us.”

Elsie stood up. “You and I both know you’re full of shit,” she retorted. “I’d show you the texts to prove it, but you made me delete them all.”

Joel had nothing to say to that. His mouth closed in a hard line. He decided to switch tacts, and after a moment the breezy smirk was back. “Come on,” he chided softly, his amber eyes smouldering. “We had a few good times, at least. Remember the seminar I took you to? That was fun, wasn’t it? We had a great time.”

Elsie did remember. It was during her first year of uni, when things between them were still bearable. She was 19. Joel had invited her to a non-fiction seminar he was facilitating out of town. She didn’t have a vehicle at the time, so he gave her a ride there and back. On the ride there they listened to an entire John Mayer album, flying down the backroads with the windows down. Elsie remembered so clearly the sensation of the crisp fall wind against her skin as she leaned out the window, singing along to the music. She could almost smell the dry leaves that fell from the brilliant orange and red trees all around them that day, drifting like confetti to the ground and skittering across the road. The sky was a dazzling blue.

The ride home was very different. It was dark by the time the seminar was over, and the lack of light seemed to charge the air between them with an electric tension. Very few words were spoken between them, but his hand was on her lap the entire trip back to her apartment. He traced tiny circles on her jeans with his thumb. Achingly slowly, his hand inched toward her inner thigh, but never any further than that. 

She blushed at the memory, and he smirked. “I thought so,” he sneered. 

Don't forget everything that came after that, she reminded herself. The worst was yet to come.

As their situation continued to deteriorate, Elsie found herself clinging to it for dear life. Five years had passed while she wasn’t paying attention. She was a young adult now, and she couldn’t fathom what her life would look like without Joel. It terrified her. So many things about her, from her interests to her personality, had been shaped by him. The idea of letting him go made her feel like a lost puppy, left out in the rain. 

So, she engineered situations where they’d run into each other. She chose every word carefully, desperate to gain his attention back. She became friends with his friends, pretentious writing types who were almost unbearable to be around, all in a frantic bid to be closer to him. She even slept with a few of them to make him jealous. It worked, but only ever resulted in more arguments. 

Not her proudest moments. Looking back on them, the shame washed over her like a tidal wave.

“Just because there were good times, that doesn’t make you any less of a dickhead, dickhead,” she hissed. “Of course it wasn’t all bad. That’s how the cycle of abuse works.”

“Cycle of—for the love of—” Joel sighed with annoyance, rubbing his temples. “This is what I get for trying to be nice. This is why we stopped talking, Els. I just don’t have the time or energy for your oversensitive bullshit. You got in too deep, it’s okay to admit that. Just own it, fuck.”

“I don’t have to own shit,” Elsie’s voice was shrill. People were watching them again. She was on the verge of yelling, now. “I have been owning it, Joel. I’ve carried this guilt with me, this shame, for fucking years. But d’you know what? It’s not mine to carry. It’s yours.”

Joel laughed, but his expression was nervous. He kept glancing around at the passers-by who had slowed down curiously to listen in on their heated exchange. He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “How do you figure? You knew exactly what you were doing, you weren’t helpless. Stop trying to make yourself a victim. You started it,” he repeated. 

“I was a kid,” Elsie shrieked, incredulous. She felt foolish for the outburst, but the words were spilling out of her as if her mouth were a broken faucet. “A naïve, vulnerable kid. Yeah, I acted crazy. Because of you. Every time I tried to pull away, you actively and consciously reeled me back in. You were the adult, you should have known better! But you couldn’t stand being alone, could you? And you knew I’d rather be used than not have you in my life at all. You relied on it. I made you feel sexy, and you loved it. You made me need you, and then you punished me for it. Fuck you!”

“Keep your voice down,” Joel whispered. He reached out like he was about to grab her arm, then seemed to think better of it. He removed his cap briefly and raked his hand through his hair in exasperation. His hair was also streaked with grey, she noticed. “I didn’t use you,” he continued. That calm, collected tone of superiority was back. "Besides, we didn't even do anything. Not really."

He really doesn’t give a shit, she realized, her eyes widening. Suddenly, it all clicked in her mind, clearer than it had ever been. He never has, and he never will. He doesn’t give a single fuck about how you feel. The thought should have enraged her, but instead it brought with it a strange sense of peace. It was unfamiliar—it washed over her like warm bath water. Elsie felt calm all of a sudden, calmer than she'd felt in seven years. It was all so obvious, why hadn't she seen it before?

But Joel was still talking. “We used each other, that was the deal. I was only ever honest with you,” he insisted. “I told you what the consequences could be. I told you it was dangerous, and you didn’t seem to care at the time.”

“Yeah, you told me,” Elsie sighed. She felt very tired, now. “But you didn’t say no. You let it happen, and that’s what makes you a piece of fucking shit.” 

“You haven’t changed,” he chuckled darkly. He was speaking in that low, lethal voice again. “You’re just as crazy now as you were then. This is what I get for trying to be fucking nice. Obviously it was a mistake.”

Inexplicably, Elsie began to laugh. She laughed and laughed, until her voice was hoarse and tears welled up in her eyes. Joel watched her wordlessly, stunned. Her ire had cooled and for the first time in her life, she didn’t care about having the last word. She just wanted to go home and hug her fiance and her dog.

For years Elsie had obsessed over this confrontation, waiting for the day she’d finally get to show Joel Ryan just how close he’d come to destroying her. Waiting for her chance to make him understand just how much work, how many hours of therapy it had taken to claw herself out of the pit he’d left her in. How even now, she seemed to hover perpetually on the edge of sanity. How even now, the pieces of him she saw in herself made her want to crawl out of her skin. 

The problem was, in all her fantasies and daydreams about this moment, she’d always expected that he’d hear her out. That he’d care. That he’d see the error of his ways and apologize, or at the very least acknowledge her pain. But of course he didn’t. When, in all the years she’d known him, had Joel Ryan ever done any of those things? He never gave a shit about her feelings before, why would he start now? It was so obvious—this whole endeavor was completely pointless. What was she even doing here?

And why was having the last word so important, anyway, if he didn’t want to hear her? She’d come so far in seven years. She had done so much healing. She had built a life, a good one, a successful one, with someone who actually loved and respected her. It was a life they had built together, from the ground up, and Elsie was proud of it. She didn’t need Joel Ryan to validate that. He hadn’t broken her before, and she wasn’t about to afford him the opportunity to finish the job now. 

“Order up!” Raphael finally called, holding three greasy bags out the window of the bagel truck toward them. She took them with a polite smile and thanked him.

She handed one of the bagels to Joel, who had stood up and was watching her intently as if she were a bomb that could go off at any moment. “I’m going home now,” she said, flashing him a smile. “Have a nice life, Joel. Enjoy your boring-ass bagel.”

With that, Elsie turned to walk away. It was such a stark contrast to her earlier outburst that he couldn’t mask the confusion on his face.

“Wait,” he called after her. “This… this isn’t going to be a problem, is it?”

She stopped in her tracks but didn’t turn back to look at him. He was asking if she was going to out him. Make a scene, ruin his life. She spoke not to Joel, but to the sidewalk in front of her. “No, I don’t think so," she mused. "You’re just… not worth it.”

This time, she did walk away. She thought she heard him say something behind her, but she ignored it. She didn’t look back and kept walking, forcing one foot in front of the other until she finally reached her apartment building. In the safety of the lobby, Elsie finally allowed herself to release the breath she’d been holding for what felt like seven years. 

It felt incredible.

© Victoria St. Michael 2022


AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

That said, I wrote this and decided to share it because I've seen a lot of discourse in online spaces recently surrounding grooming, age gaps and sexual exploitation of young people in their late teens or early 20s. Some of what I've seen is, frankly, alarming.

I firmly believe that, while a person of this age is old enough to be entitled to their own sexual autonomy, it is absolutely wrong for someone in their late 20s, 30s or older to pursue a sexual relationship with someone that young. With an age gap like that there is an imbalance of power involved. You are in completely different stages of life, with different maturity levels and life experience. Your late teens and early 20s are a vulnerable, impressionable time. The things you go through then , including trauma, will shape the rest of your life.

You may think you're in total control, or that you know what you want. But trust me when I say you may find yourself looking back years later realizing you were wrong. That's the thing about being manipulated--you often don't see it until after the fact. If you are in a situation that makes you feel unsafe or even just a little icky, tell someone you trust. TELL ON THEM. You aren't mature for your age, that person is just a creep.

Thank you for reading. I've posted some resources below.


RESOURCES:

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