I'm hoping to get some real feedback on this story, because everyone I've shared it with won't tell me anything but "I like it" or "It's good." ***************************************************** “I hate New York,” Jamie muttered, looking up and down the empty street, “five thousand fucking cabs in this city and I have to take the goddamn subway.” She stalked off in the direction of the subway entrance, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. It was 1 am and she had just spent two straight days preparing a last-minute merger proposal. “With my luck, they’ll tell me tomorrow that the merger fell through,” she thought. After the first couple of blocks, her temper cooled and nervousness set in. The only sound was the clacking of her heels on the pavement echoing off the buildings. She hated being alone in the city, especially at night. Her mom’s repeated warnings about rapists and muggers had made more of an impact than she had anticipated. She now carried pepper spray in her purse at all times. Lately, she had been considering getting a concealed weapon permit and carrying a handgun, especially on these late nights at the office. As she got closer to the subway, the street began to be populated, however sparsely, and she breathed a bit easier. Any people are better than no people. She sighted the entrance and walked more quickly, fumbling in her purse for her subway pass. Her keys slipped out and dropped to the sidewalk with a clink. He grabbed her as she stooped to retrieve the keys. Her scream was muffled by a clammy hand. He pulled her into a narrow alley and shoved her forcefully into the wall. Her head cracked against the bricks. Her knees buckled and she crumpled to the ground. Heavy. Sweat. Pain. Don’t touch me! What’s happening? Keys. Pepper spray. Hot breath. Please go away! Is that a gun? Thrusting. Groping. Why won’t anyone help me? Can’t breathe! Jamie lay slumped between the wall and a dumpster. She couldn’t move or think for a long time. She didn’t know how long. Only the fear of the man returning motivated her to force herself to her feet. Numbly, she gathered the scattered contents of her purse, including the worthless pepper spray, and stumbled toward the subway entrance. She had intended to go home, but she found herself getting off at the 28th Street stop instead of 51st Street. She took a cab to Bellevue Hospital and walked up to the desk at the emergency room entrance. “I’ve been attacked,” she said calmly. * * * An hour later, Jamie lay on a narrow bed in a curtained-off alcove, clutching the rails to keep from leaping off the bed as the doctor examined her. Her head throbbed where it had struck the wall and she shifted her head to take the pressure off the lump that had formed. Finally, the doctor finished the examination and drew the sheet down over Jamie’s bare legs. “I’m glad you came right in, Ms. Ferguson,” she said, removing her gloves and tossing them in the trash bin, “the faster a woman gets help, the more we can do for her. I’m going to give you a prescription for the morning after pill and get the samples we’ve taken to the police. You’re sure it was no one you know?” Jamie shook her head mutely. The doctor nodded curtly and continued, “I want you to make an appointment with your doctor for an STD workup as soon as possible and you’ll need a second HIV test in six months. Use condoms until after you get the results of the second test, just to be safe. Are you sure you don’t want to talk to our counselor?” Another shake. “I’ll do your discharge paperwork then and you can go home. This can’t be happening. HIV? The morning after pill? What is Mark going to say? My hands are shaking. I wonder if the pill will make me sick. I want to go home. Don’t want to be alone. Can’t tell Mark. Can’t tell anyone. My own fault anyway, walking alone at night like that. * * * She called in sick the next day. She didn’t leave the apartment except to fill her prescription and she set her phone to go directly to voice mail. Wander the apartment aimlessly, she tried to eat and couldn’t, turned the television on and off, then laid on the bed and stared at the wall. * * * “Baby, are you sure you’re ok?” Mark took her elbow and turned her to face him, “you’ve been acting weird the past couple of weeks.” Jamie tried not to cringe at his touch. “I’m fine,” she said, pulling away slightly. She turned away and busied herself with the breakfast dishes, pretending not to see the hurt look on his face. She hated the way she felt around him since – since that night. It had been two weeks and she still hadn’t told him. She had tried several times but just couldn’t do it. Sighing, she gave up on the dishes and wiped her hands on her jeans. “Why don’t we go to a movie?” she said, trying to sound cheerful. Mark agreed. Jamie allowed herself to be talked into an action flick and they headed off to the theatre. Mark insisted on buying her Sour Patch Kids, her favorite candy, despite her protests of her commitment to healthy eating. The theatre was crowded, but they managed to find a couple of seats together a few rows from the front. When they sat, he put his arm around her shoulders out of habit. Jamie stiffened and her heart started pounding. She forced herself to remains still and not leap up and bolt from the theatre. The movie started and she was able to relax a bit until forty-five minutes into the film, the hero was attacked by a group of men with guns. Jamie found herself breathing quickly as she saw the man on the screen backed into a corner with no escape, the bad guys closing in. Her heart pounded and the arm around her shoulders felt heavy, trapping her in her seat. Mark chose that moment to nuzzle her ear. Panic gripped her and she leaped out of her seat and darted toward the door, not noticing the confused stares of the other moviegoers. She burst out of the theatre and stood for a moment in the fluorescent glare of the hallway, half-sobbing, her head spinning. She was leaning against the wall struggling to catch her breath when Mark came out of the theatre, carrying the purse she had left behind. “Jamie?” he said gently, “are you ok?” Tell him, tell him! No…I can’t, he’ll hate me. He’ll blame me. Probably my fault anyway. Shouldn’t have been out alone. Just tell him. He’ll hate me. But he loves me. He’ll be disgusted by me. I’m damaged goods. Dirty. Disgusting. Soiled. “Take me home, please,” she whispered, “I’m not feeling well.” They didn’t speak on the subway ride. She took care to make space between them as they sat together. He held the door for her when they arrived at her apartment building. He tucked her into bed and made her a cup of tea. She turned her face away when he leaned down to kiss her goodbye and he left without saying he loved her. * * * Jamie woke the next day feeling guilty about the way she had treated Mark. What happened wasn’t his fault. She just needed to get over it get things back to the way things were. On her lunch break, she called him and invited him to spend the night at her apartment. He rented a romantic movie to surprise her and even bought a bottle of her favorite wine. After a couple of glasses, she began to feel better about being close to him. She forced herself to sit next to him, her leg against his. She even let him kiss her and managed not to push him away, feigning a passion she did not feel. When the credits began to roll, the moment she had been dreading arrived. “Let’s go to bed,” Mark said, smiling suggestively. She smiled back wanly. She undressed while he was brushing his teeth, slipping underneath the covers and turning off the light so he couldn’t see her. He groped his way to the bed and got in. She moved to the far end of the bed. “Where are you, baby?” he whispered, feeling for her. She steeled herself for his touch and moved closer to him. He began kissing her and touching her gently and for a moment she relaxed, until he rolled on top of her. Heavy. What’s he doing? This is Mark. You love him. Don’t, it hurts! Crushing me. Can’t breathe. Can’t think. “Get off!” Mark rolled away, startled. “What’s going on?” She sat up and scooted as far away from as she could, clutching the blanket to her breasts. Her hands shook and she struggled to catch her breath. Mark reached for her hand and she shrank away from her touch. He withdrew his hand, hurt. “Jamie, what’s going on? Please, you have to tell me so I can help.” Jamie covered her face with her hands, shaking her head. “Please, just go,” she whispered. * * * “I think we should break up.” Jamie cringed. She had been worried about this for the past several weeks. It had been three days since the ill-fated attempt at lovemaking. “Mark, I—“ Tell him, just tell him. “I’m sorry.” She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “You’ve been so distant lately,” he sighed, “we have no connection anymore. You avoid my touch, you don’t want to kiss me or make love to me. I don’t feel like a part of your life at all.” Tears blurred her vision and slid down her cheeks. She wanted to tell him, wanted to make him understand, but she couldn’t do it. She was too ashamed, too afraid, too hurt. He paused in the doorway and looked back at her, sitting straight-backed in a battered kitchen chair. “Are you going to be ok?” he asked, genuinely concerned. She took a shuddering breath and looked away. “I don’t know.”
The subject matter definitely has potential, and the writing gives the reader a clear sense of what's happening... and I 'like' (well, not 'like', but can find enough interest in) the way that everything feels changed after the attack... it gives the impression of being cornered, or backed in. Also, the narrator seems to approach the subject with a honest sense of how traumas such as this can have a huge, crippling effect one's daily life. I also like the ending very much... it's a strong way to end the story of a situation where there may very well not be any real resolution, or at least not a certain one. But at the same time, it all feels very mild and shallow, and even a little cold considering what has happened. I'm left with the impression that there's a lot more to the story than I'm getting-- I think this is mostly due to the fact that there's a lot of actions and dialogues (internal and external) but almost no description or attention to details whatsoever. She goes into a subway station and it has almost no features whatsoever to set it apart from any other subway station in any other city. She does not see her attacker or really get much sense of what he is doing to her. While this may be honest, it doesn't really make the trauma itself seem as important as it actually is to the story. She then talks to a doctor who seems to have no distinct appearance, and undergoes a medical examination that we don't even see. I'm not saying you should get sensational and indulge in brutality or anything, but generic descriptions of nervousness and feeling guilty really don't do much to bring the story to life in my eyes. Mostly because these couldn't possibly be generic sensations-- they would all have to be very new to her, because they're so irrational, and rooted in trauma. So I have one rather large suggestion-- dramatically, I think the story would have a clearer focus and generate more interest in the protagonist's condition if you were to cut out the first half completely, and instead make it a story only about the strains put on relationship. If you started with 'She called in sick the next day.', I would be wondering why and would want to read more. As it stands, there's more than enough in the second half to give the reader a good sense of what has happened, and her behavior demonstrates how deeply it has wounded her. As it is, I go through the story knowing absolutely everything and there are no surprises. If you started AFTER the attack and the examination, it would give it all a much better focus and raise more questions about why the protagonist feels the way she does. Honestly, just explaining it all from the getgo and THEN revisiting everything over and over throughout every step of the process is kind of numbing, and worse yet makes me think of an afterschool special. The trauma/rape gains most of its dramatic power when it becomes like a memory that continues to haunt her and her every action-- that's your story, I think.
Spelling and grammar are good. Story line is good but would work better as part of a longer piece telling us more about Ferguson's life. I felt that the fact that she was raped was hidden for too long in the story. The reader should have been informed as the attack occurred, without having to wait three or four paragraphs. I'm not familiar with the New York City subway system, but I find it difficult to believe that the rape occurred in such a public place. Also, why couldn't she reach her pepper spray? I've caught a small whiff of pepper spray (bear spray) and I think it must have a lot of stopping power, properly used. There is a sensitive portrayal of rape in The Sopranos TV series, in which the psychologist (Lorraine Bracco) is raped in a parking garage stairwell. She immediately reports it, not only to police but to her husband and family. By doing so, she avoids the misunderstandings shown in the above piece. Some viewers such as myself are disappointed that, having identified the rapist, she doesn't bring in her mob boss client who would be happy to do a little payback.
Thank you for the responses! I agree that it's rather shallow - it was written for a fiction class and we had a page limit, so I wasn't able to go into as much detail as I would have liked. I will definitely expand the story more and give more detail and personality.
I don't think it's the page limit that does you in-- but of course, it doesn't help. I think it's the fact that you're trying to cram so many separate (but related) episodes into a few pages that does it. I think you would do very well to split this up and focus on adding more detail to each episode. If this had been a story just about the rape, it could have included more. If this was a story just about the post-assault examination, it could have included more. And if it was a story just about the effects of the assault on a relationship, it could have included more. You could have done a very compelling short story about any of these subjects, but as it is it reads like three or four (maybe more) bare bones sketches with no real depth of focus. For example: I'd like to hear about the way the doctor's office smelled, or the expression on the doctor's face, or whether it was hot or cold in the room, or maybe even a mole on the doctor's hand and how it effected the protagonists' impressions of the examination. In my opinion, these small things are the kind of details that can bring a story to life-- and help you as a writer put yourself in the place you are writing about... and usually, if you can get enough out of a place then you can take the reader with you. I think the best advice I could give you is to break this thing up and focus on it one piece at a time.
