Society of Lies

by Lauren Ling Brown

It was almost as if he were himself again—but no. He was just drunk. We’d hardly talked. This definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.

He’s not good for you, you deserve more—and I know she’s right. But that’s the thing about love, isn’t it? When you find someone who sees you in a way no one else does, who understands you and makes you feel like you can’t be whole without them, it wraps you in a vise and makes you forget how to live life without them.

“He’s disgusting. He has Confederate flag shot glasses in his room, a tattoo of one on his thigh. In high school, he got suspended for writing a racist email to a girl who’d turned him down for a date.” “Did he get kicked out?” Ben shakes his head. “Nope. Dad’s a billionaire. Mom’s a congresswoman and big-time donor. His parents hired a lawyer who claimed free speech. He didn’t even get suspended.”

That it wasn’t normal for me to have to hide bottles of alcohol or pour them down the bathroom sink. I knew he drank to avoid dealing with his pain, and part of the way he treats me has to do with that too.

“No,” I tell him, and before I can say anything else, he leans down and kisses me. Suddenly it’s as if we’re right back in sophomore year at the beginning of our relationship, coming back from a night out at the eating clubs.

I was hurt, but I wasn’t surprised. He always did this—one minute he’d open up, and the next he’d act like I didn’t exist.

When he came back in September to start his senior year again, we tried to talk about what happened, but he was easily triggered. Aggressive. Everything I said set him off, and when I met his eyes, he wasn’t there. It was like looking into the eyes of a stranger.

“Jesus Christ, who are these ‘deeply offended’ men?” Zee says, after Amy hangs up the call. “I don’t understand why men in America are so freaked out by women’s bodies. It’s just a goddamned nipple.”

“It’s fine,” I tell her. But is it? Is it fine? When he’s betrayed me like this? And surely, surely he will try to come up with an excuse to make me doubt myself like he always does. I remember the nights spent in his bed, the deep conversations, tearing open my soul—lies, all of it.

How often, in the world, is silence what allows horrible people to get away with their crimes?