Fight Club

Part three

Having completely misread his attitude, I attempted to explain to the manager that I had circulation problems, so had asked for my coat because I was worried about my hands, and as a result had been verbally and physically abused.

I remember the managers mouth moving, but I hear no words, yet I know his tone was emotionally flat.

I remember the bouncer who threw me regaining his courage, leaning in close to me, over his colleagues shoulder, his breath on my neck and the static type chill that run down my spine as he whispered in my ear, but I hear no words.

I remember the female bouncer trapped in between us, her body being forced into mine, and I realise I hear absolutely no sound at all when I recall this part of the incident.

As the male bouncer grabbed my hair, slamming my head into the sharp edge of the door, not only did pain suddenly explode through my skull, the sound in my memories does too.

Despite the fact I am aware that both men threatened me, it is my belief that my head hitting the door was unintentional and he was actually attempting to drag me outside by my hair, which would have been bad enough, while standing in front of me rather than behind me, and with a wide person in between us.

It is my opinion that it was obvious to the bouncer that the managers words had a paralysing impact on me, and that is why he suddenly regained his courage, as my body instantly went limp and slumped, and I started sobbing, but my hands which had remained in place, gripping the door throughout this entire ordeal held me up, until my head hit the metal and my body jerked back up straight, stiffening.

Mentally, I was dazed and no longer consciously in control of my body. It stood motionless, stuck in the last command my brain had given it, which was to get inside to safety, so when the bouncers began trying to close the door again my body automatically responded by trying to stop them.

In the end, it took all three bouncers pulling on the door, while a group of girls prised and held my fingers off the edge of it, and Laura, Mel, and three men from the crowd, wrestled me backwards, for them to successfully shut and lock the door.

This is one of those times I feel others should really have been aware that I was mentally ill, due to my emotional instability, as well as my actions not matching the emotions I was showing.

It was only since I began writing this, that I suspect that some people did recognise I was mentally ill.

They certainly seemed to have recognised that I was vulnerable.

Mel’s voice cut through my heaving sobs, the banging of the girls who had removed my hands from the doors fists and palms now slapping against the metal they had helped close, and the excited chatter of the other students who had been watching, as I was half guided, half carried, to the grass and through the crowds, by her and Laura, the boys who had assisted them hurrying to keep up with us as they followed closely behind.

“Look at the state of you.”

“Look at what they’ve done to you.”

“Look at your hands.”

“We need to get you home.”

When we stopped, as far away form everybody else as physically possible, while staying on the grass, she took my hands in her own, hoping to warm them.

At the time this happened, these men were complete strangers to all three of us. Although they all would remain strangers, to at least me, I would learn a little bit of information on the man who interacted with me, including his name, during my second year a university. His name was Jason. So, for the purpose of not constantly referring to him as one of the men, I am going to use his name.

Why Jason decided to lie, by telling us he set off the fire alarm, I don’t know, as I never asked him. He did a very good job at acting, I’ll give that, particularly in pretending to be apologetic.

It seems he should have been aware this was a stupid thing to lie about, even if you don’t take into consideration the physical and emotional condition I was in, or the events that had just taken place.

If it hadn’t been for his lie though, I would have very likely collapsed on the grass there and then, and literally waited to die in the cold.

Chaos complete.
Currently in fall apart mode.
Initiate self destruct mode.

Luckily for me, he said the wrong thing, at the right time, reigniting my anger, which snapped my consciousness back into my body.

It’s strange to me that when I directed my anger at him in response to his lie, he appeared utterly shocked and caught off guard, despite having just witnessed me shrieking at the top of my lungs for several minutes straight, without taking a break to breath.

To me, it was even stranger in the moment, as I assumed the fact that I was excellent at shrieking was all he knew about me.

It has only just occurred to me, that although I had never noticed him before, he might have noticed me, because he studied at the Cat Hill campus, however I didn’t know this at the time.

“This is all your fault,” I was wailing, on repeat.

I doubt any of them understood what I was saying fully, if at all, but Laura understood my reaction enough to explain why I was so angry at him. She calmly informed him that I had circulation issues, so I had requested my coat, which had resulted in me being verbally abused, mainly with sexually inappropriate remarks, then physically assaulted, which led to the incident they had witnessed, then gotten themselves involved in.

Another thing that surprised me in the moment was that he apparently couldn’t see all this himself. My hands were blue, my clothes destroyed, and thanks to the sleet I had blood smeared all over me.

I want to make it clear that what I am about to suggest in relation to Jason’s motivation is speculation on my part, that only occurred to me while writing part two of this story, last week, because for the last sixteen years, this theory never crossed my mind, and I didn’t think badly about Jason at all in any way, quite the opposite.

Now it occurs to me that not only could he definitely see all this, it was also possibly the actual reason he was speaking to me.

Maybe I am wrong.

Maybe he truly cared.

Maybe he just felt that he was in too deep because he had falsely confessed to being responsible for what had happened to me, even if just in directly. Therefore, he felt obligate to help me.

Possibly though, he had a motive that I didn’t even consider until last week, but am now convinced is the case. He might have wanted to have sex with me, and believed he had a good chance because he either thought I was drunk, or could see I was mentally ill, both of which would have made me vulnerable.

From what I have experienced in my own life, and witnessed over the years, some men make a hobby out of taking advantage of vulnerable mentally disabled women, especially for sex, then brag about it to their friends, while further degrading us by laughing at how our disabilities affect us, and using our disabilities as an excuse for why it was more than ok for them to treat us that way.

Whether the boys had been wearing their own jackets all night is something that I am not going to speculate of here, as it makes no difference to what had already happened to me, or what was about to happen.

Taking his jacket off, Jason offered it to me.

Stubbornly, I shook my head.

“Put it on,” he insisted, shoving it into my arms. “This is my fault.”

“No,” I refused.

“Put the coat on,” Mel ordered, picking it up and wrapping it around my shoulders.

“Do you have your ticket?” Jason enquired.

My brain was still busy malfunctioning, so I started at him blankly unable to decipher his question.

It was either Laura or Mel who opened my and bag, dug out my cloak room ticket, and handed it to him.

“Where are you going?” His friend called after him, irritation obvious in his voice, as Jason marched off purposefully in the direction of the student union.

“To get her coat,” he replied, without looking back.

Then he disappeared into the crowds.