Chapter 2

I'm a fan of Oyster50, and was disappointed when after only one very interesting chapter, Overboard languished for too long. I understand busy, though, so I just kept checking and hoping. But then it was opened up, so to speak, and I'd already formed some idea of where I thought it might go. So I decided to see if I was up to the task. So the first chapter is Oyster's, and what follows is my own version. And the whole thing is now "Overboard Too." Hope I'm up to the task!

--brertuck

I tended to the necessary boating details, and as we were already nearing the buoy where I'd make my next course change, decided to wait until then to raise sail. Kay had said she thought she'd be okay, so I went with that. The party barge, by that time, had turned off towards a fairly private cove, where their obvious intended activities were a well-known occurrence. We wouldn't see them again, and that was alright with me, and I was certain Kaitlyn (did she say to call her "Kay?") would be fine with that as well.

When it was safe to do so, I checked again for any close traffic (there was none) trimmed the sails and set the autopilot to maintain course in the light offshore wind, and burbled out into the Gulf. I think that's what I like most about sailing – the abrupt change when you cut the power and let the quiet of the wind take over. I think it's something one has to experience. Mere words don't begin to describe it.

Then I went below to check on my unexpected passenger.

I found her sleeping soundly, even snoring a little, as she lay sprawled on her back. Could have been enticing in other circumstances, but I'm not that kind of a guy, after all, so I managed to turn her onto her side and covered her with a light blanket. She grumbled a little in her sleep, but her breathing evened out, so I left her to rest and went back topside.

Oh, by the way, as I told Kaitlyn, I'm Rob Lister. Single, 35, no significant debts, and I figured to stay that way. I'm a freelance network and web designer, and make a pretty decent living, which, along with a modest inheritance from my grandparents, allows me to be rather selective about my work habits. Not that I'm lazy, mind you, just fortunate. Hobbies are sailing, of course, and music (mostly listening, but I play a couple of instruments too), reading, and a bit of writing. Work out regularly to keep in shape, and even fish and snorkel a bit when I'm out on one of these jaunts. Didn't have my SCUBA gear with me this time, but my fishing tackle is always handy in the locker. Sometimes I and a buddy or two shoot some skeet way out in the Gulf.

But there's another bit of history that went into my decision to help this young castaway. Twelve years ago there was Jenna. We were in love. I had just given her a ring, and we were talking about The Date. And we were both still virgins by choice. While not overly religious, we'd both been brought up to realize the significance of the sexual act, and corny or not, we had vowed to wait until That Night.

When she got an invitation to a party "to celebrate her engagement," I had to work, but encouraged her to go. Neither of us knew that there were a couple of guys -- real dirt-bags – involved. One of them doctored her drink that night, then spirited her away from the party, and they took advantage of her. To put it bluntly, they raped her. They. The medical report said it was more than one. We found her semi-conscious in an all-night diner where they had dumped her. She was devastated. She ended up in a deep depression, and broke off our engagement. She said she was dirty, would never be clean, never be "good enough" for me. I tried, all our friends tried, but she would not be consoled. And then she committed suicide. Swallowed a whole bottle of pills. They were able to keep her alive in a coma for thirty-two days before finally letting her go.

I almost followed her. Tried, actually, but a friend found me in time to get me to the hospital. I was pissed at him for a long time for that, felt he had robbed me of my Jenna again, but the blur of therapy, and the concern of friends and family, especially my sister Lynnette, and I guess a lot of prayers, eventually got me through it.

The guys who did it got off on some sort of technicality – she did go to the party voluntarily after all, and their low-life bottom-feeding defense attorney exploited that little fact to "prove" she deserved what she got.

So you'll understand why the fact that this asshole had doctored Kay's drink really hit home. And totally pissed me off.

Chapter 3 »