November 27th, 2007.

"Shelly?"
"Yeah?" my friend's voice called out from the darkness which engulfed the room.
"Is it ok for me to be in here?"
"What?" said the voice.
I repeated the question again- weak and hesitant.
"Nicole, is this about the gay thing?"
"Uh.." I paused.
"Nicole." Her raspy voice said my name again. "You're fine. You don't have to worry about that."
"Ok." I settled down into my crispy white sheets, snuggling my toes deep under the warm comforter, as the stubborn fan in the window refused to stop pushing cold air over my body. From Shelly's side of the room, I heard her clear her throat. "Why did you ask me that question any way? You've never asked me that before."
I remained silent, pondering before I spoke. Did I really want to discuss this right now? I asked myself. You have to Nicole! You havn't eaten or slept all week from this. Talk to her about it. I shoved my cold toes farther down into the sheets.
"Shelly," I started, slowly and hesitantly, my mind reeling nervously. "Last Saturday when we argued about racism, I thought you were upset so I laid down next to you on the floor to watch a movie with you, remember?"
I paused- not only to hear her confirmation, but also to gather my thoughts. The next part was going to be awkward to say, and I needed to gather up my courage to do it. Come on, Nicole, say it!, I commanded myself. My hands grasped onto each other, forming a ball on top of the comforter.
I started again. "Well, after the lights were turned out, I felt your hands....touching me, and your body on me, um, humping me." The last words came out as awkwardly as I thought they would, though my voice was honest, my tone as strong as I could make it.
"WHAT?!" she belted. Jumping out of bed and flicking on the lights, she glared defensively at me. Angrily she spit, "How could you think that? I could never do a thing like that! Damn you Nicole! Damn you!"
Tears flooded my blue eyes and spilled over onto my cheeks. "Please don't be angry with me Shelly," I pleaded, "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it." I sounded pathetic. I didn't know what I was saying; I just didn't want her to be angry with me. I was afraid of her.
There was a pause, silence surrounding us. Only the sound of her heavy breathing filled the air. Then she spoke.
"Well, if any of that did happen, you know it was your fault!" she taunted. "I wouldn't do anything like that to you unless you did something to me first."
My teary eyes glanced down onto the auburn carpet covered in dorito crumbs. I felt awful. My heart weighed down by unnecessary guilt and pain that it was almost unbearable. The memories of last week that were stained into my brain were my fault? How could they be? To be sexually touched and used. To be lied to and blamed. My body bore the shame of another's lust and selfishness.
Life is full of memories- most good- some bad. The good, we hold onto like beautiful dreams which we dread awaking from, and the bad can follow us around like angry thunderclouds. Those are the moments where God demonstrates how wonderful a Rescuer he is. A rescuer of fears, a rescuer of memories, a rescuer of shame. In Him- we are gloriously free. In Him- I am gloriously free.