Rebuilding Sabrina, part 6

“So, what’s the idea?”
Sabrina was wearing gray sweatshirt and pants, and her hair curly hair was again pulled back into a bushy ponytail. She was a little less miserable than the last time, or at least her eyes were not all red and puffy.
I sat on the couch and took a deep breath. This was going to be a hard sell.
“I read the two books you gave me,” I said.
And more than that.
I had browsed online, called a couple of friends and my regular pusher, and bought two other books.
At the mention of her books she lit up. “Did you like them?” she said. “Can you see now what I was saying last night?”
“I can see it certainly,” I said. I lit a cigarette. “It was a life-changing experience, really. And it gave me an idea. About you.”
She squinted at me. “Tell me.”
I took a deep drag. “I think we both agree what caused so much grief in your life started back in college.”
She made a face. “Yeah,” she said.
“The gossip and rumors and the slut-shaming—”
She chuckled mirthlessly. “Yes, I think I remember, thank you.”
“That’s exactly the point. Did you ever think you could use your power to manifest a different past for yourself?”
She was silent.
“A different past?”
I nodded, and turned to exhale. “The way I understand it, the quantum field is time-independent, right?”
She frowned. “I guess so, yes,” she said slowly.
“So, just as you can use your mind to change reality and find yourself an apartment, you could try and project your will into the past, and—”
“And change the past,” she said.
We sat in silence for a moment.
“Do you think it could work?” she asked.
“Do you think it could?”
She thought about it for a long minute, biting on her thumb nail.
“It might be worth a try,” she said.
Bingo.

#

“Give me your lighter.”
Sabrina had a box full of candles. She found it rummaging in her closet, and distributed them around the room. The coffee table, the phone stand, the floor.
I pulled the curtains and then handed her my lighter.
She started lighting up the candles, then turned out the lights.
“This will make it easier.”
We sat, trading places. She occupied the center of the couch, while I sat on the stuffed chair on the side. She picked up her glass and finished her orange juice.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Fine. I took a deep breath.

“Now I want to sit in a relaxed, comfy position,” I said. “And just close your eyes and breath easily. Slowly.”
I was reminded of the hypno session I had taken to stop smoking. I leaned closer to the coffee table and lit a cigarette, using one of the candles.
“Do you really need it?” Sabrina asked, peeved.
I shushed her.
“Now let’s go back to where it all began. The moment when all this ugly business started.”
Sabrina nodded. I noticed that she had grown pale, and her jaw was clenched. I checked the watch, and exhaled slowly.
“Tell me about it,” I said.
She shook her head, without really realizing.
“It will not hurt you,” I said. “And then you will feel better.”
She sighed. Her shoulders dropped a little, her jaw unclenched.
“I was in one of the reading rooms,” she said. “In the New Library.”
I remembered the place. Barren, unfriendly place, whitewashed walls and thick carpeting. People reading at the tables, a Cerberus-eyed librarian doing the rounds.
“Describe the room,” I said.
Sabrina took a breath. “It’s one of the reading rooms on the second floor. There are three tables, but I am alone. I am revising my notes. There’s papers in front of me, and I am browsing Tipler’s chemistry book.”
“What’s the place like? Stretch your senses.”
“The smell of paper and dust. The paper is soft under my fingers. It’s warm, but not uncomfortable. It’s so silent—”
She stopped.
“What now?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
I took a drag, and squinted at her still form. “Tell me what is happening.”
She was silent for along moment. “It’s Mike Forlani, with some of his mates.”
Her voice had changed. She was scared.
How the hell can you be scared of a memory.
“OK, tell me what’s happening now. Slowly.”
She would not speak.
“Don’t be afraid,” I said.
I checked the watch. This was taking longer than I had planned.
“He walks up to my table, and he greets me. He is leering.”
“Tell me exactly what he says.”
She took a deep breath. The small bubble of candle-light n which we sat was hazy for my second hand smoke. She did not seem to notice.
“He says, Hi, blondie.” Her voice shook. “His friends behind him are laughing.”
I was about to open my mouth but she went on. “He leans on the table, bends down to stare in my face. Is it true what I heard?, he says. His mates keep snickering. What have you heard?, I ask. His eyes are in mine, he’s grinning evilly. I have heard you are a proper little slut, he says. Is it true you are willing to fuck anything that moves?, he asks.”
She was silent.
“What do you do?”
“I slap him in the face.”
“Good girl.”
“I try. He grips my forearm. He squeezes. Ooh, he goes, you like it rough, don’t you? One of his friends calls him and says to leave something for him too. I try to wrestle free—”
She was panting.
I was furious. If this was the beginning, what had she been through in the following months?
“OK,” I said. “Drop it, come back to me here.”
Sabrina opened her eyes and looked at me. There were tears in her eyes.
“It was so humiliating,” she said.
I nodded. I lit another cigarette. “OK, sister. Now we do it again.” She stared at me with obvious fear. “Only this time we change the past. This time you humiliate the cocksucker.”