TW: SA
We haven't talked since that night; we hadn't even talked much at all before then. We just crossed paths in school, at parties after football games, and in the dive bars after graduation. Frankly, I don't even know if you went to college? There was a rumor that you could hold your breath for five minutes underwater. Ironic, because I felt like I held my breath that long when I was with you. And every time I've heard your name since.
I've removed you from my narrative. I haven't mentioned your name in years, not even to my therapist. I haven't seen you in our hometown. Or outside of it. I haven't passed your house..or maybe I have; I didn't know you enough to know where you lived. I haven't thought of your existence. But you messaged me...on a new platform that hadn't yet existed for me to block you at the time.
I refused to give your name, our story, the memory - a stage. I refused to give a spotlight to those minutes of my life that have left scars on years past and will affect me for years to come.
But no, f*ck you. I'm not going to protect your name or the story for the sake of my own.
I was 19. I was a sophomore in college. I was excited to have all my best girlfriends pre-gaming in my parent's basement. It was November of 2016 and I wore heeled booties with high socks, a turtle neck crop top, and a black suede choker. It was the night before Thanksgiving. Big Wednesday, Thanksgiving Eve. It's the social night of the year for the college kids who run back to their hometown. It was finally my turn to be that college 'adult' out on the town.
We had our Pinnacle Whipped from water bottles and whatever soda was left in our basement or garage fridges. We knew to pace ourselves as each one of us was on a mission to collect a specific piece of gossip and return the information to the rest of us like birds making a nest. Are Chris and Josie still going out? Did Luke really drop out? Why aren't Emily and Rachel friends anymore?
We arrive at The Twisted Shamrock and the floodgates of recent graduates pour in with us. There's the college freshman on their first Black Out Wednesday. There are the far-out graduates that are pushing the envelope with their presence. And there's my Forever21 plaid mini skirt amongst it all.
I've tried my best to delete the details of the evening. However, the several minutes that I need to escape are the ones cemented into my mind, And the memories of Bud Light cheers, giggling over gossip, and the dartboard corner have been the ones to fade.
He offered to walk me home.
He said he passes my house anyway. So I said yes.
We left the bar and walked past our alma mater. We crossed the street and we walked adjacent to the high school fields which neighbor my home. He asked if we could talk, he says that he always thought I was cute. I said yes and we headed across the track to the goalpost.
Our town's name is adored in bold letters across the north endzone and we park on the first B. It felt like a moment to remember. It was like a movie - going out with my longest-loved girlfriends and the guy asks to walk you home after calling you beautiful. Holidays are in the air and I'm a sucker for a Hallmark.
I couldn't tell you what we said. Or how long we talked. But he kissed me. And I kissed him back. He didn't ask, but he didn't have to. There was a yes. We had taken off my turtleneck, but my Victoria's Secret overly padded bra stayed covering my body.
But then something changed. His chest got larger, his energy got darker, and his pupils looked hungry. He touched me. I didn't say yes. I didn't say no.
He told me, "I'll be done soon." And that's when I thought I didn't have a choice. I thought this was what happens. You sit, you suffer, you go down the path for the fear of what happens if you don't.
I was on my back. He kissed my body and I lay still. He told me, "I'll be done soon" again. But I said no. I said I was done. But he said he wasn't.
He put his weight on my open knees. His thighs are much stronger than mine. His knee moved to my thigh to hold himself on me. And his hand to my wrists, above my head. I SAID NO. I said it again. And again.
"I'll be done soon."
And then he was.
He took my shoes...and that turtleneck, and my purse. He taunted me with them. He danged them in my face. He wanted me to chase him. Like I wouldn't DARE to leave him without my belongings. But he was right. I waited for his show to be over. I waited for my belongings back. And again, he would "be done soon". He dropped my Kohl's bag the same way he dropped my wrists; it meant nothing to him.
What happened next? I went home. He went to another girl's house.
What happened next? I told my best friend, Samantha...several weeks later. And then I didn't tell anyone else for months. And some years. Now, it's a 2016 heeled-bootie sized step in my digital footprint.
What happened next? I got an 8:40-something AM "hey" from him a month shy of 8 years later.
What happens now? I'm going to take care of that 19-year-old girl who was too scared to speak, too scared to scream. Because that 19-year-old girl needs to know it wasn't and isn't her fault. And it wasn't and isn't her fault that it happened again at 21.
What happens now? I'm doing my best. Or at least I'm trying to...!
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National Sexual Assault Hotline
Hours: Available 24 hours
1-800-656-4673
The Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network (RAINN), organizes the National Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline. The Hotline is a referral service that can put you in contact with your local rape crisis center.
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