The following story was submitted by a sexual assault survivor who wishes to remain anonymous. If you or anyone you know has been sexually assaulted, counselors are available 24/7 at the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1-800-656-HOPE.
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The only thing I’m thinking is how I ended up here. I look up to his panting face and as he climaxes he says one thing to me, “You’ll enjoy it more when you look back tomorrow.”
80% of the victims of sexual assault are under the age of 30 and at least one in every four women will be a victim of sexual assault in their college career. Think about it, next time you’re in class and there are four girls next to you, that means one of them have been or unfortunately will be a victim of the disgusting nature of sexual abuse. Every time you read statistics like that you never think it will be you. “Those girls probably drank too much” or “those girls won’t be able to deal with it.” Well I was one of “those girls”, I was drunk, and I am dealing with it.
The night started off as normal as any night does, with my girls and a bottle of Malibu, what could go wrong? As a sophomore in college I thought I had seen it all, done it all, and at this point I knew my limits, but it’s hard to say no to free alcohol, so as the drinks kept coming I kept saying yes.
Stupid.
Somehow I ended up being separated from my friends, with a dead cell phone and I could barely stand on my own two feet. Instead of going back to my room with my wedges in hand, I decided to ask the nearest stranger to me on the patio of Brony’s if he could loan me a charger.
“Yeah, sure! But it’s at my friend’s apartment whom I’m staying with for the weekend.”
 “Oh is it far?”
“No, right down the street.”
“ Ok perfect! You’re a life saver.”
Stupid.
I figured, if anyone could be nice enough to let me use their charger at 1:30 in the morning they can’t be that bad. But I should have listened to my mom when she told me not to talk to strangers.
As we made our way back to his friends apartment, and I couldn’t tell you where it was, he struck up amazing conversation. He was journalism major and graduated 3 years ago; I’m a journalism major. He loved talking about politics and I love politics. Eventually, we got to the apartment, time flies when you’re making good conversation. What felt like 10 minutes, was probably no more than three.
“My room is this way.”
“Oh, that’s ok I can charge it here!”
But there was someone on the couch and he didn’t want to wake him up.
“He’s gonna kill me if I wake him up.”
“Ok, that’s fine!”
Then he walked me to his room and shut the door.
Stupid.
You know that sixth sense everyone has, and the way the hairs on the back of your neck rise when you’re “in a situation”? That was happening to me like crazy. How did I end up in a stranger’s bedroom? I just met this guy 10 minutes ago! What was I thinking?
“Can I have the charger now? I need to call my friend to let her know I’m all right.”
“Yeah sure, it’s right by the bed.”
So I sat on the bed and plugged my phone in as I silently wished that it was 100 feet long and it could reach to the door, and with some tug, out on the front porch.
Stupid, Stupid, Stupid.
He came and sat down next to me as I sent a series of texts to my friends
- Guys help
- I don’t know where I am and I’m with a guy
- Guys please I’m scared and I don’t know where I am
No reply. Then it started. He began rubbing his hands on my thigh.
I was wearing a dress.
I almost wore jeans.
“No it’s ok, I’m actually not in the mood. I’m still pissed at my friends for leaving me, haha girls suck sometimes.”
“Yeah which is what you should be doing right now,” and then he winked at me.
You’re so fucking stupid.
He was a big guy, and I wasn’t going to fight back. He took off my underwear and laid me on the bed.
“Don’t worry I’ll wear a condom. Stop crying I’ll be gentle.”
“It’s not about that, I just really don’t want to do this.”
Then he was inside of me and I couldn’t do anything about it. Imagine the most helpless feeling, and then multiply that by 100.
When he was done he took my number so I could text him when I safely got home.
I never got a text.
How could I have been so stupid? I was involved in school, I did well in my classes, I was nice to my siblings and up until my senior year of high school, I went to church every Sunday and bible study every Wednesdays. Yet how did I end up in this position?
The last few days have been hard. Very hard, but I’m dealing with it. I’m the girl on twitter who re-tweets feminist pages, and articles about people who have been sexually abused and post comments like “it’s not your fault he’s the dirt bag who couldn’t keep it in his pants” but I can tell you, it’s not that easy on the other side.
It’s hard to say things like “you didn’t deserve it” when you walked up to a random fucking stranger at the bar and ask to borrow his iPhone charger. What were the odds that someone carries that around? And if they did where would I find an outlet to plug it in? Anyone who doesn’t have the common sense to think a situation like that through deserves whatever happens after right?
Wrong.
But I was drunk. I shouldn’t have been drinking as much as I had been, to a point where I couldn’t make rational decisions. Surely since I was that intoxicated it’s just as much my fault as it is his, right?
Wrong.
Nothing that happened that night was my fault, and if you have ever been in that situation it wasn’t your fault either. I know it’s difficult. I can’t go to sleep at night without seeing his face. I find that when I’m walking anywhere, I can’t help but turn around to make sure he’s not following me. Every time I get a text message, day or night, I hesitate to look because I’m terrified that it could be him.
After it happened I did right by myself and told someone, because that isn’t something you keep to yourself. Counseling and Psychological Services, located on the third floor of Hudson, is always an option. If you don’t feel comfortable taking to someone face to face about it then call RAINN, The Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network at 1-800-656-HOPE.
It wasn’t about what you were wearing, it wasn’t about what you said, it wasn’t because you were drunk, and you have every damn right in the world to charge your phone, but he does not have the right to do what he did to you.
It kills me inside that he got away with what he did. I don’t remember his name and I don’t have his number. God forbid he does it to someone else, but I’ll be damned if I let this go without telling my story in hopes that one of you out there decide to get help. I’m not fine, but I’m healing, and if my story can help someone out there, then my job is done and I didn’t suffer for nothing. It is not your fault.