Anonymous Story: I Drive Myself

My world was full of life and curiosity during my freshman year of high school. I was social, outgoing, and ready to achieve my biggest dreams. During the first few months of school, I made a whole new group of friends. We were always together, both in and out of school. I loved it.
The winter months came and went, as did new friends. When He joined our lunch table at first, I was pretty excited. He began to sit with our group on the regular after a while. We thought this was cool. He was an junior, so having him hanging out with us was a big deal to our group of mostly freshman. Him and I began having daily conversations in class and eventually exchanged numbers.
One morning, I received a text message from him, asking me to sit in his car before school with him and a few friends. I didn’t think twice about it because I trusted him and the friends he said would be there. I made the walk across the vacant parking lot after spotting his car in the very back corner. When I got into the car, I saw there was no one else in there. He turned the music up and locked the doors.
I asked him where our friends were, and he told me, “don’t worry about them. They’ll be here.” So I told him I would wait for them outside. There was no reason I needed to sit in a cramped car for a half hour if they would never show up. I reached for the lock to pull it up to leave, however, he was quick to grab my wrist in a strong grip. His other hand went straight up to my neck. I was struggling to breathe. He told me I could leave, but I would have to do “favors” for him first. He demanded that I suck him off and that he would get to feel me as he pleased. I shook my head no. His grip got tighter around my throat. I glanced around, searching for a way out.
Another car pulled up next to us. I was so happy that finally someone was here to help. The guy looked over at me from the driver’s seat with a look of sympathy. He grabbed his bag, for out of his car, and walked towards the school. There was my last hope.
“See, you’re nothing. He won’t help you, who would?” He said. He continued to degrade me verbally as he forced his hand down my sweatpants and into my vagina. Tears ran down my face as he held me there, doing as he wanted with me. When he grew tired of that, he pulled my head down and forced his penis into my mouth. It felt like hours before he was finally finished. He reached over my sobbing body and opened the door. He shoved me out into the parking lot, my face hitting the ground hard. He told me to get to class and drove off.
I didn’t go to class until third hour that day. I tried to process it all, but failed to. I decided to tell a trusted friend about what happened. Instead of support or advice, I was blamed and shamed. I didn’t think anyone else would ever truly believe me. Because of that, I kept quiet for the next year and a half. I told no teachers, coaches, or family members. No friends knew. I hid my bruises and scars from his fingernails digging into me. All anyone was aware of was that I was “emotionally unavailable.”
I still had to see him for the next school year. He sat across from me in my art class. He would stare me down and grin anytime he caught my glance. I was terrified, but even more scared of what people would say if they found out.
My junior year was when I started putting my life back together. I felt more at ease knowing I would likely never see him again because he had graduated. I talked with my school counselor, who recommended a therapist to help me heal from the trauma. Getting that help, though, involved telling my mom about my biggest secret I hid from her for over two years. I know it hurt her, having something like that hidden for so long. But we actively searched for a therapist, and found an amazing one close to home.
However, I’m not completely past the trauma of course. That will take way more time than has passed. Four years later, I still push the locks down myself before driving my car. I don’t walk in parking lots unless I need too. And I always drive myself when I go out. I’m never the passenger. I’m scared of letting my guard down.