Anonymous Story: Letter To My Rapist

Anonymous Story: Letter To My Rapist

I don’t even know where to begin…where does one start to tell the details of the night that changed everything. The night that made me question everything I had ever thought about people, about the world, about myself. The night that has made me choose wrong every single time. I’ve tried to put the pieces together and after years and years of trying I guess I finally admit that I still am where I was. At a loss of words…I’ve tried to understand that night. I have tried to find out what he saw in me that let him know that he could do that and that he could do that to me. What was it about me, the thought that keeps me up most nights, made him know that I could be made to do those things? I don’t know, maybe through this, you can help me find the answers. Maybe you can answer why after all of this time, sometimes (a lot of the times) I feel as though I am crawling out of my skin. Can you make that stop? Can you make me stop wanting to take shower after shower? And when I can’t shower, when I am with other people, can you make it so that I don’t want scream? Can you make it so that when I look at myself in the mirror that I don’t see her, the way she was that night? Maybe you can answer, why I still want to disappear and maybe why I feel as though the feeling of starving is somehow a better feeling to feel than anything else. Why is it easier for me to focus on not eating so that I don’t have to think about anything else? I don’t eat because I think I am fat, that’s not why. I don’t eat because at least that I can control. I don’t think I could bare the thoughts in my head that I hold at bay when I don’t eat. I’m afraid that I’ll come undone, and all that will be left is her. Maybe you can help me sleep, because I dread the nights. The mornings and the days are easier because I can keep myself busy and I have perfected my ability to smile and make everything appear to be ok, but when the night comes, when my son is asleep, and I am left alone with my thoughts, I cannot bare it. I try so hard everyday to choose not to be scared or startled by every single unexpected movement. I fight everyday to be braver, to be stronger than I am. And I am tired. I am weary. The kind of tired that a thousand nights of sleep still would not be enough to make me feel awake. I am exhausted and sometimes at night when I’m alone I plead to God asking him why? Why, if this is all there is…if this is how it is always going to be, why, why didn’t he just let me die that night? And then I feel incredibly guilty. Guilty because I have a son, a son who has brought me so much mercy and grace, and I know I cannot choose death, not with him…but still a person cannot be expected to have to endure so much and still be expected to act as though they aren’t falling to pieces, that they aren’t breaking. And I hate that, too…the fact that somehow he was able to break me. That he could and that he did, and the worst thing is, I called him my friend. He was my person. But that night he turned, he changed, and he hated me, I could see it in his eyes…and I didn’t know what I did. I still don’t know where exactly it all changed, what I said or what I did..maybe he hated me all along and I was just to stupid or naive to notice.

So here are the details, the details you say that I have been guarding, the details that you say keep me where I am, like a prison of my own making..

We went out to dinner because my birthday was coming up on the 18th and the 15th is when we both had free time. He picked me up, which wasn’t uncommon, we had done this countless times before. When I got into the car, we hugged like always..and immediately started talking about what we were working on. It was fun driving, we played the music loud and he sang along and I danced and we laughed. I was always glad when I saw him. He was one of the people that I had grown the closest to after I moved to North Carolina. And when we got to the restaurant, I felt sorry for the people sitting around us because we were loud, laughing and telling each other about the days since we last saw each other. I was having fun, eating with him and laughing with him. It was like every other time we were together. And the check came and I looked at it so that I could pay for my half and he told me no, that it was my birthday and that it was his gift…and I told him that was so nice and I told him thank you. We left dinner and got into his car and we were going to his apartment, a place I had been many times before, by myself and with other friends. The ride there we were still laughing and talking about the next two weeks and when we were going to be able to hang out again and get everyone else together, too.

When we got to house, I went in first after he unlocked the door. I dropped my bag and took off my shoes at the entryway, which was basically the same as living room, his bedroom and his kitchen. It was a small efficiency with a mattress on the ground, pushed up against where the corners of the wall met. He had a small couch and a coffee table and I was getting ready to sit on the couch when he pointed to the bed and told me to sit there. I said something flip, like yeah right, you wish and sat on the couch. He was standing by me now and he grabbed my arm and pulled me up off of the couch and told me he wasn’t playing, that I needed to sit on the bed. I thought he was still joking and pulled away, but he pushed me back, and I thought at that moment that he was still playing around and that maybe he just took it too far. But then he hit me, across my face with his fist, and I fell back against the bed. I didn’t know what to do. I started to say that I was sorry, sorry about everything I could think of, I asked him what did I do? It’s funny at time likes this, when you run out of shit to apologize for, you start making shit up. I swear, I must have said a thousand of I’m sorries….but none of them worked. He told me to shut the fuck up and I choked on his words. He looked so different than he did just moments before. And my face hurt. I tried to push myself up but he was on top of me, pulling my legs back down with one hand as his upper body and his other arm were against my chest. I felt tears, and I could barely get the words out, but I tried to ask him what was going on and that I was so, so incredibly sorry if I did something to make him mad. I told him that I just wanted to go home, and he laughed at me and said that I could go home when he was done. My mind was racing because I could not wrap my mind around the words he was saying, or the tone of his voice. I was terrified. And I started to scream or maybe I had been screaming all along, I don’t know, but I must have been too loud, because he hit me again and this time I thought I was going to pass out. The room was spinning, and he was undoing the button on my jeans and unzipping the zipper. I was trying to kick my legs free, I was thinking that under no circumstances was I going to let him take my pants off. He punched me in the stomach then and I cried out and before I could gather myself, my pants were off and my underwear was torn off and thrown to the side. And I remember thinking that this cannot be happening, that somehow this must be a dream or some sort of cruel joke, that surely I wasn’t on his mattress naked from the waist down. I was crying so hard, and fighting so hard and he reached up to cover my mouth but his hand was so big it covered my nose too. I couldn’t breathe but I still fought. I was kicking him and I remember that I tried to bite his hand. He laughed and said he didn’t know I was into biting but he would do what he could. He made me take my shirt off. And he bit my neck, and I was able to get my arms free enough to claw at him and to hit him back but he was so big and so strong. And with his legs, he spread mine. And I felt him, inside me and I cried out for him to stop. But he did not stop. I tried to struggle against him, to move myself in such a way that he wouldn’t be able to be inside of me but I couldn’t get him off of me or out of me. And I remember pleading to god, asking for him to come and save me, asking him to make this stop. I must have prayed out loud, because he told me that no god was coming here. And I cried, I cried because I hurt so incredibly bad. Every part of me felt as though it was on fire. My eyes burned and my mouth was dry. As he moved inside me, he would alternate hitting me, or trying to kiss me. I couldn’t understand, I couldn’t make myself kiss him…I just wanted it to be over. But when I kept refusing to kiss him, he pulled me up with one arm and flipped me over to my stomach. I didn’t know, I had only been with one person and only once, that sex could happen like that…I didn’t know what was going to happen and I started to panic as I felt his hands. And then when he was in me that way, I thought I was going to throw up, the room went dark and I screamed out. He reached around and started to choke me. And I knew in that moment that I could die tonight. I couldn’t move, he had me pinned down and I could barely breathe. I did not know that you could feel so much pain and still be alive. I did not think that I could take him in me like that any more. And I knew at that moment, that he was right, no god was coming for me that night. And he was so strong and I was so tired that after a while…I stopped fighting. I laid there. Letting him have sex with me like that. Some people say that when things like this happen, you have an out-of-body experience. I did not. I wish that I had. But I was in mine the entire time. Feeling him against me, inside me. His hands on me. I can still smell him. I can still feel his breath against my neck. I can still remember what it felt like to feel as though I was being torn to pieces from the inside out. And I remember thinking that his skin was soft, which is weird, I don’t know why I even noticed except that it was so different from how the rest of him felt. He had this clock, an old-fashioned alarm clock that ticked loud enough that if you really concentrated, you could hear it. I concentrated on that damn clock, listening for its ticks. I remember trying to count them. In my head, trying to count them so that maybe I wouldn’t mind so much what he was doing. I counted so many of the clock’s sounds that I thought that he must be ready to be finished now. I didn’t know that it could last so long. But I must not have been fucking him right because he got angry again, with me on my stomach and reached both hands around my neck and started to squeeze. I didn’t even try to get him to stop. It hurt so much, but I thought that maybe it would only hurt for a little bit longer and then it would be done. I would be done. And I was okay with that…I was relieved by that. I must have passed out because I woke up with him lying beside me, his arm resting across my stomach. I couldn’t see the clock anymore, the room was too dark. I tried to move and my body shook so hard that I thought that I would wake him up. As I sat up, my head was pounding and I could taste blood in my mouth. I reached for my clothes and had my jeans almost in my hands, when I felt his hand grab a hold of my hair and he pulled me back down to him. He asked where I was going. I lied. I told him that I was going to go to the bathroom. He said that I could go, but that he would go with me. I remember saying okay, and that he could come and I stood up but almost fell back down, my legs felt so weak and trembled as I took each step. He was beside me, walking with me. He was so quiet. He reached inside the bathroom and turned on the light. I said thank you. I couldn’t believe I just told him thank you, but it came just came out of my mouth before I could stop it. I don’t know what I was thanking him for..for turning the light on…or for what, letting me off the bed. And then I saw it. Me, standing naked in front of the mirror. My face was so swollen and my lips were bloodied. There was the mark of where he bit me and there was blood all over my neck and chest and soaked into the tips of my hair. I threw up. I thought surely he had to be done. There was nothing left…nothing left to take. He took everything I had and turned me into this..this thing that made me vomit when I saw it. When I saw me… and then he walked with me back to the room, the one room. I stood, unsure of what to do, or where to go. He was next to me, with his hand on my waist and if it weren’t for the blood and the bruises, you would almost think we were like a couple. But then he pushed me to my knees. I was tired, and it was easy I suppose. He told me to open my mouth. So I did…and I let him put himself there too. He told me how to do it, while holding the back of my head, correcting me when I wasn’t doing it right. I didn’t know what to do…I hadn’t done that before. I remember thinking that I better do this right…that I can’t get him that mad again. So when he said that he liked it, I was almost happy. Not happy like everyday happy, but happy in that maybe he would be nicer to me…and maybe he would be done with me. And when he came in my mouth and held my nose and mouth with one hand and my throat with the other and told me to swallow…I did…and he made me look at him. But my eyes weren’t working because when I saw him, for a moment, I saw my friend, the friend that I used to love. I asked him if he was done…if I could go home now…and he was silent. Staring at me, and he started to talk…took a breath and decided to say nothing. He pushed me down further and against the bed, lifting my legs on it. I was thinking maybe he was tired, maybe he would sleep, maybe he was done.

But he wasn’t done. He wouldn’t be done until the sun came up the next day…and the rest of the night I just laid where he put me. Moving only when he told me to or when he moved my body into the positions he wanted me in. I don’t remember crying anymore either, not during it anyway. I think I had exhausted my supply of tears over this night. It’s weird because as he was in me, I knew he was, but I don’t remember having any feelings about it, other than this dying shit is taking too long. I prayed for it, I think, I prayed to just pass out and not wake up. I do remember him reaching for something and him saying after what seemed like an eternity of the only sound being his heavy breathing as he was inside me, that he was going to make sure that I would remember him every time I had sex with someone else. And I didn’t know what he meant…I was so tired of trying to figure this night out. But then I felt it. Something sharp inside of me. I screamed. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I think at this point my body had become used to it all. I think the doctors said it was a file or something like that, and they said I was lucky, because none of the cuts were too deep. And he was right, I think about him every time someone wants to go between my legs. I’m afraid they will see his marks..his brand on me. He laughed and pulled it out of me and then he was inside me. And I could feel warmth on my legs and I knew it was blood and I couldn’t understand how he could be with me like that..But he was. But he was gentle, more gentle then he was all night. I remember that he brushed my hair from my face and he lightly pressed his lips against my forehead. I remember that I had tears then as he kissed my head. I could taste them when they fell down my face. I had loved my friend before. We were like family. And he took that from me. I remember thinking about how there is no one for me to talk to about this night, because the one person, my person, the person that I would call, that I would cry to, was the one who was doing this to me. And I was alone. There was no god, there was no friend…and in the end there was no me, at least not the way I was before. It’s weird, feeling as though you have died, but you are still awake. Maybe that’s what death is. The moment in a person’s life, when everything inside of them goes cold and then you spend the remaining years waiting for your body to catch up. He whispered that I felt good. And that I made him come so much…and I didn’t know what to say…I just asked him if I could go home now. When he was done…when he came the last time..he told me I could go..

I remember thinking that this was a joke, that he wasn’t really going to let me leave, but I reached for my jeans, my underwear was too torn to put back on. Pulling my jeans on was so incredibly painful…I couldn’t do them up…I was too swollen and as soon as I put them on, they were soaked red from the blood between my legs. My shirt, I put that on, and didn’t realize until later that I had put it on backwards.

I walked to the door and grabbed my bag but forgot my shoes and I didn’t turn around to look at him because I was terrified that if I did, he would be right there next to me. I pulled my sweatshirt out of my bag and tied it around my waist trying not to cry out because just the pressure of it hurt so bad. I put my sunglasses on… and tried to smooth my hair. But I didn’t know where to go. Where do you go after something like this? And I am never going to be the same…and I am always going to be that…the girl who when she saw herself in the mirror, threw up…and if I cannot stand can I expect for anyone else to? And I think really, I don’t. I think I always expect them not to, and really I get it….I’m a girl that you fuck…I mean I am the girl that learned how to suck a guy off by him…He taught me what fucking was…and it has taken me years just to come to the conclusion that sex isn’t supposed to hurt. And it has been years and I should be over this all by now. I know this. In my head, I tell myself to be over it. I tell myself everyday, so many times in the day, that I am, but I’ve perfected lying to myself.

So here it is that night that turned into morning…this is what I see when I close my eyes to sleep. Can you help me not see this anymore? Can you help me not feel it? I don’t know….I want to feel something different. Something..anything…. Can you make me not feel like there is something wrong with me? Can you make it so that I don’t feel like a murderer for deciding that I couldn’t stand to have any part of him in me any longer?



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