Anonymous Story: Me Too

When you’re sixteen, there’s not a day when you think that you are not invincible. At least, that was the case for me. When I was sixteen, three years ago, my life was spinning in a million different directions. I was thinking about the SAT, going to college, what colour I was going to dye my hair next. Nothing that could seriously affect me.

Until it did.

He was on the football team- the quarterback. He’d invited me to hangout with some of his friends. I didn’t think twice about it. There were girls there. I was there. They were playing videos and smoking- so I stood out on the patio. I’ve never been the type to do drugs- that day wasn’t any different.

Eventually, he came out onto the patio and convinced me to come inside. He told me that he needed to set up a movie for his little sister- she was only six and she was coming home soon. I dumbly followed him to the room- not thinking twice about it.

And then he locked the door. I had made it very clear to him that I wasn’t ready for sex. I didn’t know him that well. He told me that in order to fit in with those kids, that I would have to put out. I said no. I walked towards the door but he pulled me back.

He raped me on his little sisters bed. He put his wrist over my mouth. He told me to call him daddy. I didn’t respond. I just froze up and stared past his head at the ceiling. He was hurting me. It felt as though I was floating above my body. He mumbled that it didn’t feel right, but he groaned and finished anyways.

He left me in the room to go join his friends. I pulled my leggings back on, pulled my shirt down. My keys were in my pocket. My entire body shook as I walked out of the place. I could feel the blood in between my thighs. I didn’t cry. I didn’t say anything. I was in shock.

I didn’t tell anybody. I have never told my friends or family. I didn’t know what to do. I scrubbed my skin clean in the shower for hours. I cried for a long time. I fell into a really deep depression- even worse I had to see him around school.

I don’t have to see him anymore. But the nightmares plague me more than anything. Sometimes I think I see him around town. I used to throw up. Panic attacks. Those have seem to have slowly fade out but there’s not a day that goes by in which I’m not afraid. Of him. Of nobody believing me. Of sleeping because I have to relive that day.