Anonymous Story: Why I didn’t report (3)

Continued

We were making out, and I do remember consistently reminding him that I did not want to have sex. At some point, it was decided he could sleep over, but again I said no sex. So we went to bed. I remember being really tired – I was close to passing out. I put on my pajamas and crawled in my bed, ready to go to sleep. All I wanted was to sleep. But Jay kept touching me and trying to get me to have sex with him. I told him no, I had turned my back to him and tried to sleep. But he wasn’t giving up. He got my shorts off somehow – I don’t remember – and the next thing I know he was slipping inside me. I kept saying no, but quietly. He proceeded. At this point, I distinctly remember whispering over and over “I said no. I said no.” He pulled me on top of him. This was probably the best thing that happened. Because on top, I would have to be into it for anything to continue to happen, and I just went limp. I told him again I didn’t want to and he finally got the message. He let me go and we fell asleep.

The next morning as he was getting dressed to leave, he asked me “do you hate yourself?” And I said no. It was as if he thought I would regret what happened, as if I made the choice to have sex with him. But I didn’t, because I never gave consent, so I couldn’t regret what I did not control. He left. At this point, I should have realized what had happened, gotten up, and gone to the nearest hospital or police station for a rape kit and to report it. But I didn’t think I had been raped. It wasn’t violent, it was pre-meditated, and he did eventually give up. I felt uneasy about what happened, as though something wasn’t quite right, but I put the blame on myself. I shouldn’t have gotten that drunk. I shouldn’t have invited him over. I shouldn’t have let him sleep in my bed. And that’s why I didn’t report it. I was still blaming myself, and I was ashamed.

I thought, maybe this would all be worth it if we end up dating. So I went about my day as normal, and I texted him. We had a bit of a back and forth, but it never really went anywhere. I was desperate to go on a real date with this guy, so he could show me that there was something real, that this one night wasn’t a fluke, it was just a couple drunk people awkwardly starting a relationship. But that wasn’t the case. We didn’t talk again. As time went by, I told a small handful of friends. I told them I didn’t feel right calling it rape. I didn’t feel that was fair to rape victims who were violently attacked, terrified, and fighting for their lives. Technically, I was raped, but I didn’t really fight and it wasn’t violent. I just gave up. But my friends and extensive google searching validated the fact that I was assaulted, even if I wasn’t calling it rape, and that it was not my fault. And it was not ok.

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