My mother raised me to be strong and to fight. But I didn't fight you. I couldn't fight you.
You might not consider yourself a rapist as I never confronted you about it. I never said a word to you about it. In fact, I tried to be civil about it when I would get caught in the elevator with you. And until very recently I didn’t truly know that I had been raped. I always said to myself that I was “taken advantage of." You asked me, "your place or mine?" and when I didn’t answer and tried to avoid it you stepped forward. I guess not saying no was good enough for you. After the party on our dorm floor you texted me, “want me to come over?” I didn't know what to say so I said "w.e". When you came into my room you didn’t knock. You just opened the door and got into my bed. You didn’t even kiss me. When you asked if I was okay I didn’t say anything. I just tried to hide the tears running down my face, it was dark so I just held my breath and waited for it to be over. I was afraid you would see my weakness. I don’t remember a lot of it actually happening. I remember being relieved when you got off me and I remember feeling disgusted when you were on top of me. I didn’t say anything I just cried and tried to hide my tears. I guess that no answer didn’t mean no to you.
Things only got so far and at one point you were in my bed talking about another girl you slept with. ANOTHER GIRL. To the girl you’re about to rape. And I was so relieved that you weren’t on top of me that I was okay with it. But then you got on top of me and I couldn’t breathe. I also couldn’t speak to say get off of me. I did cry however. You didn’t see because I turned off the lights before I went to bed. Before you came over.
To you I will always be that girl that you hooked up with who got awkward after.
You’ve probably labeled me weird, or a bitch, maybe even blamed me. Really I don’t care. Because what you did is wrong. And I should have told someone the day after. But you did. You told a girl who I thought was my friend. You know what she said to me? That I was being unreasonable. That I was being a bitch to not want to talk to you. And because she was my friend I believed her. But in the recent light of the Brock Turner case I have decided that I was right. I was not a bitch, I was not unreasonable, I was not wrong. I am not wrong. I was raped. And now NINE months later I’m dealing with it. I didn’t get an STD or pregnant. I'd say I was lucky that way but I’m really not lucky in any way. No, I have nightmares. I dream of you attacking me, trying to overpower me, I get away every time and when I find help you somehow get away with it. Pretending that I’m some crazy girl. You know what's worse? People believe you. You become the victim.
I didn't tell anyone until months later. I was hoping I would never see you again once I moved out of the dorm. But I see you. I see you around the campus. You smile and wave and I freeze and hide.
My mother raised me to be strong. But you made me weak. And that is never going to be okay.