I was 16. My friend and I met up with her friend. He bought us alcohol. I can still remember the taste. I drank mine very fast, because I didn't like the taste. I got drunk very quickly. We went back to his place. He also had a friend.
I remember sitting on the carpet in front of the closet. I remember the room was spinning. I remember Beavis and Butthead was on the TV. I remember him coming over to me and trying to put his hand up my shirt. I kept shoving it away. That's all I remember fully.
I came to consciousness a few times. The first time, my face was in the carpet. I blacked out again. Later, I was on a bed, his friend was on top of me. Blacked out again. Next, it was morning. I was lying on the floor. My friend and I left. She asked if I was OK, and I said no. She said if we wouldn't have drank so much, it would have been OK. Word got to one of the guys that I was accusing them of rape. He said that's not what happened. "If you go around saying that's what happened, I'll mess you up." I haven't spoken of it since then.
Drugs and alcohol became my way of numbing any feeling I had. I didn't want to remember anything.
I've since got a counselor and am working through it, but it still hurts 20 years later to speak about the horrific events of that night—especially since I can remember some of it like it was yesterday.