My Story started April 27th, 17 yrs ago

My Story - - 2003-06-01 15:37:11

This account was written over 3 years ago in 2003. I'm leaving it unedited here as a testimony of what happened and how I felt at the time.

"I heard someone screaming and it was me..."
(The Accused)


He wasn't a stranger, and he didn't jump out of a bush at night. I felt safe because I knew him. I wish I knew back then what I know now. I wish someone had told me that women are more likely to be raped by someone they know than by a stranger. But no one told me. I believed that rapists were dark figures following you on the street late at night, or breaking into your apartment from a window left opened. I was wrong.

I met him two weeks before through a mutual friend. Some memories are incredibly vivid in my mind while others have faded away. I remember meeting him for dinner, having a pleasant evening, and then ending up at his house. I had no idea of what was going to happen and how it would change me.

He tried to kiss me, and I turned my face away from him. He pushed down on the floor, and he did it so quickly that I barely had time to realize what was going on. What happened after has left me shocked and paralyzed for years. I was too young and too inexperienced to deal with it. He hit me and I cried, struggling to free myself; I didn't want to believe what was happening and I kept thinking, "This can't be true." I begged him "please don't," and screamed as laud as I could when all of a sudden he was holding a knife to my face, hitting me again and telling me to shut up.

I was shocked, never been hit that badly before, and I could feel the blood rushing to my face. I stopped screaming because I was frightened by the anger in his voice, but I never stopped crying. The next thing I remember is an awful pain. I wanted to throw up and I thought I couldn't take the pain for another minute. At some point, I realized that there was nothing that I could do; I simply closed my eyes and waited for it to be over. Minutes turned into hours. Hours filled with threats, humiliation, and tears. Throughout the whole time he reminded of how he could, and probably would, cut my throat. Still to this day there are pieces of what happened and of what he did that I have never dared reveal to anyone. I'm afraid I never will.

When I thought it was over, I opened my eyes again and tried to get up, but he stopped me and told me to stay where I was. It was not over for him. He kept on drinking while he ordered me not to move. When he raped me again, I blacked out. I still have flashbacks of those moments and when it happens I can only go in to my bedroom, sit down and whisper, "please stop, please make it go away now." There are still missing pieces here and there. When I try to remember I can see myself in his bathroom washing the blood away, and I can clearly hear his voice like an echo in my head, "I called you a cab, now put yourself together."

I could feel his footsteps right behind me as I was walking to the door. Just before I could reach the door, he grabbed me and said, "let's not make a big deal out of this, I'm sorry things got a little out of control. If anyone asks you, you fell, understood?" I stuttered, "yes, I fell." From that moment on I was deft and numb to everything.

The cab driver tried to talking to me, asking me where I wanted to go. I couldn't give him an answer or a direction. My mind was blank, except for the floating images of what had just taken place. My face was bruised all over, my lower lip split and bloodied, my right eye blackened. Eventually, the car started moving, and I heard my voice saying, "I'm sorry for your seats, I'll pay to have them cleaned". That's what was on my mind, I was dirtying the seats with my blood and I kept whispering, "I'm sorry." The driver must have noticed the bruises on my face and my clothes being ripped off because he took me to the emergency room and advised me on seeing a doctor. Everything was out of focus, the lights, the doors, the waiting and then the visiting room.

I didn't even pay for the ride. He didn't ask me, and I wasn't thinking.

Labels: My Story

posted by Robert Heard at 6:26 AM