"I was drunk. It confuses things."
"I don't remember doing it. I didn't hear you say stop."
"I would never do anything to hurt you. I love you."
"We are in a serious relationship, how can you deny me?"
My rapist wasn't always my rapist. He had big blue eyes, long eyelashes, and soft skin. He was six feet tall and easily had 100 pounds on me. He dressed up everywhere he went like he wanted to impress all of the girls around him. He got along with everyone older than him even though we were around the same age. We met during our school musical one September afternoon. He slid his chair closer to mine and told me I was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He passed me notes during rehearsal that would make my face turn red. He had his way with his words.
My rapist wasn't always my rapist. We used to go on nice dates and hold hands everywhere we went. We used our fake ID's to sit at bars and order fancy fruity drinks while engaging in conversations that seemed so meaningful. We used to walk into school together, proud that he was mine and I was his. He used to talk to my brothers like they were his own. Everything he did, he did to impress my parents. We used to take silly pictures together and laugh at them the next day. We used to take blankets out on the grass and watch the stars fade away as night turned to day.
My rapist wasn't always my rapist. Soon we were in a serious relationship. He bought me flowers for our six month anniversary. At 16, this seemed like an eternity that we would be together. He came to all of my orchestra concerts dressed in his band tuxedo. He would tell me how beautiful I sounded even though I knew he could never distinguish my playing from that of the other violinists. He held signs with his friends and cheered me on at all of my lacrosse games. He would run onto the field at the end and tell me how amazing of a player I was. "The best on the team!" he would yell. Spring came fast around the corner and it was time for Junior / Senior Prom. We dressed in all black and took the night at the Museum of Art to be our own.
My rapist wasn't always my rapist. We barely saw each other that summer. I was busy preparing for the ACT and prepping for my college tours while he was off at lacrosse camp. I spent time with my family at our lake house while he sweat away at band practice. August rolled around the corner and we were back in each others lives. "The power couple," our friends used to joke. We celebrated our one year anniversary at Pizza King and it was perfect.
My rapist wasn't always always my rapist. We started having sex. After school before we went our separate ways, we would sneak around to places we would never be seen. He got a car for his 16th birthday and we would sometimes go off campus for lunch. Things seemed so good. He was my first, and I his. We thought we were going to get married some day so this did not seem like such a bad sin. He got me a promise ring and we were destined to be together.
My rapist wasn't always my rapist. He was diagnosed with depression and generalized anxiety disorder. Everything scared him. The thought of him losing me to a college far away was too much to handle. He clung to my side as much as he possibly could. He started skipping lacrosse practice and ditching class. He begged, pleaded, bargained, and eventually guilted me into skipping with him. My grades began to slide. I was suspended from games because of how many practices I missed. I almost lost my scholarship. But it was OK because we were together and we always would be - that was all I needed.
My rapist wasn't always my rapist. His parents found out about him skipping and about his depression and pinned the blame solely on me. I was the older girl who took their baby from them and turned him into a destructive mess. They banned us from seeing each other. They put the teachers of our small religious high school on high alert that we were not to be seen together at all. He came to class with his sleeve stuck to his arm. Underneath, bandages covered the wounds. I caught a glimpse of it during band practice. I asked him what it was and we left campus for the rest of the day to be together. His parents showed up at the restaurant we were at because they had GPS tracked his car. They took him by the arm and told him he was done. I complied. He came to school the next day with his other arm bandaged. He told me that if he couldn't be with me, there was no point in being together. I told him it wasn't safe and he continued to hurt himself until I came around.
My rapist wasn't always my rapist. He came to me with everything that was wrong. His family, his friends, his schoolwork... Everything became my fault. I pushed away and he came back with vengeance. A new scar for every phone call I didn't answer after the first ring. Every missed text because I was doing homework or at lacrosse practice or playing my violin. Every "me too" instead of "I love you." Sex became a bargain. It would make him feel better after a long day of being away from his friends, cooped up in his parents house like a prisoner. I'd tell him my day was long and that I just wanted to relax. I asked him to stop touching me and just let me be for a minute. I would tell him to stop and he would say he was drunk and needed what he needed. I would tell him it hurt and he would say that it was OK because he was having fun.
My rapist wasn't always my rapist. Weeks went by of this ruthless behavior. It became routine. Day in and day out, he got what he wanted. New scars appeared because it wasn't good enough at the end of the day. He had all day to sleep and would keep me up on Skype all night before I had school, lacrosse, then orchestra practice all the next day. I would stop off at his house on my way home before his parents got back from work to do what he wanted to do. A month went by and the texts stopped. He didn't email, call, write... He was just gone. I showed up at school on the day of my winter exams when I saw him clearing out his locker. He told me he was going to rehab but he wouldn't let that change that we would be together. Three months later, I got my first set of letters from him from that place. I wrote my breakup back to him and that was the end.
My rapist wasn't always my rapist. He used to be my best friend. He used to be my boyfriend. He was the first person I ever loved and the first person I ever lost. He was the guy I lost my oh-so-sacred virginity to. I finished my senior year with what little dignity I had left. My friends deserted me. My parents grounded me. I was the butt of every joke that went around my school. Rumors were spread that I was a pregnant whore who did drugs. I was nearly expelled because of rumors. All because of a guy who I defended day in and day out. I stopped eating. I went straight home after practice and went to bed. I lost too much weight. I started smoking pot out of my bedroom window. I started sneaking out to see guys who were no good for me. I turned into what the rumors said I was.
My rapist wasn't always my rapist. I lost everyone I was close to. I pushed away the help I was offered, the help that I needed. I came up with every excuse in the book to protect him, even after we broke up. It wasn't his fault. He didn't do it on purpose. He loved me and I was the one who lead him to it. He was drunk. I was his girlfriend. He didn't hear me say "no". It only lasted a few minutes. It shouldn't affect him like this for the rest of his life. I wouldn't talk to anyone because I had been conditioned by my peers to accept that it was my fault for being a whore. I lead him on and he couldn't control himself. I felt sorry for him. I would graduate and he would have to go back to school with all of the bullies and their rumors about him once his rehab was over. I took the blame for his actions and I let the weight of it crush me.
My rapist finally became my rapist. I met my best friend my sophomore year of college. I told him this story and he helped me realize that nothing was my fault. I blamed myself for three years. I flew off the deep end and self-destructed. I pushed away the people I am now thankful to be close to once more. I gained back some of the weight I lost and was able to accept the things I can not change. I have great grades, I have been accepted into a graduate program in Colorado, I have wonderful friends and an excellent relationship with my family now that I have come to terms that my rapist is my rapist.
My rapist is my rapist, but I am a warrior, a survivor, and I am worthy.
