I thought I was sexually assaulted, but I wasn’t sure. I felt assaulted. I felt humiliated. I felt taken advantage of. I felt used and I felt like I was to blame.
I was 16. I was inexperienced. I was wearing a push-up bra. I was drinking. I was with my boyfriend. I was sexually assaulted, but at the time I wasn’t sure if I was.
I should have been.
I was sleeping. I was woken up. I was blackout drunk. I was incapable of giving consent. I was used. I was humiliated. I was taken advantage of.
I was sexually assaulted.
It was a Saturday night and I was invited to a party. I was invited by the cool guy. The cool guy was my boyfriend. I never got directly invited by the person throwing the party. I was always the girl who was friends with the girl who got invited. But not anymore. Now I was special. I was dating the cool guy throwing the party. I never dated the cool guy.
I was wanted and I was desired. It made me feel special.
I went to the party by myself. It wasn’t much of party like I thought it would be. It was more of a hangout and there was a shortage of girls. My guy friends were there but they were better friends with my boyfriend. Boys have to stick together. Bros over hoes.
I was having fun, but then I wasn’t.
I should be happy. I was the lucky recipient of all the attention that night. I was flirted with. I was encouraged. I was wasted. I was tired. I went to bed in my boyfriend’s room. I was awoken by a group of teenage boys. I was told to lift up my shirt. I did. I was laughing. I thought I was having fun again.
Then it went black.
Somehow I ended up on the floor. I was on my knees. I didn’t know how I got there. I felt wrong. I felt confused.
Then it went black.
I came back. I was still on the floor. I was still on my knees. My boyfriend was standing in front of me. My friends were standing around me. I heard people laughing. Maybe I laughed too. I don’t remember. I just remember feeling fear.
Then it went black.
I was back again. I was being used. I was being humiliated. I was being assaulted. Someone said to grab a camera. I started crying. I was bawling so hard it hurt. My boyfriend got mad. He left the room. He ran downstairs and punched a door. I was lucky it wasn’t my face. I ruined everything. I was being sexy but I wasn’t anymore. I made him feel guilty and he didn’t even get to finish.
I got too drunk. I was sloppy. I was so overdramatic. I made everything about me. I humiliated him. I made him feel like he took advantage of me. I was to blame.
Except, I fucking wasn’t.
I went to school the following Monday. Everyone knew. At least they thought they did. I was slut-shamed. People laughed. I laughed too. I didn’t think it was funny but everyone else did, so I should too, right?
Then I went into the bathroom and cried. I pretended to be sick and went home early.
I cried myself to sleep. I was sick the next day too. I cried myself to sleep again.
I went back to school. Everyone forgot. Some other girl had sex in the parking lot at school. She was being slut-shamed. Everyone was laughing. She was laughing too. I didn’t laugh though, because all I could think about was, what if she sexually assaulted too?
I didn’t need to tell anyone what happened because they already knew, or at least they thought they did. I thought they knew too. I knew I was sad. I knew I felt used. I knew I felt humiliated. But I had no idea I had been sexually assaulted. Because he was my boyfriend, and they were my friends. I wore a push-up bra and got drunk on my own. Four people saw what happened and no one thought it was wrong.
I guessed that meant I wasn’t sexually assaulted, but now I know I was, and now I know they were the ones who were wrong.
They should have never come into the room. They should have never woken me up. They should have never asked me to lift up my shirt, and they should have never gotten me down on the floor.
He never should have used me. He never should have humiliated me. He never should have assaulted me, and he never should have punched a door and said it was because I made him feel guilty.
He should have left me alone. He should have let me sleep. He should have never of had to punch a door because he sexually assaulted his girlfriend after waking her up from a deep sleep.
As for me, I never should have let him make me feel special because I already was. And I never should have apologized, because I didn’t do anything wrong.