I met you the summer before going into college and you quickly became my friend. We talked every day and were excited to go to school in the fall together. I trusted you and told you things about me I hadn’t told anyone, not even my closest friends. Looking back on how close we were and how much I cared about you, I still wonder how you could’ve done this to me.
I remember how strong you were and how my efforts to push you off of me didn’t help. I remember your fingers gripping my arms so tight. I remember your booming voice echo “I know you want it, slut.” I remember lying in my bed crying, wondering why on earth you had to choose me.
When I finally got the courage to tell the police, you lied. You told them I made it up, that I gave you consent. I blamed myself, and so did many others. I became known around campus as “the girl who got raped.” You told people that I was a “stupid slut who begged for it,” but you forgot to mention the only begging I was doing was begging you to stop.
Despite all your efforts to make me look like the bad one, you were expelled from school. But knowing you will never get into another college again doesn’t bring me any comfort. I try not to think about you much, but when I do, I think of the other girls.
What will you say to girls when you meet them? Will you tell them I lied? Will you laugh it off and say, “Don’t worry about it?” What will happen if you have a daughter one day and a man does this to her? Will you tell her that he’s the same monster you are? When you see her tears streaming down her face, will you tell her about all the pain you have caused other women, too?
I am not a victim, but a survivor. I live with what you did to me because I know you can no longer hurt me. You will live the rest of your life knowing what you truly are: a rapist. Against my own wishes, you are my rapist. And that means you are mine to forgive. I hope one day you get what you deserve, because it’s coming.