To The Men Who Rape You And Laugh

recovery from rape

In the car behind a drug store in the back alley. I hear the cars on the freeway in the distance. His eyes are really pretty and he looks too good to be on a date with me. Why did he take me here?

Nothing is here. I didn’t come on this Tinder date to get a boyfriend obviously. But if he wants to fuck me here that’s so creepy. He drives a really nice car tough. Please don’t fuck me in this car please.

I’ve already had three shots from the bottle of “premium” vodka he bought. I haven’t had much to eat and I’m light weight so I feel tipsy already. Standing outside his car as the sun sets, he takes out a blunt (well, I thought it was a blunt). “I don’t want any,” I say.

Suddenly it’s not a choice if I want it or not. I take a hit and it feels good. It doesn’t even taste like weed. This must be some top shelf high quality shit. I feel so high after one hit. “I don’t want more,” I tell him. “You’re not inhaling it, do it again,” he says. “I definitely inhaled it,” I laugh. “Take another now,” and he puts the blunt up to my lips. He says again and again I’m not taking in the smoke. “I’m so high”. “No you’re not,” he says.

I keep taking more hits. Why is he so aggressive? I swear I’m inhaling it! He’s not going to let me stop until I finish this blunt. I finish it.

It’s dark. I’m in a back alley with a stranger I met online. “It’s not marijuana,” he says. I don’t say anything. It’s not even weed and I should have known. I feel so fucked up and everything is moving so slow. He starts kissing me. I push him away and we get in the car. We just sit here in silence. He puts his hand on my thigh.
A sleek grey BMW is driving towards us. No other cars, no stores, nobody is around. It’s just me, him, and this random car pulling up next to us. Is this some crazy drug deal? The car pulls up besides us and the man inside rolls down his window. The man smiles at me and both men start talking in some foreign language. I have no idea what they are saying.

They start laughing at me. I’m uncomfortable and light headed. I feel like I cannot move. What the fuck is going on? “I want to go home,” I say. They just laugh at me. “I want to go home please.” Neither of them say a thing to me. They just keep laughing.

What if they’re going to hurt me? Both of them? I don’t know what to do. They’re still laughing and speaking some language I cannot understand. They know I don’t understand. They drugged me. This is all my fault because I’m a slut.

The other man is getting out of his car and walking towards my door. He opens it and grabs my arm. I can’t move. The driver moves his hand from my thigh to between my legs. I don’t want it right now. I thought I wanted it but I don’t. I don’t want this.

Why was I taken here?
Why was I taken behind this alley in the dark?
Why did they drug me?
Why is this happening?

They’ve carried me to the back seat. They’re both here. They are still laughing. They won’t stop laughing. I feel like I can’t move or speak. I say stop. I say it again. I try to push away but I cannot move. I feel weak. I can’t scream. I can’t do anything. I’m being stripped of my clothes and stripped of myself. I can’t fight. I can’t get away. “Don’t be shy, I know you want this,” one of them says. I don’t want this.

I don’t know how long it goes on.
I cry here.
I’m hurting.
They’ve both been inside me multiple times.
I can’t stop crying.
Everything stops.
I still can’t move.
I still can’t speak.
I’m still crying.
They’re getting out of the car and putting their clothes on.
There they are laughing again.
I’m so humiliated.
Everything is starting to spin so I close my eyes.
I wake up wearing my clothes in the passenger seat parked a block from my apartment. He’s smoking a cigar out the window. “That was fun, huh?” he says. I smile and give a little giggle. What the fuck?

I walk up the stairs to the apartment and go to my room. I grab some clean clothes. I walk in the bathroom and throw my clothes I’m wearing on the floor. I get in the hot shower and cry. I cry harder than I ever have. This wasn’t the first time I’ve been raped. What is wrong with me?

I don’t tell anyone.
Months later I will tell someone.
Months later I will tell someone else.
A year later I will tell someone else.
Two years later I will tell you.
It’s two years later.
I no longer blame myself but I’m still hurting.
I did not ask for it no matter the “circumstance”.

That is why I am telling you.
That is why I’m no longer afraid to tell the world.
Because it was not my fault.
This was my experience with the men who laugh and rape. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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