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I couldn't have imagined, in an entire lifetime, that I would be a rape victim. My entire life was full of "guys are evil" "watch your back" "use the buddy system". I thought I knew everything I needed to know, that it would never happen to anybody as knowledgeable about the subject as me.
It all began one night at a party. I had spent that afternoon getting ready. I had gotten a manicure, putting false nails over the ones that were bitten to the quick. I had straightened my hair to a waterfall of blond sheen, adding perfume to make it smell good when I shook it. I wore a skin-tight top, and tight jeans, with cute snakeskin flats.
I was going to a party at Becca Warrington's house. Becca is the most popular girl in the entire school, a senior when I am a measly sophmore. She has all the males at our school under her thumb, and all the girls wanting to be her. I was no different. The party was going to be the kick off of the beginning of summer, the chance to create summer love or just find one last hook-up of the school year. Not that I'd ever hooked up.
I wasn't exactly "high on the roster" in my school. I flew under the radar, not popular but not unpopular. I knew what was going on, but didn't exactly add to the gossip chain.
This night was supposed to change that. I suppose, in a way, it did. I was "beautified" in every way I knew how, and had done all I could to be irresistible.
I didn't have my eyes on any specific male, but when Jeremy walked my way my hopes soared. I managed to keep my cool, and flirted with him as best as I could. He handed me a beer, and I sipped, not wanting to look pathetic. His deep brown eyes looked up and down my body, and even though I felt like I should be creeped out I wasn't. I just felt special. He grabbed my hand, and led me upstairs.
I don't quite remember what happened next. It was foggy. I remember him pulling off my clothes, then his.
He was sweating and panting, and I remember not feeling anything. No pain, even though I'd heard it would hurt. Just... numb. I remember him putting my clothes back on, and taking me to his house, where it all happened again. I remember cooperating, even though I didn't quite know what was going on.
Worst of all, I remember waking up the next morning, naked, lying alone on the street. Somehow, miraculously, I remembered who had did me wrong. At least at first. I couldn't remember what happened after we left his house.
I remember feeling nasty. And scared. I remember thinking that it was all my fault. Hello, I was the idiot who let him feed me a drink. I remember not telling my parents. Or the authorities. Or even my friends. I remember being too ashamed to let my terror be known.
I regret it now, but I did end up getting help. After months of spiraling into a depression, I told my mother. She made me go to a therapist, and I spoke up. I refuse to press charges, but I also won't even look at Jeremy in the hallways. He scares me, even today.
I realize it wasn't my fault, what happened, but I also know it has changed me. It happened.