Roommates

He was my roommate. Someone I barely knew, an acquaintance. I had moved back to campus after living about a year 20 minutes out from school. I was desperate to be around people my own age again and get out of my current living situation. I took on random roommates in the same building as all my friends. I knew ahead of time they’d be guys I didn’t know but I never thought much of it because I had always made friends with guys easier.

Before moving in, I became married during my last semester of school. I couldn’t wait to move into my new place and have the best last semester of college ever. Little did I know, it would hands down, be my worst.

My roommate was friendly off the back but I assured myself, he was only being nice. He added me on all my social media and messaged me on facebook asking me when I’d finally be moving in. Things started to get weird when he started asking pictures of me on snapchat. Which I always denied.

Two weeks after moving in, there was a huge party being held at a nearby club and I was going with all my friends. I pregamed in my apartment with my friends and “he” pre-gamed with all his friends. My friends and I ended up leaving for the club early and started to enjoy the night. I remember dancing by myself and enjoying the music, and then my roommate came out of no where. I remember him striking conversation with me and asking if I’d like a drink. I remember following him and accepting the drink..and another drink after the next. Who knows how many. I started to get slightly alarmed and ran away to find my friends. I had found them, but everything fades in and out around this point. I remember being shuffled out of the club, him holding my waste. I didn’t know how I got there. My good friend came up from behind us and pulled us a part, knocking me over. He told my roommate not to do what he was doing because I’m married and I’m blackout. My roommate assured my friend he was only taking me home and putting me to sleep.

What a lie.

As soon as my friends left, I remember him pushing me up beside a building kissing me. I remember somehow getting home, and him forcing me onto my bed. He forced my clothes off me as I held onto them. I remember telling him no and I can’t. For multiple reasons. He had held me from behind wrapping his arms into my hair like my hair was rope. I remember him pushing himself inside of me and pulling my hair back as hard as possible. He hit me over and over and put it in places I didn’t want. I cried. He did this three times throughout the night to me. He wouldn’t leave my room or my bed. I wanted to die. He knew I didn’t want to, right? He knew I was married? Did any of that not matter to him?

The next day I found myself confused. Hurt. Lost. Filled with regret and guilt and blame. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to erase his memory or presence of being in what I now called home. I didn’t go to class for almost a month. I felt frozen, and depressed. I wanted to tell someone, but he had convinced me not to in the following days. The worst part was, I had to see him everyday. He was my roommate. The second worst part, was hiding this from my husband who I loved more than anyone in this world.

The next following weeks were horrible. He would do this to other girls and bring them home. I’d hear them have sex and I’d hold pillows over my ears and let the tears roll down my face. I wanted to die. I didn’t understand. How could he act this way and see nothing wrong with it? I would throw up for hours as my mind replayed everything my brain could remember. I couldn’t grasp “why”. Was this his culture?

I would hear him talk shit about me. Almost everyday while all my roommates kept me up until 4am every night. I needed to get a hold back on my life.

It sadly doesn’t end here. I avoided drinking most of the semester but a month later after all of this, I decided I wanted to go out again. It is my last semester in college right? It was hard being around any guy. I felt scared and intimated and I felt panic attacks coming over me. I’m strong though and I’d fight it. That night I had came home, he was up. It had to have been three in the morning. He was waiting for me, (or according to him he was waiting for “someone else”). Regardless, he still grabbed me into his room, pushed me as hard as he could and ripped my clothes off of me. Sadly, this is the most I remember from that night. I do remember him hitting me again and doing the same things that hurt so bad.

I remember when he finally told the other roommates. They kept saying things like “You’re married how dare you” “Whore” “Monster” “Slut”. When really I never wanted this to begin with. From the point on I got earplugs so at night I could hear them not talk about me. I needed peace and fast. My grades were slipping.

Two months passed with the most excruciating anxiety and depression. I skipped most of my classes just laying in bed with the blinds closed. Frozen. I would see him around the apartment and he’d ignore me like nothing had happened. Maybe this was all my fault? I would have flash backs and cry for hours. I had tried talking to my roommate about what had happened but he’d just make fun of me and just stay completely quiet. The only thing he’d say is “you know you wanted me too..” Those words felt like daggers because they were far from the truth.

Recently, I’m in my last month of school. I’ve gotten stronger. I’ve learned to deal with the pain and the guilt and regret. I had one other experience that happened though. I notice him taking interest in me again. He started texting me, and paying a ton of attention to my social media. He ended up going to the same place I was going for a party. I knew I wouldn’t drink much because of his presence. When I went home he had found an excuse to come back to our apartment together. I clearly acted not interested. As soon as we stepped off the elevator into our apartments hallway, he pushed me to the ground and got on top of me. I remember instantly being afraid. I remember saying get off me and putting my hands in front of my face to keep him from kissing me. He pulled my hands away and kissed me and held them to the ground. I started yelling at that point and said we are in the hallway. He finally got off me and pulled me into our apartment. I tried to run to my room but he ran before me. I ran to the balcony and he followed. He was all over me and wasn’t catching a hint or listening to a word I was saying. I finally became tired of it and went to my room. He followed and stripped his clothes from him. Holding his thing out at me saying “I know you want to”. But I didn’t and I wasn’t. He tried to reach forward and rip my shirt off but I pulled his hand off my shirt. He wouldn’t leave my bed. I finally remember tricking him, and getting him up, I carefully walked him backwards while he held onto himself jacking off. Begging me. Begging me to do stuff to him because “we had done it before”. All I could think of how he forced my head down on him the other times, choking me. As I slowly pushed him out holding onto him to fool him, I grabbed my doors handle and slammed the door closed in his face. He was pissed. He was naked and I had just put a door between us. I had succeeded and he was gone.

Thankfully he didn’t retaliate but I still see him every day, every morning, evening and night. He’s not please with me but I don’t care.

I’m taking my life back. One day at a time. I move out in a little over a week. I’m pretty sure I will cry but this time, because I never have to see him again.

Sometimes my head makes me believe this was mutual. That it’s my fault. But it can’t be right? I said no and I can’t. I don’t want to. Get off of me. Stop. Why didn’t he listen? What was all of this.

One things for sure is, I will never tell and I want this to disappear. My husband deserves happiness, so he will never know. I will not let this own my life. I hurt, really bad. But I will challenge this pain, and focus it and turn it into success. He will not own me.

— Survivor, age 24