I was 14 years old at the time it happened. It was summer the end of august. The year was 2006.
I liked football and hang around with hooligans because i thought there were cool people and just wanted to belong something. With my closest girlfriends at that time we went to a party and one of the “good looking guys” started to speak to me and flirt with me. 14 years old me, who hasn’t have any attention from guys before, was exciting. I remember that I wanted him to like me and he said to me that I should drink up my cider. I did and he gave me another and another. When I was basically drunk he took his arms around me, because I really couldn’t stand up. I remember he took me in to his laundry room in the house. He started to take of my jeans, my favorite pair.
It is eight years since this happened, but I remember I started to cry when he spread my legs. I said no, that it was hurting and I didn’t want to do it. My body was freezing and I didn’t move. I was terrified that he would hit me. He took off my t-shirt and the tears ran over my cheeks he “sssch” me. He turned me around so he could take me from behind. I remember it hurt so much and my tears was falling down my cheeks. I regret that I wasn’t screaming, that I didn’t do anything. But what should a 14 year old girl do? When he was finished, I remember he swabbed off my blood from the table. He was mumbling and asked me if I was a virgin. I remember his smile, his awful smile. I was silent and lied that I wasn’t.
It hurt like hell between my legs. I remember when he did go up to his apartment again, I did go outside for a smoke and started crying again. I remember my friend come outside and said that my grandmother had call and asked were I was.
I did go up to the apartment again and I threw up in the bathroom. I was crying and maybe I was in shock. I remember that it hurt so much that I just took my bag and left. He did meet my eyes on the way out. I was so embarrassed of how out of control I had been.
The most awful part was when I got home and took off my clothes in the bathroom, between my legs it was blue. I remember it hurt for days when I sat down. I was so ashamed of what had happened. I didn’t tell anybody.
I threw all of my clothes so I didn’t need to remember the awful things that had happened to me.
My friends at the party had heard that we had sex and I sad yes, nothing how it happened just that it did. I didn’t go out for days. It hurt to much between my legs, and I was scared that my friend wouldn’t believe me if I told them.
Years after I almost bragged that I had sex in a laundry room for then my new girlfriends. Never told any details. I also started lying that I had sex with different persons (anonymous of course), just to save my story about myself that I didn’t stop having sex after I lost my virginity. I didn’t stop partying. I started partying more. I was drinking on school nights and lied to my parents every weekend so I could get drunk and get out of control. I didn’t need to know the feeling of how much it had hurt me.
I told 2 of my best girlfriends and my then boyfriend at 16. It was meant to be a lie all my life, but when my boyfriend caught my lie how many people I really had sex with. He didn’t get mad, but it hurt him. For the three years we were together and he was afraid when I went out of clubs because he thought it would happened again. That was one of the problems why we broke up.
I never told my parents, I still haven’t. Today I don’t think it would do they anything great. Maybe for me, but the dreams and nightmares don’t hunt me that much anymore. My drinking problem isn’t that big and I try not to drink that much just to have the feeling that I know I have control over myself.
I think that if this wouldn’t happened to me, I wouldn’t have the big drinking problem I had around two years when I was just 15 years old. I got real help from specialist when my parents caught me, but still then I never told them or the people I got help from why I wanted to drink.
Today I am 22 years old and even if it don’t hurt my anymore I still think about it every day. Some days I’m almost grateful that I wouldn’t be the same person. The strong person I am today if that hadn’t happened.
Don’t think I grateful that it happened to me, I for years wanted to kill this guy. I wanted to smack his head to death for the pain the cost me.
To end this story, I would like to say that every one of us that this has happened to never believe that it was your fault. I thought that I should blame myself because I followed him to the laundry room. It wasn’t my decision that he have any right to touch me when I cried or rape me when I beg him to stop.
I just felt sorry for him that he has to live his life.
Why I didn’t do any police report on him is because I was afraid his friend would go after me if I did.
I may be be a awful person to wish him this, but I wish him every bad things on his life. I really believe in karma and that it will punish him in the future.
But even if I didn’t press charges on him, or stand up for what really happened to me, it doesn’t mean that you should go the same way in silent that I did.