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You’re a Rapist

I didn’t want to go to the homecoming dance my junior year, but the majority of my friends were seniors and wanted me to go with them for their last year. I agreed and got ready with a group of girlfriends, and we all stayed for the duration of the dance. Afterwards, everyone split up and I called an Uber home, but met up with a guy friend right outside of the school. He offered to split the fare with me if I would change the destination to a party on the opposite side of the city from where I lived. At first I was hesitant, but I had never been to a high school party before and I knew that there would be a lot of people and a lot of alcohol so I split the ride with him and found myself in a small gated community with at least a hundred students from my school.
During the party, we found various handles of liquor and I, having a very low alcohol tolerance, got tipsy very quickly. 5 of us found a huge bottle of vodka, and one boy in my grade asked us to give it to him first. Immediately, he started chugging it and everyone around us started cheering him on. He successfully finished the entire bottle in one go and I was thoroughly impressed. I didn’t expect him to get drunk off of it right away as he was at least 6’4, but he was totally plastered and we started making out. Within 10 minutes, people starting getting kicked out of the building and everyone had to leave. I knew that we both lived on the same side of the city so we decided to share an uber back up to where I lived, and he could take the train from there. I saw a lot of people as we both walked out of the building but it didn’t occur to me to keep track of who I was saying hi to, and who saw us.
In the Uber, he immediately told me to sit closer to him, and he put his arm around me. He wanted to make out more, but I told him no because I was embarrassed. Our driver said nothing and didn’t look at us. Then his hand crept toward me, and he started going under my dress and playing with my underwear. I kept telling him to stop, but I thought “he’s drunk,” excusing every time he would go back and start doing it again. Eventually, he started fingering me and wouldn’t listen every time I would quietly ask for him to cut it out, or move away. He would just put my legs down and go back again. I didn’t feel the alcohol anymore- I knew exactly what was happening and I felt helpless. The driver didn’t say anything, and he didn’t look at us.
At school that Monday, my worst nightmare came true when people immediately started asking me if I had slept with the boy. I was horrified and started recognizing people that saw us walking away together, and I denied everything. One of his close friends that I also know fairly well told me “He was wasted. You kind of raped him. You’re a rapist.” I cried when I got home that day, and questioned whether or not it’s my fault. People stopped talking about it within a week as gossip dies out fairly quickly in high school, but I wish I could say that I don’t question myself to this day. I still feel like it’s my fault sometimes.

2 comments

  • Anonymous
  • Alexis

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