by Maren Foster
Oh god, now what?
“Plus, it’s already backed up in three different places, so don’t bother taking the computer when you leave,” he warned. “If you ever tell anyone about this I’ll ruin you.”
Then he shocked me by climbing back in the bed. He was still naked and he pushed his naked, sweaty body against my bare skin. I laid there awake while he began to breathe deeply and eventually even began to snore a little.
It played over and over in my mind: the pain of the first violation, the second, and each successive assault that followed. I laid there in silence, staring at the ceiling, unable to process or accept what had just happened.
I awoke to the sound of the zipper on a pair of jeans. His jeans. Nate pulled his dress shirt on over his head without bothering to undo the buttons. He was dressed and looked just as good as he had the night before. He walked out of the room without a word and closed the door. Wait, my hands! I began to panic, but as I moved I realized that they were already untied. I slowly pulled my arms forward and wrapped them around my knees. It was light outside.
I looked down and for the first time, I saw the drops of blood. He must have seen it hours earlier. He had even laid on it as he slept next to me. There it was. The proof of my stolen virginity and his despicable deed. Monster!
I stood up slowly and got dressed. His laptop was still sitting on top of the desk. His words echoed in my head; already backed up, don’t bother taking the computer when you leave. I left the room. As I took the first few steps down the hall, the sharp pain between my legs alerted me to the severity of my injuries. My heart raced. I have to get out of here. The house was eerily quiet. I didn’t see a single person as I walked down the hall and out the front door.
Out of the house and into the calm suburban surroundings, my mind wandered to the image of the little girl with blonde pigtails but this time she wasn’t smiling. We were alone and she was crying. That monster has to pay!
Saturday, June 9, 2012
I walked across campus thinking I would get some breakfast, or lunch. The further I walked the more intense the throbbing became. Jesus, how bad can it be? I hadn’t actually checked, I didn’t really want to know.
The pain only grew as I walked. About three blocks from the frat house I saw a large hedge and snuck behind it. Safely out of view of passing cars, I pulled my skirt up and spread my legs. I couldn’t see much, but what I could see was bruised and bloody. It reminded me of the swollen, broken face of a boxer who’d just been badly beaten. I’m hurt. I need help. Think clearly. What to do? I need to see a doctor, but where? My thoughts were scrambled. I was in shock. Just think. Hospital. I turned right and walked toward the University Hospital on Lake Street. As I walked the world spun around me. Cars whizzed by faster than before. A young guy yelled across the street to his friend and I jumped a little. A woman walked by with a canvas shopping bag. I watched them in awe, going about their normal lives, like everything was just fine, while my world was upside down.
My dorm was on the way to the hospital and I really wanted to wash my face and brush my hair. What if someone sees me like this, what will they think? Do I look as bad as I feel? I walked around the back side of the building where there were loading docks for the dining service. A service door was propped open. I went in and up a back staircase. Relief poured over me when I walked into our room and discovered Krista wasn’t there. As I took off Krista’s dress and folded it, I realized that there was blood on it too, my blood. Oh my God, Krista’s gonna kill me! I took off my bra and underwear and put everything I had been wearing into a plastic grocery bag. These clothes are evidence now. I pulled on a clean V-neck t-shirt and a pair of loose black dance pants. I grabbed my toiletry bag and peered out into the hallway. Clear. I made it to the bathroom without seeing anyone.
I stood in front of the long row of sinks and stared at my reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing the exhausted young woman staring back at me. I removed the make-up from my eyes and cheeks and washed my face. I brushed my hair. That’s a little better. I thought as I tried to force a smile. I’ll be okay.
Back in our room, I put the plastic bag, my wallet, and cell phone into a small backpack. I was about to leave when I heard a key in the lock. Fuck! Our door opened and Krista came in. She had headphones on and was singing out loud and out of tune, “because, I’m happy…”
“Oh, hey. How was the rest of your night?” she asked as she took her earbuds off and threw her stuff onto the bed. “You two were so hot together on the dance floor! And then you just disappeared. Did you finally get lucky?”
“Um…” I hesitated. Should I tell her what happened? I wondered. “I was raped,” I blurted out.
She stared at me and smiled. “What? You mean you finally did it! I thought so!”
“I said I was raped.”
She shot me a look of disbelief.
“I didn’t have sex, I was raped.”
“Oh my God. By who?”
“Nate. That friend of Jake’s.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told him ‘no’.”
“You two had massive chemistry. Of course you had sex with him.” She looked up at me, and then it was as if what I’d said finally registered.
“What do you mean, you were raped? Freddie, nobody waits ‘til they’re married anymore. Loosen up. Just because you wanted to wait ‘til you were in married doesn’t mean having sex with Nate was wrong. Nobody cares about that these days. There’s nothing wrong with sex.”
“It’s not about any of that. I didn’t want to have sex with him. He raped me.”
“Oh come on. He could have had any girl at that party. You should have seen the way they were all flirting with him the moment you were out of sight. Why would he rape anyone?”
“I don’t know.” I realized how naïve I sounded, like a five year old tattling on their sibling after they’d clearly started a fight. I could show her the bloody dress and my bloody underwear. Then she’d have to believe me. The thought of showing her my underwear and her ruined dress made me sick to my stomach.
“Yeah, exactly,” she said.
So that’s how it’s going to be. My own roommate doesn’t believe me, and the thought of showing her the evidence makes me ill.
“I’m going out. See ya later,” I said.
If Krista doesn’t believe me, who will? I mulled it over as I walked across the quad. Then I remembered something. As part of our initiation into the sorority we’d had mandatory sessions at the house that were like mini lectures given by the upperclasswomen. After one about the rules of the house and expectations about behavior and grades, three seniors gave an emotional talk about the time each of them had been raped. One had been gang raped by her three male college roommates in a room she was subletting one summer off campus. Another had been date raped by an older guy she’d been casually dating during a party at his house, and the last had been raped by her boyfriend one night when he was drunk and she had her period and told him she didn’t want to have sex. Their stories were meant as a warning and had made quite the impression on most of us, although, there was no denying that even after hearing the stories we all still clung firmly to the belief that it would never happen to us. If anyone will be able to help me it should be one of them.
I walked across campus to the sorority house and knocked on Elisa’s door.
“Come in!” she yelled. I opened the door.
“Hey. Do you have a minute?” She was laying on her bed with a textbook open.
“Yeah, sure, what’s up?”
“I need some advice,” I said.
“Of course. Shoot.”
“Remember that talk you and Jessie and Megan gave last fall?” I didn’t wait for a response. “I was raped.”
She jumped off the bed and wrapped her arms around me. I began to cry. It felt incredible to be believed. We didn’t know each other very well but I fell apart in her arms. I shook as I sobbed and she just held me. When I was finally exhau
sted and too tired to cry anymore, she let me go.
“I’m so stupid,” I said. “I should have been more careful.”
“This was not your fault. Do you hear me? He’s a monster. He made a choice. It was not your fault.”
I shook my head. “What should I do?”
“Did you shower?” she asked.
“No, not yet.”
“Great. Go have a rape kit done,” she said, “at the hospital.”
“I was on my way there now.”
“Good. Do you want me to go with you?”
“Thank you, but no, I think I’ll be okay.”
“You sure?”
I nodded.
“Then comes the really tough decision,” she continued. “His DNA probably isn’t in their system yet, so there won’t be a match when they run it. You’ll have to file a police report too. I did all of that and the DNA wasn’t a perfect match. They said the DNA sample wasn’t great, but none of that really mattered in the end. The guys admitted to having sex with me, but they said it was consensual. They said I asked for it and called me a slut. They called me worse things too.” A tear crested her eyelid.
She continued, “They said I wanted it and it wasn’t rape. They all defended each other. It was three of them against me. My word against theirs’. They started telling people about all of the men I’d ever hooked up with. First it was just embellishments of the truth, but then rumors began to spread and grow. It got really ugly. One day I was early to my chemistry lab and my T.A. made a joke while we were waiting for the earlier class to get out. Something about how does a slut know when she should start asking for money? The punchline was something about, when she has to start accusing guys she hooked up with of rape to cover her slutty trail. I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”
“What did you do?”
“I reported it to the professor and the administration.”
“What did they do?”
“Nothing. They asked if there had been any arrests connected to my report. When I said no, they told me they would look into it.”
“And?”
“Nothing. I haven’t heard anything. I did get the worst grade I’ve had in four years in that lab. He said I didn’t turn in homework that I know I did turn in.”
“Oh my God.”
“Oh, and I went and talked to a lawyer at one point and he warned me that if I filed a civil suit and lost I would probably be ordered to pay their legal costs.”
I shook my head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Get the rape kit done, just in case,” she said. “But my advice would be that if there’s any way you can fuck him personally, without involving the university or the police or a lawyer, do it. You won’t get any justice through the system,” she paused. “No one in a position of authority around here is going to be much help. None of them want to rock the boat. When I went back to follow-up after a few months they basically told me they had better things to do.”
I thanked her and left.
How could this happen and there’s nothing I can do about it? What is the justice system for, if not to protect victims? What a cruel absurdity. If they won’t make him pay then I will. I’ll take the thing that’s most important to him, the way he took what was so important to me. If there’s no justice, how can I make him pay?
The Put-up
Monday, August 31, 2015
Manhattan
My alarm went off early on Monday. I rolled over and picked up my phone. There was a text message from Vi checking in, plus a few new emails in my work inbox. I’d turned off notifications for the dating app because the number of messages was stifling. Out of curiosity I opened the app: 30 unread messages. God, how would anyone find “the one” on this thing?
Scrolling down through the messages I saw it. His photo was in the left corner and next to it was the sender name, “NateNYC”. I practically screamed out of excitement.
I clicked the link to view the message. Below his name it said “Subscribe to view message.” Ugh, fine! Worth it for this one!
I got up and ran to the little dining room table, turned on my laptop, and grabbed my wallet. I upgraded my account and then went back to my inbox. Below his username the subject read, “What’s up, Wyn?” I clicked on the message:
Wyn,
How long have you lived in New York? Do you actually live in the city? Are you from New York?
Nate
And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 1 Corinthians 13:2
As I reread it, a large smile crossed my face, but at the same time I worried. Will the medication be enough to get me through a date with him? I have no choice. I have to get close to him. I have to figure out what makes him tick.
By noon I’d deleted the dating app from my phone, to keep myself from replying to Nate’s message. I don’t want to seem too eager.
At work I had trouble focusing. I still hadn’t responded to Nate’s message on the dating app but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. This is my chance! Things are finally coming together. All of the dreaming and planning will finally pay off. On Tuesday morning I couldn’t resist any longer. I logged on to my account and responded:
Hey Nate,
I do live in the City. It is overwhelming sometimes, but I do love the energy here. Nothing beats a late afternoon run through Central Park or discovering a new gem of a restaurant! What’s your favorite thing to do in New York?
Wyn
You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone. James 2:24
I scrolled through some of the other messages in my inbox. Now that I was a paying member, it occurred to me that perhaps I should recruit some competition. The appearance of options couldn’t hurt my chances with Nate.
I messaged three guys, all attractive and relatively successful for their ages (determined by some light internet stalking).
Nate’s reply came in just as I was about to log off. Wow that was fast!
Wyn,
Mine would have to be riding the tram to Roosevelt Island for a picnic. Sound like fun?
Nate
And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 1 Corinthians 13:2
I was determined not to reply immediately, and waited until I got home:
Nate,
Sounds amazing. Something to look forward to. How about dinner in the city first?
Wyn
You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone. James 2:24
I had the evening to myself, so I pulled out my laptop and continued working on the assignment from my therapist.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
I walked out of the house and turned right toward the hospital. It was only a few blocks away and as I got closer I noticed the sign near the large driveway that read “Emergency” in large red block letters. I have an EMERGENCY! Fuck! My heart began to race and a tear rolled down my cheek. I walked down the wide driveway and wandered through the automatic sliding doors into a large white reception area.
A man sitting behind a large desk looked up at me. “Can I help you?” he said.
I walked over and stood near the desk, as close to him as I could get.
“I was raped this morning,” I whispered.
“What?” he said and squinted as if he was staring directly at the sun.
“I was raped,” I said, a little louder. My eyes began to well up with tears. With my back to the waiting area, I couldn’t see anyone else in the room, but I could feel their eyes on my back.
He picked up the phone in front of him and dialed. “We have a rape victim,” he said into the receiver. “Great, thanks.”
He hung up and looked at me. “They’ll be right down. Just wait over there please.” He motioned to a spartan seating area. I complied
and waited near the door. A few minutes went by and a woman dressed in scrubs came through the door.
She looked at me and asked compassionately, “You need a Sexual Assault Forensic Exam?”
Oh my God, this is so embarrassing. How on Earth did I end up here? I nodded.
“This way,” she said.
I followed her through the swinging door down a long hallway. She showed me into an examination room.
“Please have a seat. I have a few questions I have to ask first,” she said.
“I can’t sit.” I motioned toward my injuries. “I’ll stand.”
I stood in between the chairs and the table, as the barrage of questions began: Name? Date of birth? Date of last menstruation?