by K. J. Lewis
“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice is cold, even to me.
“I’m not ashamed of it. It’s just not something I tell people until they know me better or I am involved with them. I don’t feel the need to always tell my story to someone.”
“If that were true, we wouldn’t have just left a meeting where a man who’s never met you, never been inside of you, never fucked you, knew. And if I’m not mistaken, we are headed to a classroom of kids who you are about to tell. Right? This is what you speak about? This is what caused the issues with Theo’s cousin’s case this morning.” I run my hands through my hair. “How could you not tell me?”
She places her hands in her lap and waits. But when I fuck up, I do it big, so I just continue to ride the “I’m Fucking This Up” Pony Express.
“You didn’t think I deserved to know before I immobilized your arms? Slapped you during sex? You didn’t think I needed to know your history? That’s not being very honest with me.” My voice cracks a little and I sit. Elise watches me but says nothing.
I would have never done those things to her, been that rough with her.
After several long minutes of my mind racing, I finally speak. “I think I would like a do over.” My voice is soft and filled with regret.
“Not necessary. One thing I have learned from my own experience and from others over the years is that rape is like throwing a rock in a pond. It only breaks the water where it lands, but it sends out ripples that affect the rest of the pond. There’s no way you can have words ready when you hear something like this. Give it a little time and we can talk more on our way home. We’ll have two hours to kill.” She pats my hand. “But for now, I would like you to buy me lunch.”
When I don’t move, she turns back to me.
“I know it’s a lot to take in all at once. So don’t. Don’t take it all in at once. Give yourself some time to process. Now, I’m hungry, and that sign says they have an amazing strawberry shortcake.”
Lunch was quiet. I devoured my food, but Reid barely touched his.
I should have handled this differently. I just never thought a one-week hookup would become what this has become. It’s so much more. At least to me. But there’s so much at stake. This man is about to be my boss. How would this work? Could this work? Is it wise to add a relationship to an already stressful time with moving to a new city and launching the next phase of our company? It’s a lot of changes for anyone to handle.
“We’re here,” says Reid.
I look up to see that we have arrived at the high school I am scheduled to speak at. He parks and comes around to open my door for me.
“Thank you. You’re coming?” I am surprised when he follows me as I walk toward the door.
“If that is ok with you?”
“Of course, but you don’t have to. You deserve to hear this one-on-one and not in a room full of high schoolers. If you prefer to wait in the car, I’ll understand. I won’t be long.”
“No, I think I’d like to come.”
I find I connect to the kids more if they see me as approachable, so I’ve changed into some worn jeans, a Kendrick Lamar t-shirt, and flip flops. I’ve pulled my short hair into two pig-tails that stick out.
“Tracey!” I say fondly to the teacher who has been waiting for me. We embrace and I introduce her to Reid. “Tracey’s brother went to BC. He was on the rowing crew with me and Owen.”
“So nice to meet you,” she says. “Thanks for doing this Elise. When Owen told me you were going to be out here this week, I was hoping it would work with your schedule.”
“I’m happy to do it.”
“You’ll be speaking to our Junior/Senior classes. It’s about 300 kids. They all have signed permission slips from their parents, so you are free to do your regular talk.”
“Perfect. I don’t expect to be more than thirty minutes. Anything longer than that and they tend to gloss over,” I laugh.
“This is an engaged group of students. I think you will be pleased at their attentiveness.”
We enter and I’m tickled by the looks Reid receives. He’s still in his suit looking sexy as fuck. Even to high schoolers. Tracey directs us to some empty seats off to the side while she introduces me to the room.
“Thank you, Tracey.” I take the microphone from her and have a seat on the edge of the stage, my legs dangling over.
“My name is Elise. I was on the rowing crew with Tracey’s brother. Her older brother. Her very hot older brother,” I tease, and the kids laugh. “Have her show you a picture some time ladies. Or gentlemen. Whatever flavor you favor.” I’m rewarded with a laugh and a few shocked faces.
“I speak to groups of high school and college students about sexual assault. I have two speeches. One is informational and one is personal. With your parents’ permission, I am going to share my personal story today starting with some statistics. Hang with me. I promise to be quick and not make your eyes gloss over.” I smile and dig in.
“Sexual violence and rape have become a proliferating health issue in our country. The Centers for Disease Control—they’re the ones you hear on the news talk about flu and virus outbreaks—the CDC has data that says that nearly 1 in 5 women and 1 in 71 men in the United States have been raped in their lifetime. Not will be. But have been.
“One in 2 women and 1 in 5 men have experienced some form of sexual violence. Eighty percent of those who are assaulted do not report their attack to authorities. Ninety percent of the people who commit these acts of violence get away with it. The odds that a rape was committed by a repeat offender are also approximately 90 percent. Reports show that most offenders don’t rape once, but instead average 14 victims.
“The statistics alone are sobering. Enough to stop you in your tracks. While these statistics are shocking, they don’t really impact us. They don’t change our daily way of doing things or how we see things. We all have a false sense of security in thinking this wouldn’t happen to me. This guy is my friend. This is my boyfriend. I trust him. Eighty-six percent of rapes are acquaintance rapes, meaning you know your attacker in some way. They are someone you hang out with, someone you date, someone you vaguely know through a friend. In my case, it was someone I had met once before. I was the coxswain—yes, let’s get all the snickers out of the way.” I gesture for everyone to let out a hearty laugh.
“As I was saying, I was the coxswain for our rowing crew, that’s the person at the front who faces the rowers and tells them when to row. One of my crew was friends with Dexter. Dexter is not his real name. Ironic, isn’t it? He rapes me, but I protect his name. To be honest I am not sure why I even do that. In some ways not acknowledging someone’s name devalues them. Maybe that is what I am trying to accomplish?”
Tracey is right. These kids are engaged. They are listening and appear to want to hear what is next. I glance to Reid and wonder if he feels the same. What I am sure is a learned trait, he has completely masked his thoughts and emotions.
“I was introduced to Dexter at a party thrown for our crew when we won our division championship. We were celebrating. We had beaten our rivals.” I smile at Reid, knowing he rowed for Harvard.
“So, I was surrounded by my crew. Eight guys who were like brothers to me and protected me like I was their sister. There’s no way anyone touches me with these guys around. There was nothing that had my guard standing at attention. No gut feeling that I wasn’t listening to. I was stuck in the land of ‘this would never happen to me.’ So I didn’t pay attention to the signs. I didn’t look for red flags. I never knew it was coming.
“I started the night off with a drink that I got from the kitchen on my own. I was underage. Only twenty at the time. I wasn’t a heavy drinker. My girls and I had heard all the cautionary tales. We had a rule that we always attended parties with a girlfriend, and we had a pact to make sure we left together. Since I was with my crew, I didn’t think that was necessary, but I still had my roommate Gabby there. It was an unspoken standard that we had each
other’s back.
“Dexter took the seat next to me and we talked for a while about a professor we both were taking that semester. We laughed about the same movies, liked the same songs. We were having fun.
“He asked me to dance. He was cute. Preppy. Looked just like the kind of boy you would take home to meet your parents. He was polite. He didn’t cuss. He disengaged Gabby from talking to a guy he didn’t think was someone she needed to be hanging with. He was the perfect gentleman.
“So we danced, laughed, and then we moved on to talk to other people. Eventually he worked his way back to me and we danced some more. When we came off the dance floor, he grabbed me a bottled water and then he grabbed some of the punch they were serving. He handed me my water. Mind you, I had a rule not to accept drinks from anyone outside of my inner circle of trust. But, like I said, he had proved to be a gentleman thus far. So, when he handed me my water, but stopped and opened it for me first, I never thought anything about it. I mean, in my mind that was the equivalent of pulling my chair out for me or holding my door open.
“He asked me to dance again. He maneuvered me to the other side of the room where the front door was. I told him I didn’t feel right and that I needed some air. He followed me outside. And before I was in control of what was happening, he was carrying me to his apartment.
“I woke up some time later with him on top of me. Raping me. I was awake but my body wouldn’t respond. My arms wouldn’t move. My feet wouldn’t move. I passed out again. Some time later I awoke again. He was passed out. I turned on my side and attempted to crawl off the bed. I fell when I tried to stand, waking Dexter in the process, who returned me to his bed. When I woke the third time, he was raping me again, only this time I had full usage of my body and voice again and I attempted to fight. He bound me to his bed and raped me for two more hours. He never hit or punched me, but he kept calling me a slut. Told me how much I was enjoying it. Told me how much he was enjoying it.
“When the sun came up, he untied me and asked me to leave so he could get some rest. I was in shock. It was like my mind could not process anything after that. I don’t remember how I got back to my room. I don’t remember telling Gabby what happened. I don’t remember asking to be taken to a hospital. I remember nothing until I arrived in the emergency room.
“There was a nurse who talked to me. I thought about how much she reminded me of my mother. A mother I was going to have to call to tell her her daughter had been raped. She held my hand and gave me the most precious gift anyone could have given me: she believed me. She didn’t judge me. She encouraged me to be strong and to find my voice.
“Unfortunately, that advice only got me so far. See, the system is broken. Once I admitted that I was raped, I had to be transferred to another hospital that was equipped with personnel certified to perform a rape kit. This process takes multiple hours and is very invasive. Most victims have described it as the rape after the rape. My body was processed for DNA and evidence. I was photographed. I had bruising on the front and back of my thighs, as well as visible handprints on my pelvis, torso, neck, and face from where he covered my mouth.”
The auditorium is completely silent. I look to Reid to make sure he’s okay. I have experience sharing this story, so I understand it is difficult to hear. His eyes are glued to mine. “Okay?” I ask him, and he nods for me to continue. His eyes are damp but fierce.
I turn back to the students. “The police were called and I was questioned by two detectives. Both male. I was never told I could have a victim’s advocate present. I thought, who better to tell what happened to me than me. Right?
“I was questioned for more than four hours. At one point a detective asked me if I had a boyfriend. When I told him no, he said that sometimes girls cheat on their boyfriends and don’t want to tell them, so they claim they were raped. He felt like it was worth clarifying.
“I was finally released and sent home. I was told later that week that they had interviewed Dexter, and he admitted to having sex with me but claimed it was consensual. They interviewed people at the party, including my crew, and no one saw me in distress at any time. Mind you, my crew believed me when they found out what had happened, but the truth was, they didn’t see me in distress. There was nothing that drew their attention.
“It was weeks later that I was told the DA chose not to take my case to the grand jury. They didn’t feel like there was enough evidence. There was too much he said/she said involved. It was the first time I realized that they are not there to represent and protect me. They are there to represent and protect the state. One of the ways they protect the state is by not wasting tax-payers’ money taking cases to the grand jury that are not a slam dunk.
“I took my case to the University. They investigated, they had hearings, but in the end they felt that, even with the DNA evidence and pictures from the rape kit, there wasn’t enough evidence to expel Dexter. Like the state, I find universities act in their best interest and not the interest of the person who was violated. They don’t advise you to tell your parents. Their goal is to handle it internally and as quietly as possible.
“So, now that I have told you about my experience, let’s talk about some takeaways.” I stand.
“First and foremost, the message I need for you to hear is I was not raped because I was drinking underage. I was not raped because I was at a party. I was not raped because I was bumping and grinding with a guy on the dance floor. I was not raped because I was in an outfit that was too short, too tight, or too revealing. I was not raped because my friends weren’t there to save me. I was not raped because of my social or economic status. I was not raped because I missed the signs. I was raped because Dexter chose to rape me. He participated in a sexual act with me without my consent.
“The second message is to set a plan in place before you need it. I had a plan and it still happened to me. A plan doesn’t make you untouchable, but it can save you from many situations.
“And lastly, if this happens to you or has already happened to you, I would encourage you not to go it alone. Tell someone. I was fortunate that I have best friends who were with me every step of the way, who encouraged me to tell my family, to get counseling, and eventually to share my story. Some of you have already walked this path, some of you will walk this path. Some of you will be put in a position to go against your friend or loved one and call them out for harming you. One day, some of you might be in a position to influence change. Whatever your story is, I wish nothing but the best for you.”
I turn to Tracey to let her know that I am done, and she joins me on stage.
“Would you mind taking some questions?” she asks me.
“Sure. I don’t mind.”
“There are mics at the end of each aisle. Does anyone have a question?”
A girl from the back comes forward. “Do you regret reporting your rape?”
“No, I don’t. But that’s a good question. It is not uncommon for people to regret reporting it. Since the burden of proof is mostly on the victim, it can be very daunting and traumatic for people to report their rape. In fact, several rape advocates worry it’s too damaging to the victim, and therefore they wouldn’t encourage it.
A boy comes forward. “Did your friends and family ever want to do something to get even?”
“Honestly, yes. It is unbelievably difficult on everyone. Parents struggle because they are wired to protect us. Like I said, I was the only girl in a nine-person crew. I was surrounded by guys who wanted nothing more than to avenge what happened to me. I’ve had the same best friend since I was five. He’s a guy. It was very difficult for him to watch what I was going through. My roommate Gabby struggled for a long time with feeling like she had let me down. The best I can tell you is time heals you. Therapy heals you. The people you love heal you. For me, my faith played a huge role in healing me. Also, I am hard-headed. There was no way I was giving Dexter control over my life. I wasn’t going to be scared of him on campus. I wasn’t going to not atte
nd my graduation because of him. But, that worked for me. It doesn’t everyone. Some victims aren’t able to leave their house. There is no wrong or right way to handle it. Each victim does the best they can do. There are still times when I feel scared or anxious, but I’ve been given tools by people smarter than me to use, and they have worked.”
“What happened to Dexter?” a kid in the back asks.
“Nothing. I filed a civil suit against him that is still pending. I don’t expect anything to come of the suit, but it’s on the books and anyone looking would see it. For me, it’s more about doing what I can to make sure it’s harder for him to do it the next time.”
I answer a few more questions before the students stand and applaud. When I come off the stage, I go directly to Reid and wrap my arms around him. He places a chaste kiss to my lips then bends to whisper in my ear.
“I think you are amazing, Dove.”
When the students are dismissed, Tracey sees us out and we walk through the parking lot to our SUV.
“Miss Donovan?” I turn to match the sweet voice with a young student.
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you would mind me emailing you sometime. I have class so I can’t talk now.”
I offer her my hand, and Reid discreetly takes a few steps back. “If you would like to talk to me right now I have time.”
“Like I said, I have class and I’m not sure how ready I am to talk.”
I grab a business card out of my wallet and hand it to her. “This has my email and my personal cell on it. Call me anytime. Day or night.”
She starts to tell me her name, but I stop her. “How old are you?” I ask.
“Seventeen.”
“Still a minor. Don’t tell me your name. I can’t promise you that I wouldn’t report it. You can call the crisis hotline if you want to remain completely anonymous.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything. I place a hand on her arm and pull her gaze back to me. “I do hope you will reach out to me or someone you feel safe with.”