She, Too

Written by Samantha, 23     (CW: sexual assault)

She was 16. She was at a party at someone else’s house. Scratch that, more like a small gathering than a party. She made sure to shave her legs and in between her thighs before, just in case. She knew he would be there; even though he had a girlfriend, they had been flirting for a while. He cheated on most of his girlfriends, so she didn’t think it was a big deal. 

She drank her first shot, after being pressured by everyone else. 

“Do it! Come on it’s not that bad! You’ll like it, it’s fun!”

She remembers thinking she felt drunk not long afterwards. Drunk enough to have the confidence to go find him alone in the kitchen, where she saw him drinking out of a milk carton. She thought this was gross. But, she was too excited to be alone with him to care. They started kissing. She realized this is the first time a boy she really wanted to kiss was kissing her back. They decided to go upstairs where no one else could interrupt them. They decided on a bathroom since it was someone else’s family home. Or maybe he decided?

The lights stayed on. She realized she could see all of her, and so could he. A boy had never seen her naked. Until then, in this cold, brightly lit bathroom with other boys whispering on the other side of the door. She wondered what they were doing and he said he didn’t know, but reassured her they were just being stupid and they’d go away, the door was locked. 

She wishes she remembers more, but the next thing in her mind was laying on the tiled bathroom floor with him on top of her. She was confused because she liked him and wanted to be kissing him, but she didn’t think she wanted this. She said: “I don’t think I want to,” not knowing what he was planning on doing. He said: “Don’t worry, I’m not putting it in,” as he slid himself on top of her. She’s not sure how it actually ended, but she knows soon after that they were both dressed and walking back downstairs. 

Shortly after, she and her friends got a ride home. She remembers sitting in the trunk of someone’s over-packed car, thinking: Is this what high school is supposed to feel like? 

While in high school she recalls this night as her first real ‘hook-up’ as she had never done more than kiss a boy before that. 

During her senior year of college she watched Christine Blasey Ford testify before the Senate Judiciary Committee that the new soon-to-be appointed Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh sexually assaulted her when she was younger. She watched Ford speak with poise, with humility, with confidence, and with grace. She then watched Kavanaugh yell, point fingers at, argue with, and scream at senators over basic questioning. She felt her blood boil and overflow with nowhere for it to pour out into.

Just weeks later, the first of many prominent men was publicly accused of sexual harassment, which launched the nation into a Me Too movement of survivors speaking out about their abuse and sharing their stories. Amplifying their voices.

One month later she learned one of her best friends had been raped, for the second time. She didn’t want to upset her friend any more by crying, so she swallowed her tears and let them gather in her stomach and all the way up into her throat until she felt like she was choking on them. 

She soon realized that that night at the small gathering at someone else’s house that she was the victim of… she’s not sure. But she understands now that it wasn’t consensual. Six years later.

She wishes she and her peers had been taught about consent and it’s importance from a younger age. How the lack thereof constitutes assault. How a no doesn’t always sound like a “No”. 

She wishes she had realized earlier. So she could have begun her healing process sooner. So she could have listened to and trusted survivors sooner and without question. So she could have realized that she, too, had survived.

She is strong. She is outspoken. She believes survivors. She cries for other survivors. She is a survivor. She is me.