Her blood goes cold at the sight of his name on a Facebook message thread. He’s still alive. He’s still living there. In the town she is having to move back to. Oh God.
Now he is a civilized member of society. Employed. A family man. A father.
Does he even remember that night he lay on top and inside that drunk, shivering, naked crying girl and continued to fuck her while through the tears she begged him to stop? It was on the top of an under sheet, under the half open sleeping bag, the briefly coloured one she got rid of soon after. It was cold, so cold and even now she doesn’t know how she was naked so fast and he, him still wearing a dark navy blue T-shirt with some motif from one of the yacht design companies he had completed work experience for over the summer slightly damp from sweat. His hair was a mess, rough and greasy from running his hands through it. His breath stank of beer and fags, the stink of cheap crisps she had brought for her little summer party.
It had been so much fun earlier in the evening. Entertaining her ‘new friends’. But where are they all now?
Back then she blamed herself. She still does.
But she also knows it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t want it. She did say no. She did want it to stop and he did ignore her.
It was rape. She did not give her consent.
But what now?
She can’t remember the date, but one of her old diaries probably has it. The event scribbled in boot with the pages mottled with the pothole indents of tears. What if she finds that entry one day?
Nothing. She will do nothing. She will not destroy his life for the sake of justice and what justice is then when you were drunk and could barely speak or move? What could you ever get back to make up for that loss of your body to another? There is no money compensation for these crimes. Only hard stares and if convicted prison sentences and then…
So many people would turn against her for her honesty. No one would care that it’s the truth. No one would care at all.
It’s not like he is sex offender or a child molester. If she was, then she would fight for the truth to be known. But instead this will be filed under ‘drunken mistakes’.
She must try to learn to live with the pain of this, the fear and yes, the anger.
Anger at him but more at herself.
She wonders if that will ever leave her. She doubts it.
Looking for an inspiring image about rape this appeared before Daisy even a chance to put the term into PinInterest and to be honest this is better.