I remember everything about that night. I remember the stinging pain and the uncomfortable feel of it. I remember me screaming, begging for him to stop but him just continuing on eagerly. I remember where we were, what I was wearing, every ragged terrified breath I took, everything.
I didn't tell anyone about it. And ten years later, I still haven't told anyone. It's a secret I'm willing to keep locked inside my head until the time is right, if ever there is one.
I have sometimes nightmares about it. Some of them are vague and hard to make out, but some of them feel so real I wake up terrified and covered in a thin layer of sweat. They all base around him coming back for me and trying for a second round.
Since that I night, I've never been able to commit myself to the opposite sex like I wanted to. I just couldn't trust them. And every time I let my barrier down slightly, I'd get these visions and my protective wall would come back up just as strong and fast as it was let down.
I'm sensitive to every touch, conscious of every accidental gentle brush of hand against hand when someone walks to close to you.
For a while even my family couldn't even hug me or pull away a strand piece of hair without me flinching.
I'd had a lot of thought about it, and looking back now, there probably was a thing or two that I could've done to stop it or prevent it. But what's done is done, and there's no way of changing it.
I hated the foul, inconsiderate, worthless pig that did this too me. For many years after that night I fantasized about what it would be like to wrap my hands around his throat and grasp the life out of him. But truth is, I never actually saw his face, and his voice was only a low hush. So I'd never be able to do this, because I didn't know who he was. I guess he planned it to be like that though. Easier.
That night was stuck with me forever. Burned into my brain so painfully it would be impossible to forget it. It made me stronger but also weaker. It was the night that changed me dramatically. Forever.