To be as blunt as I can, this short story is about the aftermath of a rape and the ramblings of a survivor...so read with caution. There might be triggers for some... so if the topic is too mature or too much then don't read any further. Thank you.
Dear Journal,
People never consider that the place you think you are the safest could ever be corrupted. Most people rush through dark alleys, rush to their car in the parking lot at night, rush past a crowd of howling men... all to get home; safe and sound. Once they are there, the feeling of security rushes over you and whether you realize it or not you let out a breath of relief as soon as that locked door has closed behind you. I used to feel safe when I would come home and lock my door. A locked door does that for most people, but it's a mute point when you unknowingly lock yourself in with a monster. Unfortunately, my locking the door gave him all the privacy he needed. It became a barrier to my way out.
Shivers still go down my spine today when I think about how he left me that night: laying, bleeding, crying, weak. His weight shifting off of me instantly became one of the best feelings in the world. I still am not sure if I couldn't move or if I was too scared to even try while he put his clothes back on that night. Either way I remained a statue, even when he bent down so his face was inches from mine and uttered the words that will forever haunt me, "You better get used to this... because it's going to happen a lot more now." The words assaulted my eardrums, the look of his lips curling into an evil grin assaulted my eyes. "Learn to like it." The words he just delivered sounded definite. He meant them with every fiber of his being. With one last slap of my bare skin he turned and fumbled with my door lock (oh the irony) before he exited my bedroom and let himself out of my apartment.
I don't know how long I lay in that bed after he left. My eyes were locked on the front door knob, as I had a direct view from my bed. I remember my mind playing tricks on me because every so often I swore I saw the door knob move. When that happened my ragged breaths would hitch in my chest as I waited to see him come back inside for round two. But that never happened, like I said, it was my mind playing tricks on me. I'm not sure when or how but eventually I realized that he wasn't the only one who could come back into my apartment. Any of my three roommates could come home at any point. I didn't want them to open the door to find me like that...did I? I continued to lay still as I thought about it. An internal monologue going through my mind. What do you want right now, Quinn? My brain seemed to scream an answer at me almost immediately: A shower! As soon as the thought entered my mind it was as if I couldn't get it out. I HAD to get in the shower and I had to do it now. His sweat was all over me, the smell of blood filled my nostrils, the thought of him and what he left behind inside of me made me feel like I had bugs crawling all over my skin. That thought motivated me enough to push myself painfully up.
I don't know how long I stood in the shower. The water in my apartment got very hot, probably too hot for my skin, but I didn't care. The scalding temperature was welcomed as I leaned against the wall for support. The thought of Olivia Benson from Law and Order ran through my mind. I used to love the show Law & Order: SVU, I watched it all the time. So I was more than familiar with the fact that as I stood in the shower, as I scrubbed my skin raw, I was washing away any evidence of the crime that had just taken place. As I leaned against that shower's wall I cursed Olivia Benson, a fictional character, for making me feel guilty about the shower that I absolutely needed. She made me feel guilty of the fact that me jumping into the shower so quickly sealed my fate. Now that I've showered, reporting it would be useless. So, in the shower I stood...hating myself.
Long after the water turned cold, I finally gathered enough strength to turn off the shower. To this day, three years later, I have no idea where that strength came from. Convincing myself to leave the shower meant facing it. As soon as my bare dripping wet foot hit the tile, it meant that I would be stepping back into the real world. This was my first step as "the new me" and I couldn't even honestly tell you how I brought myself to do it. All I can tell you is that I cried, the entire time.
I had to lean my entire body's weight onto the door frame as I rounded the corner to face my bedroom again. The towel I had wrapped around me so tightly didn't feel like it was enough. The bed, with it's disheveled sheets and the pillows strone about, felt like it was mocking me as I struggled to remain standing. It, along with the pain that coursed through my lower body and wrists reminded me of what happened. Staring at it all just made it feel like it was still happening. Over and over.
My eyes rested on my cell phone which sat on the edge of my nightstand. I had to have it. I quietly inched towards my bed, as if a giant bear were laying on it and if I made too much noise or any sudden movements it would jump up and kill me. As soon as my fingers made contact with the phone, I quickly snatched it into my chest and immediately retreated as quickly as I could away from the bed to the furthest wall in my room. Without taking my eyes from the bed, my back hit the wall giving my legs permission to crumble underneath me. Down the wall I slid, a loud sob escaping my lips as my backside made contact with the floor. I finally was able to tear my eyes away from my bed long enough to look down into my hand. I was grabbing my cellphone so hard that my knuckles had turned white. I remember opening my contacts list and then immediately I paused. My thumb hovered over the bright screen as I realized what I was doing. Was I really going to make a phone call? What would I say? Who would I call?
My relationship with my parents isn't the best, they weren't even a thought. My older sister and I have an awkward relationship as well, so her name was quickly thrown out. I didn't have a boyfriend. Santana. Yes, I'll call her. She was teaching at her job at the dance studio right now but she would answer if I called enough times. I stared at her name. She was not only one of my roommates but also my absolute best friend, someone I had told everything to. However, somehow I was sobbing again as my thumb separated from the screen once more. I couldn't call her. Her and her family were about to leave on a ten day trip to Spain. If I told her, it would ruin this once in a lifetime opportunity for them all. I didn't want to be responsible for ruining the people I loved most in this world's life. I remember more sobs wracked my chest as I realized that if I couldn't tell my best friend, then I couldn't tell anyone. Keeping secrets from each other wasn't something that we did.
What would I tell people anyway? I invited him over that evening. I told him we would be alone. I all but asked for this... didn't I? The year is now 2014 and I can answer with certainty: No. But until recently I have battled with this over and over. Sadly, our society makes this awful crime harder and more painful than it already is. Rape is the only crime in which the victim needs to prove their innocence. The victim gets treated like a perpetrator. Because this is socially known, because of the rape culture that we are all exposed to… I treated myself like a perp. I had to prove to myself that I was in fact innocent. Unfortunately, this process, this coming to an innocent verdict took years of my life. Right after it happened, as I sat propped up against the wall debating with myself as to who I should talk to, the only thoughts that were running through my mind were those of accusatory guilt. I put myself on trial.
On May 9, 2011 did you initiate contact with my client, the defendant? Yes
How did he know to come to your apartment or where it was? I told him when to come and gave him directions.
So you asked him to come? Yes.
How did he know you were alone? I told him my roommates wouldn't be home.
Did he force his way into your apartment? No.
Did he force his way into your bedroom? No.
Did he rip your clothes from your body? No.
Under what pretenses did he come to your apartment to begin with? Um...
Ms. Fabray, under what pretenses did he come to your apartment to begin with? ...
Your honor, I'd like you to instruct Ms. Fabray to answer the question for our jury.
Ms. Fabray answer the question. I invited him over for sex.
So then you asked for it? I didn't ask for that.
What exactly are you referring to when you say 'that'? What he did.
And what is it that he "did"? He sodomized me.
(murmurs from the jury filled the silent courtroom)
Ms. Fabray, is it fair to say that you and the defendant engaged in sexual contact for many years prior to this alleged incident? Yes.
When was it that you first engaged in sexual intercourse with the defendant? I was 15.
So, 6 years ago, is that correct? Yes.
And you two both had sex throughout the entirety of those six years? Off and on.
So it is fair to say that you've had sex with the defendant off and on multiple times for the past six years? Yes.
How many times would you say that you've engaged in sexual contact with the defendant? I... I couldn't give a number. A lot...
Okay, and is it fair to say that during a number of these many encounters you and the defendant had engaged in rough sex at times? Yes.
Is it fair to say that you and him have tried 'new' things together during these sexual encounters? Well... yes...
Then would it also be fair to say that because you didn't enjoy and were embarrassed by having tried this 'new thing' that you both participated in at this specific encounter on May 9, 2011 that you decided to accuse my client of rape?
Objection!
Sustained.
Nothing further. That's not what happened!
Nothing further your honor.
(murmuring between the jury members continued as the defense attorney retreated to his seat.)
Again, I stared down at my phone. I couldn't tell anyone. It wasn't possible. I was guilty in my own mind so how could I expect other people to think anything more of me? What was I expecting them to do about it? Nothing could be done. No one was home to hear me screaming. No one heard me begging him to stop. No one heard me crying... except him. He heard. He heard every word... but it would always be his word against mine, and I had only said one over and over again: "No".
-Quinn.
...
Author's Note: I am appreciative of each of you who take the time to read this and take this journey with me.
