By Emily Fehrman
Social Media Editor
Editor’s note – This story was told to Social Media Editor Emily Fehrman. The subject wanted her story to be told in first person. This is her story as told to Fehrman. Names used in this story are not the real names.
When I was 17, a big part of me disappeared for what felt like an immeasurable amount of time.
I took a chunk of myself and tucked it away just so I wouldn’t have to think about the events that happened that summer. I completely blocked out the fact that I was sexually assaulted, by someone I never thought would hurt me. A friend who was also friends with my then-boyfriend.
It was Friday night, which meant everyone would be out partying, including myself. I always surrounded myself with people who would keep my best interest at heart, or at least I tried to. I never in a million years thought that I would ever be put in an atmosphere that being taken advantage of was even an option.
The whole evening everything was fine. I was around friends, so I took the opportunity to get intoxicated. We weren’t moving parties or doing anything wild, so I thought, why not live a little. Henry, my then-boyfriend, and I were having fun with all our friends, including two of his “best buddies”, John and Patrick.
The night went by in a flash, and before I know it, I’m laying down to sleep in Henry’s bed while he is still at the party downstairs. I decided to go to bed because I was too drunk to function any longer, and literally kept falling asleep on Henry’s shoulder.
I was woken up with a set of hands running up my thighs, and a set of hands keeping my mouth and eyes shut.
I was so drunk there wasn’t much I could do, except try to beg them to stop, cry and pray for it to end. I didn’t know how to stop what was happening, let alone how to figure out who the boys were that were doing this to me. Once the hands were removed from my eyes I thought maybe that signified the end of the torture. But all that was revealed was who my attackers were and that it wasn’t going to end any time soon.
I saw that the two boys that were touching me were John and Patrick. Two people I had never thought would hurt me. They were my friends and they had betrayed me. As they switched places with each other all I could think about was how embarrassed I was, and all the ways I could have prevented this from happening. I could’ve locked the door, maybe I was just too friendly, maybe I shouldn’t have worn a low cut shirt that night, or maybe I shouldn’t have gotten drunk in the first place.
But really, it comes down to the fact that it was nothing I did that made this horrible thing happen to me. It was their fault, not mine. I didn’t ask to be taken advantage of. What it comes down to is when they saw a defenseless, unsuspecting, sleeping girl, and they thought it would be a good idea to take advantage of her.
It felt as though it would never stop. I prayed and prayed that it would end. In that moment, I wished I were dead. They took turns giving oral sex to my limp body, and then the rest is a blur.
I have glimpses of memories every once and awhile of that night. And when I do remember bits and pieces, they are so horrible for me to think about that I get physically and visibly sick.
The next morning, I woke up and they were gone, but Henry was there. Not knowing how to handle the situation, I got up and left. Walking past my rapist on the way out the door. I couldn’t look at them. Even while they were asleep they were still the most terrifying thing out there to me.
The drive was completely silent because what music do you play the morning after you’ve been raped? I had a 20-minute drive home to contemplate the night before and come to terms with what had happened.
I decided I should call Henry and tell him what happened. But before I had even moved to grab my phone it was already ringing, and it was him. Thinking I would pick up the phone to a curious boyfriend wondering where I was, I was shocked to hear such loud screaming on the other end of the phone.
He was screaming things at me I would never wish to repeat to anyone. John had came up with this lie that I had tried to touch him inappropriately. Claiming that in my drunken haze I tried to rape him, but that he had thrown me off and went back to down to the party.
Completely shocked by this I tried to tell Henry that it was the other way around, but he wasn’t having any of it. Called me a liar and said I should go to hell for what I put his friend through. I didn’t tell anyone what happened that night for two years.
During that two years, I blocked everything that had to do with that night away. I broke up with Henry and I stopped hanging out around those people I had thought were my friends. It wasn’t until this last summer that I really came to terms with everything that happened that night. I never filed any charges because I assumed no one would believe me. If the boy who was supposedly in love with me didn’t even believe me over his friends then who would?
In the end, I’d like to say I’m healed and all is forgiven, but it’s not. It’s been two years, but it still feels like it was yesterday. I never thought it would happen to me, until it did.