The card that came with the flowers read, “How about dinner?”
After a heartbreaking split, I spent months trying to put my life back together. On a whim, my friends persuaded me to hit a local bar with them. “You need to get back out there!” they insisted. Reluctantly, I found myself at the bar, nursing a beer, when he approached me with a charming grin.
He had a nice smile.
He approached, delivering the typical pickup lines while my friends giggled and cheered me on from across the bar. He was persistent, and I should’ve seen the red flags. But his charming smile and the stack of cash in his pocket were hard to resist. He bought my friends drinks all night and never took his eyes off me. By the end of the evening, with my friends nudging me on, I gave him my number. As we left the bar, my friends were excited about my new “catch.”
The next day, I was surprised to receive two dozen roses that filled my dorm room with their sweet scent. How had he found my address? I brushed off my concerns; my broken heart deserved a second chance, right? “Dinner sounds great,” I thought. Baby steps.
I should’ve known better.
Over the following weeks, he showered me with gifts and took charge of planning our dates. Each outing was more extravagant than the last — spontaneous dinners at exclusive restaurants he’d booked just for us and gem-filled boxes that had my friends swooning. My roommates loved answering the door to find massive flower arrangements. “He’s perfect!” they would exclaim. I smiled, secretly wondering if they were right.
Gradually, I let down my defenses. I envisioned him as my Prince Charming. But as he kissed me, always more passionately than I was ready for, my instincts whispered caution. Inexperienced and shy, I wanted to move slowly, but he would say, “I won’t wait forever.”
And he didn’t.
The night it happened, he invited me to his apartment for dinner. “Just us,” he said, and I felt a rush of excitement.
Candles, flowers, and soft music set the stage. I barely crossed the threshold when he enveloped me in his arms and kissed me as if I were air. I hesitated, yet my reluctance seemed to drive him further. He pulled me into his bedroom, laid me on his bed, and murmured, “It’s time. We’ve been dating for a month.”
At 19, I was still a virgin, and I wasn’t ready. I said NO.
He pressed on. “Come on, baby. It’s me. Let’s do this.”
NO.
“Do you know how much I’ve spent on you?”
NO.
And then it happened.
In one swift motion, my pants were undone, and his fingers invaded my body. I cried out and pleaded for him to stop. My pleas only fueled his anger. “You fucking slut tease. You are mine,” he shouted, his words echoing in my mind. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll shove my whole fist up there,” he taunted.
I sobbed as he forced his fingers into me, every thrust a reminder of my violation. When he was done, he pushed me away and told me to leave. In just 20 minutes, my encounter with my own personal Brock Turner was over.
As I stumbled to my car, each painful step reminded me of the shame I felt. I drove home with tears streaming down my face, tiptoeing into my dorm room so my roommates wouldn’t wake up and ask how my “perfect” night had turned into a nightmare.
In the shower, hot water cascading down my back, I wept into my knees, vowing never to speak of my trauma again. The shame washed over me in waves, and for months, even years, I relived that horrific night.
I went to his apartment. I should’ve known.
But now, I do know.
I know what it’s like to be violated in a darkened room, helpless against a man who doesn’t respect women. I know how it feels to have someone steal your innocence and dignity and how those memories can haunt you even when you find someone who loves and respects you.
I know how it feels to want to scream, “Me, too,” when other women share their painful stories of assault. It’s not just “words” or “locker room talk.” It’s sexual assault. It’s rape.
While I may not have been able to fight back then, recent media coverage has inspired me to speak out. I refuse to remain silent for the sake of those still too ashamed to share their truth. I won’t let my daughter grow up in a world where such behavior is normalized. I will fight for a future where she never has to look me in the eye and say, “Me, too, Mom.”
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Summary:
This heartfelt confession chronicles the journey of a young woman who, after a painful breakup, gets swept up in a whirlwind romance that quickly turns into a nightmare. Despite initial excitement and affection, she faces a traumatic incident that leaves her feeling violated and ashamed. The narrative emphasizes the importance of breaking the silence surrounding sexual assault and fighting against rape culture for future generations.