I have spoken and written at great length about being raped my first week at Tufts by a man I barely knew.
The next morning, I told my orientation leader in Dewick. He was a senior, also Asian American, and an EMT on TEMS. He told me to let him know if I ever needed anything.
He drove me to Beth Israel for my rape kit. He held my hand when I cried during the pelvic exam.
I lived with him in SoGo while ResLife found me another dorm room. He made me eat and do my homework. He used his knowledge as an EMT to keep me healthy. I felt safe.
A week after I was raped, he started making me drink with him. The week after that, I found myself naked in his bed, his jizz on my hair and my face.
He told me what to tell my friends and my counselor. He made sure I didn’t spend time with his girlfriend’s Asian American friends. His testimony was key to Tufts’ investigation against my rapist. I didn’t know what to do. I
tried again and again to leave him, but I had panic attacks every time, scared of my rapist without him and convinced I needed his medical knowledge to survive. I would throw up, and TEMS would often transport me. In some way or another, he would usually find his way to the hospital. After my first panic attack, he told me he loved me. After every panic attack thereafter, he would drive me back to Tufts, take me to his room, and put his dick in my throat. He would fall asleep as I was leaving, choking down blood and puke and his come.
This went on for a month until both my friends and his girlfriend intervened. Weeks later, I met her and was struck at how much we looked alike. She confided in me that she had been a virgin freshman and he a junior when they met the previous year and that he had been dating yet another cute Asian girl when they first hooked up.