I’m feverish as I type this, literally; my head throbs and I’m burning up, I can barely breathe (only in this surreal state of mind do I want to revisit what happened).
I was sexually assaulted three times my freshman year. The first guy has been expelled. I never filed my own report, but I later heard he preyed on multiple people, and now he’s gone (good riddance).
The second guy I thought was my friend. He’s friends with all my friends; they’re always gushing about him, and I hate it. I hate how he acts so sweet and innocent, and how he still likes my statuses and photos on Facebook. He was drunk when it happened (I don’t think he even remembers).
The third guy is still my friend (how fucked up is that?) I managed to convince myself for over a year that it wasn’t coercion, that I wanted it just as much as he did. “I’m so sorry, I always ask,” he said, and I told him not to worry, because I liked him and knew he would never intentionally hurt me. We’d hooked up before, we hooked up again afterwards, and only a year later as I lay in bed crying to my long distance boyfriend did I come to terms with what happened.
It’s the Saturday night before Valentine's Day and in a few minutes guy number two is going to show up at my house for a surprise party. In my fever dream I slap him and scream at the top of my lungs, but I know that in real life I’ll simply smile and pretend nothing ever happened. I tell myself I don’t want to split up my friend group, even though I know it’s not my fault. No one knows, maybe no one should know, maybe everyone should know, I don’t know, I don’t even know what I’m writing anymore. I just want to curl up and sleep.