It was my first time being a mystery date for a frat formal and I don’t remember much of the night, but what I do remember I see and feel vividly. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My roommate is also a mystery date so when we show up at the frat to pregame we’re given sticky notes with characters on them which is how we’ll be matched with our dates. I don’t even know who my character is and I don’t care. I need alcohol.
After about 20 minutes, some random guy comes up to me and motions to my sticky note. I’m already kind of tipsy and not sure I know his name. Christian, maybe?
He’s shorter than I am but his face looks old. I’m confused but I keep drinking, keep dancing with my friends. I’m a sophomore, he’s a senior, but he’s 23. How can that be, I wonder?
He brings me up to the kitchen and pours me a glass of fancy, red wine. I don’t need this, I protest, I can drink regular wine. I don’t need to be fancy. But he insists. I hate red wine.
Now we’re in an uber going to the restaurant. I’m drunk. My friends are in the car though. When we get to the restaurant, there is a ton of food. I suddenly realize I haven’t eaten that much today, but all I can have is the salad because it’s Passover. He doesn’t understand why I’m not eating.
What’s his name again? Christiana? A dance floor emerges in the restaurant. I’m starting to lose track of my friends and my gag reflex.
I rush to the bathroom. I need to throw up but it’s not easy. I do something I’ve never done before. I stick a finger down my throat to force myself to throw up. I’m too drunk for this.
I go back out to the dance floor. We’re making out now? He has no idea I just threw up in the bathroom. I don’t like kissing him but I’m too drunk.
Finally, it’s time to go home. We get in an uber with my roommate and her date. It’s one of those big ubers. He and I are sitting in the back row. The uber finally pulls up to the frat and they get out. I want to get out and I try to get out, but for some reason I’m still in the car.
Where are we going? Where did my roommate go?
We get out of the uber two minutes later. We’re in front of a dorm I didn’t know existed—Stratton—a senior dorm apparently. We’re in his room. It’s pristine. He’s taking off my dress. He’s taking off his clothes.
Did he ask me if I want to have sex? I think I said no? Or maybe? I always say maybe when I don’t know. Maybe I said “I don’t know.”
But we’re having sex anyway. And we’re not using a condom. I feel myself drifting in and out of consciousness. “Condom?” I manage to croak? “It fell off,” he says.
I’m angry and he knows I’m angry. I want to go home but he insists it’s too late so I stay there. In the morning I wake up and walk home, holding my heels in one hand and my phone in the other.
"What was his name?" I text my roommate. "Krishna," she replies. I had no idea. I still don't know his last name. I feel dirty but I can’t admit what actually happened.
This wasn’t the first time something like this happened to me and it wasn’t even the last. I won’t say it’s rape. I won’t say it’s sexual assault. He has no idea what he did and he never will.