by Nicole F.
**Be advised, content may be triggering**
(ALL NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO PROTECT THE IDENTITIES OF THE PEOPLE MENTIONED)
When I was fourteen, I was assaulted by the boy I had believed to be my first love. I wasn’t exactly the most popular kid in school and was bullied on occasion. My friends and I kind of had an unspoken rule and wouldn’t step in if a kid was making fun of us, since we knew it would only make things worse. This boy was the first person to step in and defend me. He was the first crush I’d had where I felt like there was an actual possibility of him liking me too. For years we hung out together and he had become one of my dearest friends. When I had finally gained the courage to tell him how I felt, I wrote him a note and left my phone number at the bottom of the page.
It only took a half hour after getting home from school before he called me. We talked for a long time, about our feelings, about our friendship, and just the general awkward emotional things you say at fourteen. I can still very vividly remember how this all made me feel. I had even cried because I was so happy that he actually liked me. Keep in mind, I was a very insecure kid.
Then he asked if I would come over.
This immediately caused my chest to tighten. I was home alone and couldn’t ask my parents for a ride or permission, my only option was to sneak out and hope that I got back before my mom got home. This would mean walking a half an hour to his house. I was so terrified that this was my make or break moment that I decided to do something completely out of character and sneak out to see him. For years this was the moment that made me constantly look back and blame myself. If only I would have followed my instincts and told him no, but I was young and I thought I was in love.
I was nervous the whole walk to his house. I was so anxious that I felt like I couldn’t breath when I saw that he was at the door waiting for me. He had neglected to tell me that he was also home alone, so it was just the two of us, something that immediately made me feel even more anxious. The first thing he did was pull me into his room and ask me to sit down on his bed. I don’t think I had ever been as nervous as I was in that moment, I had never been in a boy’s room and was just trying to process everything when he kissed me.
This wasn’t my first kiss, but it was my first non-middle school kiss. You know, the one where you pucker your lips in an almost cartoonish way? This one was an ‘adult’ kiss. I was so surprised and confused that I didn’t even know what to do. I didn’t even try to do anything when he pushed me down on the bed. When he finally let me breath I asked him what he was doing. Instead of answering, he somehow managed to grab my wrists in one hand and pinned them above my head. This meant his entire body was pressed against me, forcing the air out of my lungs.
“This should feel good.” Those were the words he breathed in my ear before sticking his hand up my shirt and in my bra. The next ten minute are a blur in my mind. All I can remember is his hand moving all over me while I just stared at the clock and tried not to cry. Suddenly, my phone went off. I jumped on my chance and lied, telling him that my mom had come home early and was wondering where I was. He finally let me up and I fixed my clothes while he continued to kiss the back of my neck and touch me. I was in a state of shock, my whole body felt like it was on pins and needles. I managed to keep my composure while he followed me to the door and watch me leave. As soon as I was off of his street and out of sight, I ran.
I ran until I was physically sick on the side of the road. I needed someone to talk to to help me calm down, so I called my friend Beth. She had been the one to text me when I was still trapped in his bed and was my best friend. I needed her to help me feel better. She didn’t answer right away since she was at an event for her club, but after I kept calling she finally picked up. I told her everything that had happened as I tried to make my way home. I had started crying and begged her to see if I could spend the night at her place. I didn’t feel safe going home, I felt like he would find me. I knew something wrong had happened, but I didn’t have the words to explain it.
And now we come to the point of me relieving this day. My friend, who I had called for support, told me that she already had plans with her other friends that she didn’t want to cancel because ‘it couldn’t have been that bad’. I didn’t know what else to say. I wanted to scream at her that it had been awful and that I was scared and that I needed her, but she cut me off and told me that she needed to get back to her club. I could hear her and her friends laughing in the background as she hung up, leaving me with this strange mix of emotions. I felt empty, confused, and overwhelmingly scared.
At fourteen, all I knew about sexual assault was that rape was something that happened when a bad man forcibly had sex with you. To me, rape was something violent and obvious, if you were raped you knew it. I didn’t know that assault could be as small as someone touching you without your consent. No one taught me about all the grey areas. In my head it felt like I had done something wrong and that if the adults in my life found out about it I would be the one in trouble, not him.
That whole night I sat in front of my window, waiting to see if he would come to my house. I was afraid he would want touch me more and would hurt me if I tried to stop him. I was afraid he would tell my parents that I had snuck out to my house. I was just so fucking afraid. When I finally fell asleep and went to school the next day, my first class was with him. I did my best to avoid him, but he still managed to get a note to me that said that his mother found out I had been at his house and that she was thinking of calling the police. I see this now for what it was, a scare tactic to silence me. It worked.
Still, I got up the courage and in my next class I approached two other friends of mine. I told them everything that had happened and showed them the note. Both of them scoffed at me and told me I was making a big deal out of nothing, one of them had even said to me ‘it’s not like he raped you’. They continued, telling me that if I didn’t want that to happen I shouldn’t have gone to his house. With that, they had officially made it my fault. At that point I stopped trying to talk about it. It felt like I had no one on my side and when you’re young that feeling of isolation can be devastating.
I began to hate myself. My friends, especially Beth, continued to talk to him, talk about him, and invite him to our gatherings. Even though he would never try to speak to me, I would withdraw and become angry or upset. This of course caused my friend’s to become angry and upset in return. They would accuse me of trying to get attention when I would cry or leave the room or they would just ignore me and continue to have fun. All the signs pointed to me being the problem.
It wasn’t until a year later when I met someone who finally told me that what had happened wasn’t my fault. A year of self hatred, of withdrawing into myself, of feeling shame for what had happened. I had started to self-harm, leaving cuts on my legs when everything was too much. An acquaintance saw them through a hole in my jeans one day and asked me about them. I don’t know why, but I told them everything. I spilled my guts and was finally told that I did nothing wrong. Hearing the words ‘it wasn’t your fault’, was a turning point for me and was the first step in getting past what had happened.
Now that it has been ten years, I look back without judgment and I see everything that I was too young or naive to see. I wish someone had explained all the intricacies of assault to me so that I would’ve had the words and the confidence to say ‘I was assaulted’. When teaching young people about sex this always seems to be an overlooked conversation. Speaking to others, I’m not the only person who went through something like this when I was young and then didn’t have the insight to define it. Maybe if an adult in my life had explained consent to me, I would have been able to see that what had happened to me was assault. Maybe if an adult had explained to my friends the seriousness of all forms of assault, they would have been more supportive and encouraged me to tell someone.
Maybe if an adult had explained and stressed the importance of confirming consent, the boy who assaulted me would have asked before taking.
This is why it’s so important to be that adult that explains these things to kids. As I have gotten older I have done my best to share my story with the young people in my life. I never want to see what happened to me happen to anyone I love, so I teach those I can about consent, withdraw of consent, enthusiastic consent, and all the forms assault can come in. In the time of the #metoo movement, this has become an important topic of conversation that young people need to be a part of. I don’t share my story any more for support, I share it for the lesson it teaches, that as adults it is our responsibility to have those hard conversations with our children and the children around us to give them the knowledge to prevent assault.
So please, be that adult.