Whose Fault is it?

A survivor story by Camry

“Stop, stop, stop. Get off of me.” I said slightly agitated like normal.

The only reply that I received was silence. He didn’t stop, instead he continued.

“Stop, get off of me. Please.” I said, barely able to breathe out a word.

The situation had escalated. He had control and I could do nothing but beg.

“Please, please…” I begged. I laid there and thought of nothing. My mind was completely blank, I was just trying to block out what was happening. I just let it happen, and maybe that’s my fault. When he was done he simply turned over and left me alone. I couldn’t move, every muscle in my body seemed to be turned off. As I lay there in the position he left me, I started to smell him, all over me. It was the smell of dried saliva and sweat, and it lingered over my entire body.

I couldn’t handle the smell, so I gathered all the strength I had and I rolled onto the floor. I crawled to the door and pulled myself up using the door knob. I walked from the bedroom straight to the bathroom. I opened the shower door and started the water. I sat on the floor of the shower and watched the water fall down my chest, hoping that water would be enough to rid me of his touch.

I knew though that the water alone would not be enough. I started to claw at my body, embedding my fingernails so far into my skin that I caused myself to bleed. When I finally got out of the shower I stared at my naked body in the mirror. That’s when I noticed a hickey on my chest. He had marked me, like I was his property, and maybe that was my fault.

I couldn’t fathom the reality of what had happened, but I knew I wanted to leave, I had to. I walked back into the bedroom and searched for my phone. When I found it I punched the numbers in for my home, not even realizing that it was 2:00am. The phone rang for what felt like an eternity, I sat in a towel, shaking, just hoping someone might answer. Finally, my dad answered.

“What’s wrong?” My dad asked.

“I um, don’t be mad.” I said, breathing heavy.

“It’s okay you can talk to me about anything.” he said.

I spilled everything. I told him what had happened and that I wanted to come home right now.

“Well, I don’t think we should come get you, you have to handle these situations like an adult.” My stepmother said.

“I’m not an adult! And if I were I’d have my car right now and I’d already be driving home!” I screamed.

“Why were you in the same bed with him in the first place? He’s a teenage boy, what did you think would happen?” She said in a voice so serious.

“I thought he would respect when I said no?” I blurted out sarcastically.

“You’ve been dating for over a year, you need to give him something.” She said.

At this point my dad took back the phone.

“If you’re still upset in the morning I will come and get you. Are you going to be okay?” My dad asked.

“Yep, I love you. Goodnight.” I said and hung up the phone.

I cried and cried, I actually cried myself to sleep, right on the floor, wrapped in a towel, alone. I left the next day and didn’t speak to the boy for 3 months. Maybe I shouldn’t have treated him like that. Maybe I shouldn’t have called my parents. Maybe I overreacted about the whole situation. Maybe it was all my fault.

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