It was October 2nd into October 3rd, two years ago, when he admitted three things to me:
1. He wasn’t over his ex. This was a given, a trend that had started picking up speed when he admitted to me that he pulled his car over, crashed it into a curb, and then threw up contemplating the thought of life or death after a text came through with her ringtone.
2. He had strong feelings for a girl he went to high school with. This girl happened to be my only friend, my first friend at least my age, who I had met in the new city I had moved to months prior. This girl has also been in a relationship with her boyfriend at the time for two years and wasn’t giving this other guy the light of day.
and 3.
Three was the toughest one, because what do you do when someone accuses themselves of raping you.
True, a yes or no consent was not given, but it had happened. We both made it happen. I let it happen, I let him take me to his place, I let him take me up stairs, and I let him up my dress. I let his mouth and hands touch places no one else had for years, I let him in. Without saying yes. In all fairness, with how heavily it is put out in the world, this need of a yes or nothing, this could be considered rape. But I did not see it that way, and I spent the next half hour trying to convince him to think the otherwise. I spent the next days, months, wasting my time to get him to see he wasn’t someone to hate. I spent my time drowning myself in someone else who was drowning on their own. And I believed I was going to change his mind. But I was wrong, it was I who changed my mind, I lost myself in someone else and their problems. I saw this when I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror because I didn’t want to face it, I saw this when I went to his house one last time, where in his bed I lost it all, where driving home I didn’t see the girl I knew, I didn’t even know who she was, and when walking home in the rain later that night, after I let him fuck me on a cloudy January afternoon, I stopped on the side of the road, crying, not wanting to go home, and asked myself, was it all worth it?
That was what I did instead of just hanging up the phone, one late October night into morning, the chill of the evening creating a harsh bitter air, his tears of guilt filling my ears, my voice cracking under the pressure of keeping calm.
I lost myself.
