I woke up in the middle of the night. I was still in the sleeping bag on the floor of my cousin Stacey’s room. She was still sleeping next to me. But something was different, something wasn’t right. Within seconds, I could hear two older male cousins whispering in the doorway of the bathroom that joined their room to Stacey’s. I fell back asleep.
When I woke the next time, one of my male cousin’s breath was hot on my neck. I reached down and realized my panties were at my knee. I shut my eyes tighter and tried to pull them up. He wouldn’t let me. He whispered as he groped me. As he groped me, I convinced myself that I could fake sleep. It didn’t work…and over the pounding of my heart I managed to say, No. Please, stop.“
In retribution for saying no, in the weeks and months after, my male cousins called me a slut, made references to my body, giggled and threatened with plans for what they would do to me next.
Terrified, I never told anyone. And when my parents sent me to Stacey’s to spend the night, I would go without argument because I was so afraid of talking with anyone about what happened. My cousin’s words worked–I thought everything that happened was my fault. I would go, but I demanded to sleep in the bed. And I would stay awake all night with my arms clutching the blankets around me in complete terror. Each night the oldest boy (17) would slowly belly crawl into the room, lie on the floor next to my bed, and whisper horrible, disgusting things to me (“I know you think you’re too good for me…”) while I silently wept and prayed for the night to be over.
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