By Adeline Murphy
I was sitting on my boyfriend’s bed playing Candy Crush, as he sat at his desk typing up an essay. I practically lived with him at this point, because he had a single. We were very much in the “honeymoon phase," so being together and alone were the two most important criteria. He was also my closest friend on campus, because ever since we had become an item, the girls in my friend group had become distant towards me. I couldn’t figure out why, but I was hoping it was just a brief phase because, having only been on campus for two months, I didn’t know many other people.
“Jake, are you coming with me and the girls to get ice cream?” I asked.
“You mean the girls and I? And no, I don’t want to miss the beginning of the Wild game,” he replied, as he got up from his chair to kiss me.
This was kind of a tradition between us, because after he obnoxiously made the same grammar correction over and over again, we agreed that every time I said “and me," instead of “and I," I would have to kiss him. Of course, it wasn’t a great incentive because I loved kissing him. I loved him or at least was in the process of falling in love.
This time a little peck turned into a full-blown make out session. He joined me on the bed with his arms around me as his hands slowly migrated from my waist to the back pockets of my jeans. It was nice. We were both having fun.
But I knew I couldn’t let myself get completely lost in the moment. I kept glancing at the digital clock on his microwave, knowing that I had to meet up with Marie to walk to the ice cream place in a few minutes. But, before I knew it, he was sliding his hands under my jeans' waistband.
“Stop,” I said with a giggle, trying to avoid being turned on in an ice cream parlor.
He took his hands back out of my pants and our make out session continued. But seconds later he slid his hand back into my pants and down my underwear.
“Stop,” I said more firmly this time, as I grabbed his hand and put it back on my waist.
Again, he removed his hand and then seconds later he was forcing it under my clothes again.
“Stop!” I said, slightly irritated, physically moving his hand again.
This continued again and again. It was the same every time. He would take his hand out of my pants after several moments of my insistence, but it kept managing to snake its way back down there. I would protest and temporarily, he would grudgingly comply, until he decided again that I didn't really mean it. I felt out of control. The shock seemed to paralyze my body, as if I was outside of myself watching it happen. As he grabbed the back of my neck to keep kissing me, I let him, still paralyzed with shock and confusion. When his fingers did make it down there they stung as they pushed inside me. He knew that I was a virgin and being fingered was sometimes painful, but it was as if he couldn’t hear me telling him to stop or feel me pushing his arms away from me. He pressed harder causing a sharp pain that jolted me out of my trance.
“Stop!” I repeated again, instinctively pushing his hand away.
Shoving his body away from me, I jumped off the bed. Looking again at the microwave clock, I could see that I was running late to meet Marie at this point. I sat down on the floor, trying to lace up my Converse as quickly as possible.
“See you in a bit,” Jake said from his bed as I got up to go.
“Yeah,” I replied without looking back.
Upon meeting up with my friends, I didn’t mention a thing to them. I wasn’t sure of what had just happened and knew that they were just as good of friends with Jake as they were with me, if not better. I didn’t know how they would take it. I just did my best to engage in conversation and not think about it. But my mind kept wandering back to what had just happened. My sweet, kind, considerate boyfriend had just… I don’t know. At the very least he had ignored me. By the time I had gotten back from Justine’s, I had made up my mind that I would bring it up to him.
When I got back to Jake’s room he was still typing his essay with the Wild’s game in the background. I sat on his bed again and he got up to sit next to me.
“How was the ice cream?” he asked.
“Fine,” I said, staring blankly at the TV.
After a long silence he asked me if I was okay. I kept staring at the TV, feeling an odd combination of nervousness and numbness.
After a long pause I said, “Did you not hear me asking you to stop?”
"No,” he replied after a long pause, making that awkward toothy grimace that people make when they tell someone they’re invited.
There was another long pause and we both went back to staring at the TV.
Finally I ended the silence by saying, “Go ahead and work on your essay; it’s fine.”
I watched Jake rotate between typing and checking the score, still feeling numb, but also heavy, like I wanted to cry but couldn’t. I let myself fall back onto the pillows as I replayed the incident in my head, trying to make sense of it. As I lay there, not coming up with any good answers, the heavy feeling became more and more oppressive, as if I were weighted down to his bed. Noticing how upset I looked, he eventually came back over to comfort me.
“What’s wrong?” Jake asked.
“I just feel… confused,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the TV.
He moved closer to put his arms around me and rubbed my back, seeming at a loss for words.
“I mean… like… why didn’t you stop?” I asked after another long silence.
“Because you laughed and kept kissing me.” He said.
“Yeah. The first time.”
“You’re right. That’s valid. I need to just to stop as soon as you say stop. I need to just stop no matter what. That’s on me. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” I said, staring at my hands.
“I hate that I made you feel this way, especially because you know how I feel about this stuff. I mean, I stopped watching the Wilds for this, that’s how much I care," he said, referring to his gentlemanly ways. He was one of the most considerate guys I’d ever dated, constantly checking in with me and making sweet little romantic gestures. I started to feel guilty. Like it was my fault.
“So it was just a miscommunication, then?” I asked.
“Yeah, I mean… you did keep kissing me and…”
So it was me then. He would never do anything to hurt me. He couldn’t.
“I feel like it’s my fault. Like I give out all these mixed messages.” I said.
“Well then we can work on that,” he said, stroking my hair.
He gave me a quick hug and kissed me on the cheek. I remembered how he would jokingly call me a tease, whenever I wasn’t getting straight to the point when we would hook up. He knew it bothered me, but he always told me that it wasn’t a bad thing and he thought it was hot, so I let it go. But maybe this is what he meant?
“I just have one last question and I promise I’ll never bring it up again. You thought when I was pushing you away and telling you to stop that I was just teasing you?”
“Well I wouldn’t use that word, but I mean you are a bit of a tease sometimes.”
I never did bring it up again to Jake or anyone else. I still cared about him and kept pushing that event to the back of mind for the rest of our relationship. I kept telling myself that it was just a little miscommunication and I had brought it on by sending him mixed messages. Still, I was unable to reconcile that night with the sweet natured guy I knew. I became distant and then he became distant and our relationship fizzled out in a couple weeks. But even after we broke up, I still thought about it all the time. I knew enough about consent to know that he had crossed some boundaries, but I kept telling myself that it was at least partly my fault. I felt violated, but I also felt like I wasn’t entitled to feel that way.
I didn’t want to make any accusations; I just wanted to talk it out with someone, but I knew that I probably I was afraid of how people would respond. He was more popular on campus than I was and everyone seemed to think that he was the sweetest guy. On top of that, as I had feared, our mutual friends ditched me and stayed friends with Jake after we broke up. I felt more isolated and powerless then ever. I later found out that he was telling people that we broke up because I went crazy. That sealed the deal for me. I couldn’t say anything without looking like the crazy vengeful ex-girlfriend. I began to withdraw and spent more and more time in my room. Just leaving to go to class or get food caused me severe anxiety. I began to lose touch with the few friends that I had and was missing class more and more. After I missed two tests in a row, my Dean recommended that I make an appointment with a counselor.
While talking to my school’s psychologist, I finally got a safe space to tell my story and get unbiased answers to my questions. Months after that night, with distance from the relationship and a more objective view, I can see that it was not my fault. I got out of the situation before it escalated. He didn’t pin me down or rape me, but consenting to kissing does not constitute consent to any other sexual act. When he did something I was not comfortable with, I clearly and repeatedly told him to stop and he didn’t. He took away my agency over my own body and violated my trust. It was not a miscommunication and I am not a tease. It was sexual assault and I am a survivor.
I did stay in the relationship after the assault occurred, but relationships and feelings are complicated and messy, even when it comes to sexual assault. I hope that sharing my story can help girls in similar situations. Guilt and self-blame are common reactions to sexual assault, especially if the perpetrator was someone you knew well or even loved. I wish that I’d known that it’s okay to be unsure of how to identify your experiences. You are entitled to feel whatever way you feel.
I also wish I’d known that you have the right to decide how your body is treated and if anyone violates this right, you are allowed to talk about that experience. Telling people about what happened to you is very scary, especially if your perpetrator holds power over you, socially or otherwise, but there are resources on every college campus that allow you to talk to someone confidentially, without reporting anything. I can say for myself that just telling a professional exactly what happened, and hearing them say that I was sexually assaulted and that it wasn’t my fault helped so much. I am still struggling with depression and in the process of building a support network and feeling comfortable on campus again. I know dealing with it is a longer process, but stepping out of the guilt and telling my story is my first step towards healing.