Was I Raped?

It was past my little brother's curfew. The street lights had been on for almost an hour; he knew to be home before they turned on. I was in charge. I was supposed to make sure that he was okay. I had called my parents—my stepfather, too. I was frantic. My stepfather had made it home first, then both of my biological parents. We organized a search throughout the neighborhood and any of his friends' houses that were close by. Being that I was seventeen and had my own vehicle, I desperately wanted to search with them. Instead, they told me to stay in case he arrived home. I was to call one of them immediately if he did.

Within thirty minutes of all of the adults in our lives departing to search for him, he came stumbling through our kitchen door. He looked like he had been through a tornado. His hair was sticking up in every direction, with some type of thick substance through it. His face was dirty and starting to bruise. His clothes were ripped and filthy. I immediately ran to him, thinking that he had wrecked his bike or fallen. He informed me that a group of his "friends" had beaten him up for drug money. Keep in mind that these were fifteen and sixteen-year-old males.

As I examined him more closely, I realized that the substance in his hair was human feces. Actual human feces. I started to cry, trying to pull it out with my hands. He stopped me and asked me to help him clean up before I called any of the adults. It took me a long time to get all of the feces out of his hair, and the dirt off of his face. He told me through clenched teeth that they had used a dirty plunger on his head while beating him. The irony was that he had no money.

Time went on, as it does. Months passed without another mention of the incident. My brother had started dating a girl that I did not know, but I quickly learned that she was the younger sister of one of the boys that had attacked him. I was concerned, obviously, but my brother insisted that everything was fine. He tried to convince me that they had worked things out and that he was only cordial to her brother because that was what his girlfriend wanted.

I didn't buy it. I quickly began to infiltrate myself into their social circle. I came to understand that this group of individuals were capable of just about anything in order to get money for drugs or alcohol, and they could still target my brother if the opportunity arose. I felt desperate. I started supplying the leader of the group with money. If I didn't have money, I would pawn my possessions or family member's possessions. I made sure that he had anything that he wanted over the course of a few months. Unfortunately, he saw this as affection and not desperation.

It was mid January of 2002, whenever he started to insinuate that we were a couple. He had made it pretty clear to the rest of his posse that I was off limits; not that I would have had anything to do with the rest of them, anyway. I had no interest in him, either, other than keeping my brother safe. I knew that as long as this particular individual was happy with me, he wouldn't convince the others to target my brother, or anyone else, for that matter.

I suppose, at some point, I should have been open with him regarding the fact that I hated his guts. I probably should have been honest and told him that I had no intention of dating him; then or ever. Instead, I did what I thought that I had to do. I felt as though I couldn't turn to any adults because I had stolen from them in order to pawn things. If I went to any of them with the situation that I was in, I would have to confess to all of my crimes. I wasn't going to do that.

By February, it was getting serious. He needed me every day. He needed me financially, for transportation, and sexually. I won't lie to you and say that it was forced, because it wasn't. I consented to having sex with this person throughout this time period. I didn't necessarily enjoy it, it was something else that I did in order to keep him content. In his drug induced reality, I was his girl. He wanted me to stay around so that he had an endless supply of money, rides, drugs, alcohol, sex, etc. He didn't want to upset me. He left my brother alone. That was all I cared about.

It was at about this time that his best friend, whom I considered to be second in command, started to show an interest in me. I'm not sure if it was genuine, or just because he wanted what he couldn't have. The two of them shared everything, with the exception of me. I believe that was the reason why he started to pursue me. I was something that he wasn't supposed to touch, like a child in a glassware shop. Eventually, things will be broken.

Valentine's Day had arrived. My brother had invited his girlfriend over to our house for the afternoon. My mother and stepfather were both working, so again, I was in charge. Whenever the girlfriend's brother learned that we were without parental supervision, the entire group of guys invited themselves over. Of course, they brought alcohol and drugs. At this time in my life, I had never touched a drug, and I didn't intend to that day, either. I had, however, drank lightly. I was surprised whenever the ring leader and his second in command offered me my very own bottle of vodka as a Valentine's Day gift.

"We thought that you deserved something for Valentine's Day!" they proudly boasted. I was completely shocked. In all of the months that I had been putting on this charade, they had never once given me anything. Not one time had either of them offered me a single dime for gasoline or anything else. This was a milestone in our "relationships." I was so shocked that I immediately went to open it and realized that the seal had already been broken. Honestly, I didn't think much about it. They were both prone to drinking, so I just assumed that "my" gift had been taste tested and asshole approved before it was delivered. I took two shots.

That was all I remembered whenever I woke up hours later, in my bathtub, fully dressed. My pants were inside out. My brother and his girlfriend were standing outside of the bathtub trying to coax me into getting back out.

"You have to sober up!" my brother kept shouting. "Michael is on his way home!" (stepfather)

After more coaxing and a lot of assistance, I managed to get out of the tub. The girlfriend helped me change into dry clothes. I had never in my life been so intoxicated, and I couldn't fathom how I had ended up this way. Seeing the empty vodka bottle on my desk reminded me. I must have drank the entire thing! But how? I didn't remember drinking anything after the second shot.

My brother walked me around our neighborhood for a long time trying to sober me up. It didn't work. I ended up in my mother's living room surrounded by every adult in my life, and my brother. Everyone was asking me where I got the alcohol, how much I had drank, why I had drank it. I couldn't answer them. I couldn't hold my head up for long, so conversing was out of the question. Thankfully, they finally let me go to bed.

The next morning I woke up and was drawn to the vodka bottle. I still could not believe that I had drank the entire thing alone. I opened it slowly, thinking that the smell of the alcohol would probably intensify the nausea that was rolling through my stomach. It didn't smell like alcohol at all; actually, it smelled like dish washing liquid. Someone had washed this bottle out before putting the lid back on it and setting it on my desk. I knew that I would not have done that, regardless of how intoxicated I had been.

I dressed and went to the home of my gift giver. He was happy to see me, immediately teasing me for going "two rounds" with him and his bestie. He made jokes about how I had screamed so loudly that they had to put their fists into my mouth to muffle the sound so that my brother didn't hear me. He congratulated me for being able to handle all of that sex, because there had been girls in the past that couldn't. I wanted to vomit. I became furious. "You AND ______ had sex with me? Did either of you use protection?" I screamed. I was irate.

"Yes, we both had sex with you. Don't get so worked up, you enjoyed it. No, we didn't use protection—we were too high to think about it!"

Again, he was boasting. He was proud. I stormed out of his house and drove directly to the medical clinic. I was going to storm right in there, report a rape, and get the morning after pill. I was going to get tested for any and all diseases. I was filing a police report.

I walked inside of that clinic ashamed. I barely spoke, and when I did, they couldn't hear me. I said that I had been irresponsible and had unprotected sex with someone. I requested the morning after pill. I requested an STD test. The doctor who did the vaginal exam kept looking into my eyes, and asking me repeatedly if I had been assaulted. The nurse that was attending kept squeezing my hand, pleading with me to just tell the truth. I repeatedly denied it. I walked out of that office with the medication that I needed and my head down. I never went back, but they called a few days later to notify me that there had been unusually high levels of Xanax in my system. I had never taken a Xanax before.

I never contacted either of them again, and they never tried to contact me.

Years later, life had moved on. I had found myself in a long term relationship, and so had he (ring leader). Every once in a while I would see him in town, but we never spoke. I kept what had happened to me a secret for a long time. I knew that he had married a single mother and was raising her daughter. I knew that I had a responsibility to tell this woman what she was dealing with. I didn't do it.

Eventually I confided in a friend who did. Whenever this woman called me, demanding to know if her husband and his friend had raped me, I froze. This was the moment that I had been dreading for a long time.

"He's raising my daughter..." She pleaded.

"I suppose it depends on your definition of rape. Somehow I ended up so intoxicated that I couldn't remember having sex with either of them, but they claim that I did. I believe that I was unconscious due to the high amount of Xanax that was found in my system. I have never taken Xanax willingly a day in my life."

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, sighing loudly, she said to me, "Oh! Well, that's happened to all of us!" and politely got off of the phone with me.

So I'll leave it up to you. Perhaps I was raped. Perhaps I wasn't. What I do know is that I was drugged with Xanax that had been mixed into a bottle of Vodka that was miraculously washed out later to eliminate any evidence. Over the years, memories have flooded back to me. Sometimes it's almost like a Post Traumatic Stress event, sometimes it's just something that comes in a dream. The memories that I have been able to recall solidify my opinion that I was raped. No one consents to a sexual encounter and then has to be forcibly held down because the pain is too intense to bear.

These were people that I knew. People that I believed that I could handle. I sincerely thought that I was in control of the situation. I was not. Hopefully someone sees this and realizes that they are not really in control, either. Hopefully they get away from the danger before the danger overtakes them.