The other side of the rape culture.
Sometimes I wonder if she thinks of me. My accuser. Since I have never talked to this girl sober, I wonder if she even remembers my name, if she looked me up on Facebook again and again, or felt afraid to run into me on campus. More often than not, I tell myself that she wanted it, but her words still echo in my head. And it’s not just hers.
I was sexually assaulted my junior year of high school. It was at a house party, I was drunk, and a girl sort of fell on top of me and started grabbing at the fabric under my jeans. Even in my belligerent mindset it felt uncomfortable and I wanted her to stop- we were outside on the patio for god’s sake- but she didn’t. She was just as drunk as me, with something to prove to her friends, to herself…
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