June 28th 2018
The day you tried to rape me.
It’s now been 4 months since the incident and I am still haunted and broken by your sharp, rough hands scraping against my body. You sat beside me and started talking to me, about your children, career, and how old you daughter is. She was 5. You offered bringing me drinks, sometimes 2 at a time, and you knew I was vulnerable. You knew saying “cheers” would slowly yet surely get me intoxicated to forget what you were about to do to me. Half way through the night you expressed to everyone your desire about having passionate loving sex. I wasn’t sure why you had brought it up, but you did it anyways.
I remember your cold hands trying to unbutton my shirt and how I quickly ran into the dark ocean trying to avoid you touching me. As my memories slowly fade, I remember you forcing yourself on me, trying to take off my underwear. I was frozen, and every time you grabbed my leg to pull me closer, I grabbed someone close to me and pulled myself into them. All I wanted to do was lay in the ocean finding the beautiful constellations and wishing someone was here to save me. No one saved me that night.
I ran out of the cold ocean, grabbed my clothes and started running and screaming. I locked myself in the bathroom for 3 hours, then showered to get the feeling of your hands still on me off. I’ll never forget that day, but I know you have. But maybe one day, when your daughter cries to you that a man touched her, you’ll think of me. The girl 12 years younger than you that you tried to rape. You’ve drained my soul, and now i’m empty inside.
