#rapestory

Com certeza minha maior decepção com ídolos: Joan Jett.

Em 2015, a ex baixista de sua banda de estreia (The Runaways) conhecida pelo seu pseudônimo Jackie Fox, revela uma história chocante ao público: um estupro.

Sim.

Em 1975, o até então empresário da banda Kim Fowley estuprou Jackie em público, tanto com seu órgão quanto com uma escova de cabelo. No depoimento de Jackie, Joan Jett e Cherie Currie (vocalista) viram a cena.

Cherie afirmou ter visto, tentado fazer algo e quando viu que não sutiu efeito, foi embora. Joan negou estar no local.

Vickie Blue e Lita Ford também comentaram sobre o caso: Vickie afirma que era uma piada recorrente da banda após a saída de Jackie e Cherie o estupro. Lita diz que Jackie nunca mentiria e que acredita fielmente nela, mesmo elas não sendo próximas.

Infelizmente, como Joan Jett é a mais influente de todas as testemunhas, o caso meio que foi deixado de lado e vários fãs não acreditam em Jackie.

Obs: Jackie apenas teve coragem de contar essa história após a morte de seu agressor, então não houve julgamento.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“I think you do,” On the breakfast bar, among the scatterings of junk mail and fast food flyers, there was a single piece of paper. Kyle grabbed the stark white letter weight sheet, “You need me to sign you off this lease.”

Kyle picked up the paper to show her - the bottom blank - sans signature. 

“I’ll sign it,” he told her, but I have some demands.

“Fine,” she agreed, hushed, “I promise, no more Justin, we can date.”

“No,” the tone of his voice slithered sideways, away from the lovesick and devoted facade he had been fronting, “I have a list.” He put the document back down and strode over to the desk where his laptop sat closed. He opened it, after signing-in, the screen opened to a word document with a bulleted list. 

“Come here,” he demanded. 

Anja’s head was floating in a nightmare, unable to feel her feet move.

She read the list. 

Blow Job (at desk, in shower, in car)

69

Shuttle

Reverse Cowgirl

Aquarius

Anal

On the desk

Video...

Anja looked away, nauseated, seething, and unwilling to read further. “You went from wanting to date me... to this?”

“Well I think you’re a liar Anja. You’ve hurt me. So if you’re going to leave I need to get my fill of you so I can move on.”

“You mean your fill of my body,” she bit back, whipping her head to face and glare at him.

His face and body were cold, stone, but his eyes... rabid. 

“Or I could keep you here.”

“I’ve been accepted into that new apartment, I’m just waiting to here that it’s ready.”

“Well go then,” he told her, “But you’ll still owe rent here. My credit score is over 800 it can take the hit, but I know yours can’t.”

“Why are you doing this?” She demanded, “This relationship isn’t working anymore. People break up, Kyle.”

“You moved us out here!” he yelled, “I’m here because of you, because we said we’d be together forever.” He paused, collecting himself, “-You owe me this. And I’m cashing in now. If you want me to sign you off, I get you, when I want you, while you’re here in my apartment. You’re paying rent baby.”

She knew she should leave, but everything that made the space a home was hers and it was all trapped. She was trapped.

“Or I could sign this now and start the eviction process.” He crossed the living room to the sliding glass door on the balcony. “When you leave I don’t want to be reminded of you. If you walk out that door. All of this,” he gestured to the room with his outstretching arm, “Is going out the window. I don’t want to look at it.”

He grabbed the picture of her parents from her father’s college graduation off the bookshelf and held it outside, threatening to drop it to the riverbank below.

“Wait!” she yelled, “Just wait. Let me...let me think. Just give me a day.”

“No,” he told her, “I’m done waiting for you to change your mind. You say this is what you want, now give me what I want.”

“The desk!” she yelled, panicked, “You can fuck me on the desk.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up. Not in a smile or a smirk, just confirmation of a positive outcome...for him. Kyle stepped fully back into the living room and lay the picture face down on the bookshelf, rather than setting it up right on the stand. He closed the door and strode over to Anja. He reached his fingers to her face, trailing the tips across her cheekbone and continuing back to thread through her hair. He forced his mouth on to hers, pushing his tongue between her lips violently. She pushed him away, quickly undoing her belt and pushing down her jeans. She turned to lean over the desk, because she couldn’t face him, she couldn’t look at him looking at her anymore. 

He tugged at the hem of her shirt. “Off he demanded.” 

She shed her black work shirt and bent over the desk, gripping the edge with her hands. She spread her legs, prepared to close her eyes and ride it out.

Kyle stroked her back and she could her the *ching* of his belt buckle grazing the button on his fly as he discarded his pants.

She was Mojave dry. Yet he forced his way in. She was started blankly at the desk as he forced his way in. She was prepared to block it out until she felt him reach his hand past her waist and in front of her.

He was holding his phone. Then she felt the picture memory of the list sear on her mind.

“Video...”

“I think you’ll agree to stacking my demands”

In that moment it had all become too real and Anja allowed herself to panic.

She stared at the camera holding in the tears, choking on emotional release.

It was over quickly. He came on her back and wiped it up with her shirt.

As soon as she was released from his mounting she ran into her room and wept.

There was a mewing at the door.

Anja quieted herself while her she cracked open the door.

Afterwards she fell to the mat on the floor, curling into the fetal position, the small white cat fit himself into her body’s curvature as she cried, loud and ragged.

After half an hour had past she had yet to stop crying, Kyle spoke to her through the door.

“I deleted the video,” he told her. “You kept making strange faces.”

My perspective on my rape has changed so many times over the past year and a half. I’ve gone from being ashamed, afraid, angry, to grateful. And I know that sounds crazy, but let me explain. I would NEVER be grateful for being raped. EVER. IN A MILLION YEARS. But, through my healing process, and through hearing stories of other rapes that have taken place on the news and from other rape survivors just in my own personal life, I realized my situation was lucky in a lot of ways. 

First of all, I was unconscious for the entire thing. I used to feel really ashamed and stupid because I was drugged, but I am so grateful that what happened to me happened in a way that I have no memory of. I don’t have nightmares about it, I don’t see my rapist’s face when I close my eyes. I never had to endure that torture, because I was unconscious. When it first happened, this made me feel like I couldn’t press charges, because what would I say? Yeah, I was raped, I think. I actually don’t know what happened. It also made me really afraid and anxious not knowing exactly what went down that night. It made me angry. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I realized if I had decided to press charges, I would’ve had a case regardless of what I remembered. I had Clonazepam (a known date rape drug) in my system at the hospital, as well as physical evidence and a rape kit (of course, gaining access to the rape kit would involve giving up my identity, but nevertheless, it existed). Even though I didn’t press charges at the time, it feels really empowering knowing that I had a lot of evidence and would’ve had a strong case even without my memory.

I also knew who was involved that night. While I’m pretty sure only one person was involved, it is possible that both of the people I was with were involved. Either way, I know both of these men are STD free, don’t use injectable drugs, I know where they work, who they hang out with, where they live, lots of stuff about them. At first, I didn’t want to know anything about them, in fact I deleted both of them from all of my social media accounts and ended up quitting my job where I worked with both of them. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. But after hearing the most heart breaking, terrifying stories from others who have survived rape, I’ve realized having that knowledge is power. I am so lucky to be able to securely say that I’m safe in terms of diseases or anything physical that they could have given me (aside from a possible pregnancy, that’s another story though). I know where they go, where they work, hang out, who they’re around so any time I’m back in Minnesota I don’t have to worry about running into them. I don’t have to be afraid. And that’s another thing I’m extremely grateful for, this incident happened away from my home, and aside from one of them actually dropping me off on my street the morning after it happened, they don’t know where I live when I’m in Minnesota, they certainly don’t know where I live in Arizona. Neither of them are able to contact me in any way over the phone, social media, they don’t know where I work, where I go to school, who I’m friends with, NOTHING. That’s another thing I was extremely lucky about: My rapist didn’t terrorize me after the fact because they had no means to. I don’t have to feel afraid of him walking up the stairs to my apartment at night, although the experience has made hyper aware of my surroundings and I feel a little wary being alone anywhere at night. But it’s comforting that he specifically will NEVER hurt me again, he will NEVER contact me again, he will NEVER find me again.

Sometimes rapists take a trophy from their victims to relive what happened, or for some other sick reason. The night I was raped my cell phone, credit card, and about $100 cash were stolen. That’s it. Nothing personal of mine in terms of a physical item was stolen, my phone was dead when I lost it, and canceled before anybody had a chance to use it. Even to this day, it still doesn’t come up on FindMyIPhone, nothing. It’s gone. My credit wasn’t used at all before I canceled it. While they walked with my $100 cash, I’m extremely lucky. They didn’t steal anything that would grant them access to my life, or anything that had true value to me. Even if they had tried to use my phone, it had a password. They couldn’t even get into it if they wanted to use it, couldn’t look at my pictures, read my messages, get on my social media, NOTHING. The didn’t take my drivers license to stalk me, they didn’t take an heirloom or expensive piece of jewelry that held meaning to me, or anything creepy like my underwear. They just robbed me of $100, which while that isn’t all they took from me that night, I’m lucky that those were the only items stolen from me.

From what I have pieced together, the coworker who’s house I was at was the one who called an ambulance for me and ultimately saved my life. I don’t know for sure that he wasn’t involved in the rape, although I don’t think that he was, in fact I think that he may have stopped it. In any event, after what happened to me I wasn’t just left to die. I was lucky that night that someone looked out for me and got me to a hospital, as I slipped into a coma at some point that night and probably would not have survived without having my stomach pumped and being on life support. I had physical injuries after the rape, but I had already been punched in the face that night, as well as had obtained injuries from IV’s and paramedics handling my lifeless body, so the bruising I had wasn’t extremely painful or anything. Aside from the obvious physical trauma caused by the rape and the drugs put in my system, I was lucky to have not obtained any worse injuries. I wasn’t stabbed, I wasn’t knocked out physically, I wasn’t beaten, and I’m lucky for that.