It was my freshman year of college and we had been set up for a function. I hadn't met him until that night. I remember being with my friends at a pre-party, but the rest only comes back to me as snapshot memories, frozen pictures of a silent movie. I still wonder if it's because I was drugged, or because my brain is blocking out the trauma. It's an answer I may never have and I haven't quite come to grips with that yet.
Snapshot #1: a bathroom stall. I think he was kissing me and had his hand up my dress.
Snapshot #2: laying on a futon. He walks his naked body toward a closet.
Snapshot #3: a desk. He is on top of me.
Snapshot #4: I am walking down a sidewalk, away from his dorm room. He is next to me. It is November and I am cold. I tell him I'm fine. I am going to find my friends. I want him to go away, I think.
Snapshot #5: laying on an ottoman. I am in a house with my friends now. It's a small group of us and he does not know any of them. So why is he is still here? He tries to kiss me. I turn my head.
Snapshot #6: It is the next morning. I am standing next to my desk with pain like I hadn't felt before, the aftermath of my body tensing to reject its intruder. I am looking at a text on my phone, "please don't tell anyone about last night. I don't normally do that kind of thing."
Snapshot #7: I am in the bathroom. I wash.
He texted me in March of that year and told me he thought about that night all the time. We had never spoken or seen each other in the days in between. What a privilege that he couldn't forget what I had been dying to remember.
It has been three years and I still cringe at his sight; the very look of him brings bile up my throat. I try to never look at his face. I learned last year that he told his pledge class in his fraternity that I was a "freak" and we "fucked three times." Did I ask him to continue? Better yet, did I ask him to begin?
Maybe one day my pictures will turn with motion and the noises be restored to this silent film.