Every now and again the horror movie that was my life begins to play in my mind. There are no particular triggers. I am unsure from where the thoughts come, but they come and linger for awhile, then disappear as abruptly as they came, leaving my wounds somewhat open and my mind aware of everything around me.

I do not know why he started, why he did what he did. I know I did nothing wrong, and not once after it was over did I blame myself for what he did to me. I never questioned the reality of what happened: the betrayal of trust, the loss of innocence, a fear of all that was familiar...that was so long ago.

My story starts on a Monday in February 1994, during mid-winter break. I was a senior in high school looking forward to graduation. Early one morning after my mother had left for work and my sister and her friends were asleep in the basement, I greeted my boyfriend at the door. He'd come for breakfast, but he arrived angry and I did not know why. We ended up in my room. I am not sure how it started; I just remember him forcing me to go down on him. He pushed me down onto my bed and violently ripped off my shorts and pushed up my shirt. I was not used to this sort of behavior from him in our year and three months together and was very afraid of what would come next. He slammed himself into me and withdrew, forcing me to go down on him again. I begged him to stop, and he did, just before he ejaculated all over me. He slapped me across the face for crying, but then he apologized.

What made me believe I was worthy of nothing more than I'd gotten? What made me believe I was so low? I walked around on eggshells for the next few weeks, careful and conscious of my every action, word, and breath so as not to upset him again. This was not enough, because one day in gym class my girlfriends and I were gossiping and not paying attention. He watched the teachers comment on our behavior and gave me a silent look that told me I was "misbehaving." Later he said that the physical education teachers would not take him seriously if his girlfriend could not behave in class.

I should not have gone back to my house that day for lunch, but I could not make any excuses; he went with me. Once we arrived, he headed down to the basement. I thought it was strange because he generally did not make himself at home in my house. My mother did not like him and disapproved of our relationship. He and my younger sister disliked each other.

I am not sure how I ended up down there, or why he started, but the next thing I knew, I was on the floor and he was raping me, again. When he was done, he wanted me to call the police but I could not bring myself to do so. He was scared that I would tell somebody and wanted to kill himself. He locked me in the bathroom so I would not see, but my shrieks changed his mind. We went back to school, and I told my guidance counselor what had happened. But when I realized she would call the police, I quickly changed my story and said, "I do not remember saying 'no.'" I told him that I made up a story to the guidance counselor about an argument with my mother. He seemed satisfied.

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