It was the first and only time we ever had sex. He was my boyfriend and I loved him. The thing is, I said ‘no’ and he carried on anyway. In the beginning of it all, in a sick, distorted way, I found myself wondering if I was raped – or raped ‘just a little’?

Questioning the Truth

‘Rape’, the word has the power to send depraved chills through the bones of all who hear it. It is a harsh, rough and ultra-violent word that is not tossed around lightly. I never thought I would find myself in a situation where I would have to spit that word out through burning tears of brutal denial.

The word is so severe that I didn’t want to admit that a person that I loved could have done something so evil and depraved. ‘It was all in my mind.’ ‘It was my fault.’  ‘He only raped me just a little bit.’ This is what I told myself for months.

I pushed aside the truth for so long that one day, in a blurred moment of blazing pain, I bared my soul and said the word for the first time. And in that moment I realised the soul-destroying truth: it wasn’t in my mind, it wasn’t my fault and neither he, nor anyone else, can rape a person ‘just a little bit.’

Friendship and Love

We became friends in high school. We shared our thoughts with each other and bunked class together. I spoke to him about my failed relationship while he spoke about his love of ‘love’ and before we knew it we had grown to become the closest of friends.

There was always an underlying sexual tension between the two of us and I knew that one day our friendship would grow into something much more. I don’t remember when we actually became a couple, quite honestly I don’t even remember the first time that we kissed, but all of a sudden he was my boyfriend and I, his girlfriend.

And my God, was I in love! That fuzzy, warm and irritating high school love.

Loved, Just a Little

Before we had got together I had wondered what it would be like to date him. I romanticised everything about him. How he would be the perfect boyfriend, how he would do anything for me, love me passionately, speak to me deeply for hours on end about life, love and pain and how he would protect me from all that could hurt me... you know, every naive 17-year-old’s fantasy boyfriend.

When we did get together (in matric) he immediately confessed undying love for me. He told me how much he had always loved me and how happy he was that we were finally together. My naive 17-year-old fantasy was becoming my 17-year-old reality. Hah! That didn’t last long.

He was a selfish 17-year-old boy and in his list of priorities I featured in the bottom two. But he told me he loved me, so I kept telling myself it was all ok. I loved him with my whole heart, while he loved me, just a little.

Effort, Just a Little

I saw him at school mostly, we spoke on the phone occasionally, he visited my house once in a while and I visited his once in a while. We fooled around, but never once had the topic of ‘sex’ come up, which is actually odd in high school circumstances.

We were in a relationship, but it wasn’t like the relationship I had previously. In my relationship prior I would see my boyfriend all the time, speak all day and we spent as much time together as possible. This one was different. He put no effort into it and I found myself stuck in a half-hearted relationship.

Then we matriculated and finally it was time for the big matric holiday, the holiday when you say ‘fuck you’ to everyone and do whatever the hell you want. Drink tequila shots until you pass out, smoke a lot of weed and of course, have sex.

Fun, Just a Little

We both hit up the same destination for our matric holiday, where he stayed with his friends and I stayed with mine. I hardly saw him.

But I cared for him deeply. He was never cruel to me at all and when we were together we would have a good time. He was just a selfish young boy who really didn’t know any better. And I was a selfless, stupid girl who didn’t know any better.

Matric Holiday is hazy. What I do recall is alcohol and weed, and I do know that I was in denial over our relationship and I was still romanticizing its perfection. We never had sex that holiday. It was home time and back to reality.

Fooling Around, Just a Little

I went over to his house one night to watch a movie. This was something uncommon; like I keep saying, we hardly saw each other. So going over to his house was quite a big deal. I was excited to spend some time with my boyfriend.

His parents were somewhere in the house but I hadn’t seen them that night. We sat in his living room, awkwardly cuddling on the couch while watching some Harry Potter film. As I’m not the biggest Harry Potter fan (sorry, some may find that blasphemous) I wasn’t all that into the film and he could see that. So we made our way to his bedroom, leaving the film running to no audience.

After having had a few glasses of wine we got to his bed. Lights dimmed, while lying on his bed, music playing, we began fooling around as we always did. I was shirtless and braless but I did have my pants on. He was in his briefs. This is when things become blurry for me.

Raped, Just a Little

He started pulling my pants down and I whispered, ‘no sex.’ He said ok but proceeded to pull my pants down any way. ‘No sex,’ I said again, in a sterner tone, but I had no reason to feel in any way threatened.

Then his briefs were off and my pants were on the floor. Still in my underwear I said again, ‘No sex!’ Then all of a sudden he was inside of me. I whispered ‘no’ a few times but I didn’t want to scream because his parents were somewhere in the house. I tried to push him off of my but to no avail.

I simply gave up. I just lay there. It is all a complete haze... like a shadow in my mind’s eye. I completely disassociated and left my body and let him take over. Then he was done.

Sorry, Just a Little

When he was finished I rolled over onto my side, clutched my legs toward my chest and just lay in his bed, a wounded bird. He got up, got dressed, went to the bathroom and then came back. Without a word, in my existential catatonia, I lifted myself of the bed, found where he had tossed my clothes, got dressed and walked out his room.

He followed me. He touched my arm gently and looked me in the eye. I couldn’t say a word. It was as if a clump of coal had been lodged into my throat. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered tenderly, ‘I’m sorry.’ I just looked through him, I couldn’t move, I didn’t know what to say or do. I was in complete and utter physical and emotional shock.

Then he grew angry, ‘I didn’t do anything wrong,’ the tone in his voice changing, ‘what did I do?’ The only thing I could say was, ‘then why did you say sorry?’ The roles reversed in this moment. He didn’t know what to do or say, he was completely stuck. I saw a fear in his eyes and said, ‘it’s ok, I’m going to go home now.’ He walked me to my car and like a robot I drove home, trying not to remember.

Self-Hate, a lot

I never said a word to anyone about what had happened. For a week I stayed with him and pretended nothing had happened. I didn’t see him in that week though; I just spoke to him through text message.

But I was stuck with this tugging, tearing and searing feeling within me. I couldn’t leave my room for that week. I played the events of that night over and over in my head, trying to figure out if I was in fact raped.

Was it all in my mind? Was I to blame for leading him on? But I did say no! I said no many times! Was it rape? Maybe he raped me just a little because I gave up fighting? I wrestled with these thoughts for a week until I couldn’t stand to even hear his name being mentioned. I called him one night and ended things. I never mentioned what had happened but he knew.

Truth, a lot

It was a few months after the breakup when I found myself sitting in a restaurant with my brother and my mother. The subject of rape came up in conversation, the word I had been trying to keep far away from me. The word I tried to erase from my memory bank.

I just began to cry, sob uncontrollably. The tears just kept coming. We had to leave the restaurant. I got home and confessed all to my family.

‘But I was only a little bit raped,’ I sobbed, ‘it wasn’t brutal or anything.’

And then I heard my mother say through tears, ‘no one is raped ‘just a little’. He raped you. He raped your body and he brutally raped your soul.’

Speak Out

Never doubt yourself. Never second guess anything you have done. I loved this guy and in a warped, sick way, I don’t hate him at all, which I guess, I should; but he hurt me to my core.

Rape does take place within relationships and within marriages; it is not only done by the stranger on the side walk. It’s scary to admit to yourself that someone you love could hurt you – but if they do hurt you, have the courage to speak out, or be left a corpse of who you once were.

Slowly I am picking up the pieces and opening up about it to certain people has helped me get rid of the weight of the pain he caused. I will not let what happened to me break me. No one can break me. He sure as shit can’t.

No one can break your spirit if you don’t let them – not even a little.