(Trigger warning – rape)
I said, “Yes” when he asked if I would go to prom with him. I was still in grade ten, so I was thrilled to be invited to a graduation party before it was my time. I thought we were going as friends.
I should have known.
I didn’t think of what prom meant to some people. I was blissfully unaware that prom night had a significance beyond being about graduation.
I was naive.
I chose a dress that flattered my lithe teenage figure. I danced like I had had twelve years of dance training and showed up the other girls on the dance floor. I could feel the boys watching me. Maybe even lusting after me. I was flattered when my date wouldn’t let others near me.
I brought it on.
I happily accepted swigs from his secret flask. I coiled back when I felt the hot taste hit my palette. It was something powerful and straight up. I had never had alcohol that wasn’t sweet and mixed with something even sweeter. I felt grown up and tried to be mature about the new adventure.
I wanted to be accepted.
Parts of the evening after that became a haze. I was at a party in a nearby hotel at one point. In a car shortly after that when my date said the party was boring. I recall going to a basement apartment and kissing this older boy. It was thrilling. I had never been kissed like that before. It was intense and forceful. I was new to the dating game and completely lost in the moment. What was I supposed to do with my tongue?
I must have wanted it.
We were on the bed. The linens were white and blinding. I mumbled something and heard the noise of opening of a package which I assumed was snacks. I took the opportunity to have a nap while I lay starfished on the comfortable bedding.
I was naked.
I awoke to the pain. The pain of something foreign inside me. It took me a moment to remember where I was and who I was with even though he was right in front of me. His eyes were closed, and his face seemed like he was concentrating.
I wanted to scream, “No.”
I writhed and cried out in pain. It only made him look satisfied, and he worked harder. I lay there afterward in a ball. Blood was all over his white sheets, and he was saying something that sounded like, “I’m sorry.” I was floating in the room watching the scene unfold.
It was my fault.
The hickey on my neck was apparent. My father had noticed it before I did. Grounded. I had never been disciplined like that before. But grounding felt good. I deserved it, and I could use it as an excuse to stay in. An excuse to curl up on my comfortable pink sheets and cry. Cry for the loss of me.
I grounded myself.
I didn’t go to parties after that. I didn’t dance and I didn’t drink. I curled into a ball whenever I could. I poured myself into my school work instead of a cocktail. I ignored the stares in the hall. They all knew I wasn’t whole anymore so what was the point of acknowledging them. I heard the rumors. The rumors that I would put out. I saw the boys, from the corners of my eyes, spying me. They were salivating and wondering who would be next.
I did put out.
I didn’t dance at my prom. I didn’t even go. I knew already how it would end. I chose, instead, to stay at home in the safety and comfort of my family. Surrounded by love and reassurances that my marks were what was important. They told me prom was just a party.
Prom was more than that.
They say you never forget your first. I had imagined a beautiful night of love and gentle caressing. Shared tears and lingering kisses. Snuggles and gentle reassurances of safety and admiration. That will never happen for me now.
I can’t forgive myself.
I will always remember my first.
