Stop

In their lifetime, one in six women will be the victim of a rape or an attempted rape. We're all aware that it happens, but it's one of those things we push to the back of our minds. We tell ourselves it won't happen to us or to anyone we know. We pretend that it's something that only happens to girls who put themselves into dangerous situations and we ignore the fact that 47% of rapes are committed by someone the victim knows.
But what about when the person who tries to rape you is your best friend? What about when it's a typical Friday night and he had a little too much to drink and he doesn't hear you every time you say no? What about when he says everything right--all the sweet, amazing things you'd love for someone to say to you--but it doesn't matter because he's only saying it to get laid?
Last night by best friend almost raped me. I should be a frantic, exhausted, disheveled mess, but I'm okay. And this isn't the first time this has happened. I'm usually modest, but I'm not so naive that I think I'm ugly. I know that most people think I'm pretty and that can be a bad thing. I'm lighthearted, fun-loving, and most importantly, one of the guys. Except I'm not.
In high school I had a friend who tried to take advantage of me at a sleep over while two of our friends were sleeping on the couch. She was a marine in training and much stronger than I was and it was terrifying. I remember fighting with her while she was on top of me and I was trying to push her off. One of my friends woke up and thwarted her attempts. I went home, I let a few weeks pass, and we resolved our issues with minimum psychological scarring.
Last night was different. I had gone out with coworkers for drinks and so when L picked me up I was already a little tipsy. Our plan was to drink away the troubles of finals and the work week, so we stopped at 7-11 to get more beer and then we went back to his house. I didn't think much of it when he locked the door to the den because his nephews live with him and we usually lock it when we're drinking. By the time I finished my second beer I was pretty drunk and I pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and started to doze off. I heard L mumble something about the wifi being bad and Netflix not working and then I felt him move next to me. I assumed we were just cuddling which wasn't something unusual. And then I felt his lips on my cheek. I made some sort of tired sound of protest and covered my face with the blanket while he proceeded to whisper in my ear that I was really pretty and that he really liked me.
Over the last couple of weeks I had kind of gotten the impression that he was interested in me, but I didn't think he would ever try anything. He is one of my ex's best friends, and he's one of my best friend's ex. The whole night is foggy thanks to the alcohol, but I remember most of it. I remember that at some point he started kissing my neck and no matter how many times I told him no, it felt good and I hated that. At some point he got my bra and my shirt off and managed to hold me down long enough to get his off. I figured it would stop at making out. That I could live with. I was drunk and he wasn't a bad kisser. But then he tried to take off my pants and he started touching me and I begged him to stop, telling him it was a bad idea. I didn't want to enjoy it. Physically I wanted it. My body was responding to his advances whether I wanted it to or not. Emotionally though, I needed him to stop. I would push him away and look him in the eyes long enough to ask him to stop. I told him we couldn't do this and it was a bad idea and his friends would never forgive him. He said he didn't care; that I was all that mattered. He just wanted me, we could be great, and that he needed me just for the night. I said no, and tried to pull away, but his lips were on mine again before I could think of anything else to say. He was on top of me, hot breath trailing down my neck, and somehow my legs found their way around him. I didn't want to do this.
I thought he was going to give up until he said that he wanted to make sure I got off first because he only had one condom and he wasn't going to last very long. I think I tried to burrow into the couch at that point. I tried to reason with him and beg him to stop and he just wouldn't listen. I managed to excuse myself to the bathroom and then create distance when I got back. When he tried something again I was sober enough now that I stood up, but on my shoes and told him I wanted to leave.
I don't remember the car ride home, I just remember sitting on the floor of my shower with a water bottle, exhausted after i got home.
He sent me a text apologizing. He said he understood if I was furious and never spoke to him again. But he is my best friend and after some time we'll figure things out.
The worst part is that I feel like this was partially my fault. My words were true. I said I didn't want it. But my body kept telling him otherwise. I was leading him on and it was out of my control. But I didn't provoke it or ask for it. I was wearing a long-sleeved sweater, a scarf, jeans, and boots. The same thing I'd worn to work--not at all provocative.
The point I guess I'm trying to make is that everyone needs to be reminded that stop means stop and no means no.