(This story was originally published in issue 5 of the school year 2016-2017)

November 27, 2013. 2:13 a.m.
I remember the day like it was yesterday. Technically, it was Thanksgiving, but what happened to me that early morning was nothing to be thankful for.
The night before the incident, I was spending the night with my best friend. She had been my best friend for a long time, and her 17 year old brother was like my own. After my best friend fell asleep, her brother texted me to join him in the living room to watch a replay of an NBA basketball game that was on earlier that night.
As a 12 year old girl, I had never had my first kiss. All of my friends had, but I hadn’t, and I didn’t want to be the odd one out. This is a silly reason to want a kiss, but it’s what 12 year old me wanted. With this is my mind, when he asked if he could kiss me, I agreed. He turned the kiss into a gross, saliva-filled makeout session and I didn’t know what was happening. His hand kept finding it’s way to my body even after my continuous pushing it away.
I thought that when I continued to push his hand away he’d stop. I was so ignorant about kissing that I didn’t know his actions didn’t belong.
I soon found that was not the case, so I walked out of the living room. I went back to my friend, to find a confidante, but she was in a deep sleep. So I sat by myself, receiving text after text from her brother, saying he was sorry and that he’d stop. Sadly, I believed him.
I walked back to the living room, sat in a wheely chair far away from him, and watched the basketball game. A few minutes later, my best friend stumbled in the room half-asleep, talking gibberish.
Her brother sent her back to bed.
Then he stared at me.
In a state of blur, he ended up on top of me, with his tongue forcefully down my throat and his hand on my body. This time since he was on top of me, I tried to push him off with my forearms but he had an advantage of being so much bigger than me.
Eventually I made up my mind that letting him do what he wanted would be faster than struggling.
That was a mistake though, because he did not stop, he just kept going farther. But this time I couldn’t get up. I anxiously whispered, “Stop,” and tried to push him off again, but neither worked. I remember trying to protect myself from him and his hands with my hands, and quite frankly everything else, but it just didn’t work.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t talk, I just stiffened up. If someone was to ask me what exactly happened in that moment, I wouldn’t be able to tell.
He only stopped when my friend stumbled into the room again. I ran to my friend’s bedroom and sat there. I was trying to take in what had just happened and I felt disgusted with myself. If I hadn’t of gone back then it wouldn’t have happened.
He didn’t text me sorry. Instead he texted me, “If you don’t come back in here I’ll carry you myself.”
I didn’t go back. He didn’t try to come carry me either. Around 7 that morning I called my mom and told her to come get me ASAP. She did, and I refused to spend the night at my friend’s house ever again.
But that was far from the end. Every time I invited my friend to my house, her brother would refuse to let her come over, instead he insisted I go to their house. I never went back. He’d offer to give me rides home from track practice, but I would refuse. I would’ve rather walked home.
What he did to me is something that nobody should ever have to experience. He ruined my confidence. He crashed my happiness.
I believed that what happened was my fault because I let him go farther than I intended. Only recently am I able to feel like I can be in a relationship without thinking about my significant other hurting me like my friend’s brother did.
Today, my mom, friends and now everyone reading this piece knows my story. The boy who sexually assaulted me is now happily engaged. Every now and then I look through his Instagram. Even after all these years he’s never apologized.
While writing my story, I’ve thought about going completely anonymous, I’ve thought about it a lot. I’ve been told there will be people who make fun of me, judge me and everything in between. The point of this focus though is to show that we can’t be afraid. We shouldn’t be.
To everyone who has been sexually assaulted: It’s not your fault.
No means no. No doesn’t mean “Convince me.”