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As told to Alexi Chi by a rape survivor and BC student
All of my thoughts are meant to convey one solid message: I'm writing this as a victim of a horrible circumstance; a circumstance that, through therapy, I've realized is not my fault, but one to which I made myself vulnerable and one that I could have, in my opinion, potentially lessened the severity of if I had I taken certain precautions. I hope to instill certain precautionary measures in other females that will result in less pain, suffering and victimization.
I've been an intelligent, sociable girl, a drinker and a partier since high school. I came to Boston College loving life, my friends, and the choice I made to come here. As a very active high school student, athlete, and leader within my community, I found myself with an outrageous amount of free time upon coming to BC. Somewhat as a result of my extra free time, and somewhat because of the drinking culture at BC, but mostly due to my own excessiveness, I started drinking more. I began blacking out, though rarely. Although my drunken behavior was annoying and problematic to my friends on certain occasions, no one found my behavior outrageously out of the ordinary or dangerous enough to confront me about it - I fit in with a good number of the BC freshman class of '08.
My night began pre-gaming in Chevy. I took a few shots while drinking a beer before we went out that night. There was a bar, called the Reel Bar, which is no longer in existence, where we often went because it was the only bar where all freshmen could get in, good ID or not.
We arrived at the bar to a live band and huge crowd of freshmen. I got drinks with my girlfriends and hit the dance floor as normal. After about an hour into the night, I went to get my third drink or so, but the bartender said he wouldn't serve me anymore - rightfully so. I was wasted, I had gotten myself wasted, and I didn't need any more alcohol. I danced for a few more minutes and chatted with some friends, until I saw the manager, Jimmy, at the end of the bar. This guy was "the best" - a real "gem," who coordinated with freshmen BC guys to advertise to BC freshmen to come to the bar.
I went to say hi to Jimmy, and I was introduced to his friend Louis. We chatted quickly and the guys offered to get me a drink. I told them the bartender wouldn't serve me anymore - Jimmy said no problem, he'd get the bartender to give me a drink. Why not? I said. What's one more drink? I chatted with Jimmy for a few more minutes until the drinks came, Louis tapped me on the shoulder and handed me mine - I took it without a care in the world. I chatted with both of them for a few more minutes while I drank the Red Bull and vodka they had gotten me.
The next thing I remember: I woke up naked in a bed, six inches from the ceiling of a room I had never seen. I grabbed myself, realized I was naked, turned to my right and saw a nasty man sound asleep. He had long, curly black hair, and tattoos across his body. I gasped, jumped up, and headed for the side of the bed. I found a ladder leading down from the top of a bunk bed when the man woke and asked me what I was doing. I said "I don't know," jumped down and looked around this foreign room for clothes, anything to cover my naked body.
I could barely walk as I felt a sharp pain run up my thigh and into my hip. My left leg could barely manage a limp and when I turned to examine it I found bruises from my knee to my hip. I found the clothes I had worn the night before, under the bunk bed, covered in vomit. There was vomit all over the bottom of the bunk bed. "Why am I here?" I asked. "Where is my cell phone?" He handed me his phone, I called mine, and found it in the back pocket of my pants, covered in vomit. I asked his name - Louis.
I dressed with tears in my eyes and asked what had happened to my leg and why I was there. He told me I fell off his bed and almost out the window. I asked him to lead me out of the building - I had no recollection of where I was. I asked where the nearest BC bus was - he informed me I was nowhere near BC's campus. He was polite and willing to take me home. He led me down a dark, dank stairway; it seemed more like a warehouse than an apartment building. I was shaking, felt sick and was scared as hell. As we walked to a main street I started talking:
"What happened last night?"
"Don't you remember?"
"No, I have no memory of coming here."
"That's weird, you wanted to come here."
"What did we do when we got back?"
"You don't remember?"
"No."
"That's weird, you wanted to come back to my apartment with me."
"Why did I wake up naked, did we have sex?"
"You don't remember? You wanted to have sex."
(I started to sob.)
"I've never had sex with anyone but my boyfriend before, I wouldn't have wanted to have sex with you."
"Oh, you wanted to, you don't remember?"
"No!"
"I mean you said you wanted to, the video camera too."
"What? What video camera?"
"You asked me to videotape it. I got the whole thing on film."
"I what? I've never videotaped anything, I've only had sex with one person, I have a boyfriend."
"You asked for it."
We walked in silence until we reached Commonwealth Avenue, where he told me to hop on the T.
"All I want is to hop in a cab and go home. There's one."
I jumped in and looked in my pocket; I had no money. Louis gave the cab driver $10 and told him to take me home. I cried the whole way home.
The cab dropped me off at the corner of Kostka Hall and Gonzaga Hall. I didn't have my Eagle ID, and I sat outside Kostka until someone let me in. I ran to the second floor and pounded on my girlfriend's door until she woke up - she opened the door and took me inside. I was bawling and so she had to take me into the hall so that her roommate wouldn't wake up. I told her everything I remembered - she hugged me and told me I was ok, I was back at BC now. Neither of us knew what to do. I offered to go home and sleep, we'd talk about it when I woke. She said to call her as soon as I woke up.
I woke up, called in sick to work and couldn't fall asleep. The next hour was the worst hour of my life. Having broken my red tab months ago, I found myself on the third floor of Gonzaga with my legs hanging out of the window. I stared at the cement floor below, ready to kill myself. I'd never felt so worthless, so abused, so defeated, and so disgusting in my life. I'd rather die than live to explain this to anyone. I almost jumped that day and still, I have no idea what kept me from killing myself.
I called my girlfriend over and we tried to figure out what to do. She talked me down to practical applications. I felt dirty and violated, so we decided a shower would make me feel better. Since I was on birth control we decided my biggest fear was an STD from this guy. Planned Parenthood couldn't give me a test for a month, so we went to BC Health Services, where I had an emergency meeting with an OBGYN. When we met I told her that I might have been raped the night before but I wasn't sure. I wanted an STD test ASAP. She took a swab and checked my bruises for significant damage. Without any immediate results and no fear of bone breakage, she consoled me and gave me some information about who to speak to at BC.
Around early evening I called SANet and was linked with a counselor who spoke to me about what happened. She was a wonderful voice to talk to. I explained what had happened and she suggested that we meet with the Boston College Police Department the next day.
I told the rest of my girlfriends that night, and without their knowing, their support was the reason for my strength during the next few weeks. I've thanked God every day for their love, support, and nonjudgmental attitudes that carried me through the process.
I was in Kostka the night Louis called my phone. How did he get my number? I had called my phone from his phone that morning. He called to see "what was up." I told him I didn't remember anything from the night before and that my friends had told me he raped me. He sounded astounded and said it wasn't rape, "you wanted it." I told him I didn't remember wanting any of it. He said that wasn't true. I told him I never wanted to hear from him again. He said he hoped we could hang out again sometime. I hung up.
My girlfriend walked me to BCPD the next day where we met my SANet counselor for the first time. I was called into a private room with the sexual assault investigator and had to relay every bit of the evening. She explained to me what blacking out meant, but also cited the strong possibility of date rape drugs - but it was too late to test for their presence in my bloodstream now.
She explained his subsequent behavior to me. Repeated offenders often cite the victim's want to have sex, her want to come home, her want to take a videotape. The language was similar to a perpetrator who has done this before. His phone call and walk to the cab was typical, he wanted to seem genuine, concerned, and honestly interested in the female at hand … after all, wouldn't only a nice guy walk a girl home and call her that night to see what's up? She took Polaroids of my bruises - severe black and blue marks that didn't subside for at least two weeks and lumps that didn't disappear for months. She told me that because it was not a BC student and because it did not happen on campus, only Brighton police could handle the investigation. She got in touch with a Brighton police investigator.
I met with the Brighton police investigator at BCPD one afternoon. I brought my jeans in hopes of evidence to find semen on, assuming that he would deny having sex with me. She took my story, I spoke with the BCPD who urged me to tell my parents and I left. At that moment and to this day, I said I would only tell my parents, my boyfriend, and other friends if I knew that I would be able to prosecute Louis. Until I was assured of a guilty prosecution, I would not hurt my boyfriend and family the same way Louis had hurt me.
I was in the middle of a lecture when I got a call from the Brighton police. I rushed out of the lecture hall to receive the call. It was the Brighton investigator, calling to tell me that I didn't have a prosecutable case. She had gone to see Louis, in his apartment, unannounced. The vomit was still all over the apartment. He admitted to having sex with me, but said that I had wanted it, that he didn't know I was drunk and besides, he was drinking too. The investigator told me that it was his word against mine.
The investigator had a stern tone, no sympathy and no understanding.
I spent a few years dealing with the emotional consequences from that night. It took me months to realize it wasn't my fault, and years to understand that I wasn't a worse person for having suffered, but a better and stronger person for having survived. My SANet counselor and BCPD were heroes in ways they have no idea of. They saved me from myself and the torment he inflicted upon me.
I never told my family, my boyfriend, or additional friends, but it was a personal decision based upon the support I already had around me. Most people require the help of their family and, therefore, I would urge most victims, as BCPD urged me, to tell their family and seek familial condolence. However, some victims are lucky enough to have support other than their family and I was one of them. For me, I had an amazing group of girls at school who provided the sort of support I needed. And without the definite ability to punish the perpetrator, I was not willing to subject more family and friends to the pain and victimization I had suffered.
I am now an advocate for victim's rights. I consider myself lucky because those around me convinced me to not let Louis win; he did not dictate my life, my depression, my survival, my social habits, my sexual relations, my confidence or even my drinking habits.
I'm writing my story anonymously today because I can't stand up at Take Back the Night and tell my story alongside the women who have the courage and bravery to speak aloud. Stories and lessons are communicated in personal ways, and I guess this is mine. I'm speaking via this article, to tell the bright, social women who may be similar to me, to be careful. There are so many things that I could have been done differently that night to change the outcome of my story.
I am writing this article today in hopes of portraying that I am an average BC student. I am a bright female with common sense, and I am viewed by my counterparts as competent and independent. Yet, I made foolish mistakes in a drunken state that made me vulnerable to years of turmoil. Please take my advice and prevent these abuses; change the drinking culture at BC. Watch out for yourself and watch out for your friends. Despite my inability to prosecute Louis, I filed an official complaint of abuse, I continue to advocate for victims of abuse, and I hope to pass on practical advice to BC counterparts.
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