Ashland is sure when people hear her story they’ll wonder how she could or why she would ever have anything to do with Jim after that night in his Jeep. She doesn’t blame them. If she were on the outside looking in, she’d probably be thinking that too. It’s always easier to dictate how someone else should’ve handled certain situations when you’ve never walked in their shoes. We tend to judge others more harshly for their actions than we do our own. It’s a big part of why so many women stay quiet after experiencing sexual assault or abuse. The fear of what someone else will say or what they will think of you turns your tongue into lead and keeps you silent. Every time you question yourself, wondering if it was something you’d done to cause what happened or if things really happened the way you remember, you know that other people will be asking those same questions and more.
She wishes there was a simple answer, a way for her to explain why she continued her friendship with Jim or why she didn’t tell anyone. The truth is, she can’t answer because she doesn’t know why. There were so many contributing factors. Fear of what would happen if she spoke up, uncertainty of her memory given her drunken state, guilt from knowing that she wanted him to notice her that night, blame for not telling her sister the moment he acted inappropriately. There’s also one other thing, one that’s hard to admit even to herself—she didn’t want to lose him. She knows now that all the good stuff wasn’t real, that he was simply grooming her for the terrible things to come—earning her trust and loyalty to ensure she wouldn’t tell on him. At the time, though, she wanted so badly to believe he cared for her as fiercely as he pretended to.
That’s what made their next encounter possible—the night he not only crossed the line but erased it completely. They’d all gone out to dinner that night, her sister, Jim, a couple of their friends, and Ashland. It was something that had become a weekend ritual, and she was so excited to be included in her sister’s circle of friends. They were never all that close when they were kids. In fact, there were times when her sister was downright cruel to Ashland. Part of it was your typical older sister stuff, but Ashland suspects her sister resented her a little too for getting to live with their dad. By the time Ashland’s sister was a teenager, they rarely spoke, but at this point, it finally felt like they were sisters.
Throughout dinner, Jim was much more brazen than normal. He kept finding reasons to touch her and whisper things into her ear.
“You look so beautiful tonight.”
“You smell fucking heavenly.”
Her stomach was so twisted in knots that she barely touched her dinner. The air was so thick with his intentions that she couldn’t breathe. He no longer felt the need to be careful or coy with her because he knew he had her right where he wanted her. She not only kept her mouth shut after what happened in the Jeep, but she continued as if he hadn’t pinned her down in his Jeep and nearly raped her. Now, if she were to tell someone, they wouldn’t believe her. Why would they? Who continues to be friendly with someone after they assault them?
So, as they left the restaurant, when he whispered in her ear that he wanted to come over later that night, she knew what it meant. He was aware that she’d be alone again—that there would be no one to protect her or stop him. Her head was spinning as she climbed into the back seat of his Jeep, every part of her screaming to save herself, but she did nothing.
That ride home is burned into her memory—the way the night air felt on her skin as it blew around her, how her seatbelt seemed to get tighter with each minute that passed. She even remembers the song that was playing, Incubus’ “I miss you.”
Ashland knows what it’s like to look upon the gates of hell—to be terrified of walking through them and realizing you have no choice. That’s what it was like that night for Ashland, looking into his eyes as he stared back at her through the rearview mirror. The devil himself was beckoning her to the fire, and she knew she was already damned.
When she opened the door for him later that night, he rushed her—his lips on her, his tongue invading her mouth, his hands taking liberties with her most sensitive body parts. The message was clear, he wasn’t asking permission anymore.
There were no tears, no pleas for him to stop. He didn’t physically harm her at all. She can’t even say that she was fearful. There was only numbness. She didn’t fight him off when he touched her, and she complied when he instructed how and where he wanted her to touch him. It was as if she turned off the parts of herself that made her who she was and all that remained was a mechanical machine.
Though he checked many things off his list that night, he left her virginity intact. She believes that it was another test, one that she tried not to fail. He wanted to see what she’d do—if she’d continue to keep this dirty little secret—before he took things there. But she also thinks he enjoyed playing his games with her, he got off on seeing how far he could bend her will to his.
She wishes she could tell you that things ended there, that she was able to put a stop to it before he broke her. If that were the case, though, you might’ve never known she had a story to tell. If she hadn’t made her war cry loud enough for everyone to hear, you might not even care.