It's half past four on a Sunday evening and I'm still in bed. I got up twice. Once to pee and once to get a bottle of water and a cup of applesauce. I plan on getting up again later to make myself a sandwich. Until then, I'm just going to sit here. Lazy shit, right? Well, there's not much else to do. I sure as hell don't feel like being social. Especially after what happened last night. I'm trying to pretend it never happened. Maybe it was all only a dream. I hope to God it was only a dream.
Some fake friends and I went out last night. The reason I call them fake friends is because we're not really friends. They hang out with me because I'm their real friend's roommate. So that kind of sucks in itself. I can't have fun around them unless I'm drunk. So we were drinking.
I'd thrown back three shots and I was feeling pretty damn good. I don't remember how much anyone else had. And I don't really care either. All I cared about was being liked. I wanted everyone to like me. To want me there. That's what I think about when I get drunk. I think about trying to be liked. There is something fucked up in my head that needs to be fixed. I wonder what normal drunk people think about.
Anyway, so when we finished pre-gaming, we walked over to this place and I watched some people play beer pong and later we went back to the room and I mixed vodka with something and drank that. I was pretty wasted. Next, we started walking to God knows where, looking for a party, and I got split up from all my friends. I stayed with this other guy named Jake and we went and met up with a group of kids who lived in a different residence hall. We went in there and I had a beer with a guy whose name I can't remember and some girl who came in the room with us.
I tried to call my friends but it was loud wherever they were so I hung up and went with what I got - an address: 233 Baker Street. Somewhere off campus, I figured. I tried to get those other people to come with me but no one wanted to go off campus. So I went alone. What was wrong with me? Why did I walk around alone off campus?
I couldn't find Baker Street anywhere, I was so drunk. I stumbled around corners, into alleyways, getting myself pretty damn lost when a group of guys strolled up. I asked them.
"Hey! You guys heard of Baker Street?"
"Why you lookin' for Baker Street, girl?" said one of them, big, dark-skinned, dreadlocks down to his shoulders, a hat two times too big for his head.
"There's a party there," I slurred, "My friends are there."
"Baby your friends are right here," he said, and his group circled me and he pulled out a small knife.
"Shit," I said, scared. "Nevermind, guys, I can find it myself I think...I'm just gonna..." I started to walk away, out of the alley, but the guy with the dreadlocks pushed me deeper into it, against a cold brick wall.
"Where you goin' now? Stay here. Party with us..." His breath was hot on my face, smelled like booze, and the blade of his knife was cold against my neck. He pressed a strong, firm hand against my hip and slid it around to my ass, feeling me up. I shuddered and tried to make myself as small as possible, shoving myself against the wall, wincing, tears forming at the corners of my eyes.
"Stop," I croaked.
"Stop?" he said. He turned around and looked at his friends, leaned back and let out a laugh like a Rottweiler's bark. His friends laughed too. He settled down, put his face so his nose was against my cheek and his mouth was barely touching my trembling lips, and he said very calmly, clearly, "No."
And then he shoved his tongue into my mouth, down my throat. I choked and tried to cry but he pressed the knife into my skin and a pinprick of blood dripped out.
"There'll be more bloodshed than that if you make a sound, bitch," he hissed, then unzipped his pants with his free hand. I held back a sob and let it happen, waited for it to be over, for them to leave. He hurt me once, twice, again and again and again the pain washed over me in shockwaves. Violating me, touching me, hot, sweaty skin against stark white goose bumps. I don't remember when they left. All I know is I realized where I was all of a sudden and I tried to stand up but my legs were stiff. They wouldn't move.
After a while I managed to get my clothes straight. My neck ached so I put my hand up to it. Crusty blood caked on a slit in my throat. I whimpered in the night, alone and scared. Didn't know where I was. Afraid they'd come back. I stood up and I started walking. From somewhere, I heard music. I looked around. "Baker Street" a sign read. I found the party and went inside.
It was hot and sticky and stale and it was so late, they were out of beer. Two empty kegs sat on a table in the corner. People were dancing. I saw Stacy, a girl from my floor and I went to her.
"Hey girl!" she said, grinning. I forced a smile and my knees shook a little. People were very, very close to me. What if he was here? I closed my eyes and opened them again and things straightened out.
"It's pretty lame here," I said, "Wanna go back?"
"Yeah, all right," she said, "You okay?"
I nodded.
And we left.
And I went to bed.
The next morning, my roommate asked me if I had fun. I covered my neck up with my blanket and laid there and said, "Yeah, a lot of fun."
