The room was dark. The only illumination came from the TV, softly playing Netflix's "Breaking Bad". The rest of the house was asleep, just me and him still up. I wasn't supposed to be there. I'd promised to take him home from work, but when we got to the house, he invited me in to play some video games. I was bored, and hadn't played Call of Duty: WWII in a few months, so I accepted. But accepting an invitation into my fiance's best friend's house at 2am wasn't the smartest decision. Things were fine at first. Turned on the TV, talked about some business, and then settled on the couch. Call of Duty seemed forgotten, until he stood up. I thought he was going to turn on the game, and I thought when he came to stand in front of me that he was offering a controller. But his hands were empty. I was sitting on the couch and he stood in front of me, less than a foot away. He didn't say anything, just stood there. I just kept looking at him. As the seconds ticked by, I remembered his reputation, his snide comments to me in passing or in jest, and my heart started to race. As soon as I started to push myself off the couch, he moved.
His hand went around the back of my neck, knotting in my hair and pushing my face down, while his other hand undid the button and zipper on his pants. When I tried to push him away, he caught my hands with one of his, and the hand on the back of my neck tightened, threateningly. He pushed my head down, but I still protested. Closing my mouth and turning my head to the side as much as I could, it only pissed him off. He tangled his hand in my hair and pulled, tilting my face up to his. He leaned in close, breathing heavily. He growled low in my ear, "You're going to suck my dick. Without fighting. Or I will get you. I don't know how. But I will. Maybe burn you like the Jew you are. I know you have no problem with knives and blades." His gaze dropped to my thighs, covered in scars. He shook his head, before leaning back in. "So... We're not gonna have a problem, are we?" I just whimpered like an animal. He knew he had me. There were several things that he knew that gave him control over me. I had trusted him, and told him about my past. The two years of sexual harassment I went through at school. The fact that I had been messed with so much that I could no longer even bring myself to say no. Because I had been conditioned to it. He also knew that this whole event would be kept a secret, because I wouldn't tell. I couldn't risk hurting my boyfriend. I had promised him that I would be different from everyone else he'd dated. I wouldn't cheat on him. And now here I was. I may not have wanted this to happen, but I feel like it's my fault. I didn't read the signs, I was the one that accepted the invitation. It's on me. He had me, and he knew it. I stopped fighting as these thoughts ran through my head. He felt me go slack, and smirked when I lowered my head and closed my eyes.
Tears slipped from behind my lashes and dripped down my chin. He felt the fight go out of me and wasted no time before getting what he wanted. His hand never left the back of my neck, forcing my head down however he wanted. He did most of the work. I couldn't breathe. The only noise was the TV, still playing, and my gagging and choking. Eventually he got tired of forcing me to get him off, so he backed up. I thought I was free to go. He let me make it off the couch before roughly turning me around and pushing me back down. My knees were on the floor, my stomach and shoulders on the cushions of the couch. His hand found my throat, his weight pushing my face into the cushion. His other hand reached for my waistband, and I started to struggle. He pushed down on my neck almost to where I couldn't breathe as a warning, but I still didn't quit. I refused to let this happen. A blowjob was one thing. That I could easily forget and never speak of again. Rape? While I'm carrying the love of my life's child? More specifically, getting raped by one of his close friends. I couldn't let it happen. I fought, momentarily throwing him. But then I heard it. He flipped open his knife. I knew he would use it. I knew from experience. I gave up. I wouldn't risk losing this child. I would just keep this a secret from my love. He would never have to know, never have to hurt. I would walk away as soon as he was done and never come back. He knew it, too. He threw me back down and hurriedly pulled down my pants and my underwear. He guided himself into me with one hand, the other one still immobilizing me by the back of the neck. His other hand held both my wrists in a tight grasp. When he finally finished with me, he showed me to the door. Not another word was spoken, and I never went back. I thought that would be the end of everything. I was wrong.