The Victim's Story

I stumble through a strange part of the city early in the morning. People are just leaving to go to work. I get glares as I walk past: a scrawny, scruffy person in their late teens they think, still drunk from the night before. They don't know what happened. They see my tear stained face and the fact I still can't walk in a straight line. I catch a glimpse of my hair in a car's rear-view mirror, it's ragged and a mess. It's stuck in place haphazardly from lying on last night's hair gel. I don't care right now. Everyone's perception of me bothers me much more than this and than it should, I know I'm being judged and repelled.. I'm aware they are disgusted at the sight of me. Not a single one of the knows why I'm here, I'm being judged by a quick thirty second encounter.

I'm not sure where I'm going and I do not remember how I got there, my feet seem to know the way. I don't recall last night too well but my subconscious seems to know where I'm going. Eventually I get to the centre and thus an area I recognise, five minutes walk from where I live. It's almost 6am. I don't know if I even had three hours sleep. I don't recall much from last night. The events of this morning are too surreal. I can't comprehend what happened. It doesn't even – I can't... I don't feel anything. Nothing exists right now, I'm not even me. I'm not sure who this person is, I'm not sure who the person I was is. I'm not sure where I am. I want normality. I needed normality. I couldn't even figure out what that was. I wasn't sure what I needed or was craving, something?

I get back to my flat and I do what just seems right. I get a shower. I stand there letting the water fall over me for what seems like too long or not long enough. I'm not sure. I reluctantly get out when I hear my flatmate banging on the door. To be fair on her, she doesn't know what happened. In her eyes I'm just being really inconsiderate. I wonder if I should tell her, we barely know each other. I think perhaps I should tell someone. Anyone. I don't even really care who it is. What if I go to the police? I wonder if I should. My first response is – they won't believe me. I'd expect someone in my situation to be – crying? Distraught? Not this. I'm … Shaken up? Scared? I don't know if I'm anything. I feel empty. I can't describe this at all. I'm numb. Hollow. I've had something taken from me. Taken from me in the worst way imaginable.

I lie on my bed and realise I need to write this down. To get it out of my head, so I can stop reliving the memory over and over again. Should this memory do something to me? I think. This perception of what has happened should bother me. Wrong words, it does bother me. I'm just not feeling what I should feel. What one would perceive as the right way to feel. I pick up my phone that's lying on my bedside table. My laptop would be my usual preference to write something but it's switched off. The numerous notepads and pens I have are on my desk at the other side of my room. My body is too tired and aching to walk. I open a text message to no one and type out everything that happened to me. Not in detail, just a list of events to make it clear in my head. It might make it more real reading it. I type out a string of events of what happened in my phone and read it back to myself. Two phrases stuck out from what I'd written: fucking me and wouldn't stop. That is the part that I can quite comprehend. That doesn't sink in. Is that what really happened? That can't have happened, it can't have. Not to me. This is the sort of thing you read or hear about - you see it on a police drama, read it in a book, watch it in a film. This isn't reality.

I stare at what I've written and realise whatever happens, someone needs to know. The typical perception of this is someone takes days to tell someone. That's what makes me think they won't believe me, I've no reason to make this up though. Why would I? I add a contact to the message, knowing full well I need someone. So I send it, I sent it to the one person I trust in the whole world. It's 7.30am now. I'm going to have to wait hours until he wakes up and responds.

I'm in a daze when my phone receives a text back, I'm not asleep exactly. I'm sort of in between. It's like my body is resting but my mind isn't. I pick my phone up automatically and his response flashes on the screen. I text him for a little while explaining what happened. He tells me what I know I should do. Go to the police. Those four words run through my mind like a siren. It's the right thing to do, I know it is. If this had happened to my friend and they had text me, I would respond the exact same: Go to the police. Before this happened, whenever I heard of situations like this I couldn't even comprehend why they wouldn't. This, however, is different. This isn't someone else, this is me. It feels like another person but it isn't. The truth is I realised how different it is being there – I knew instantly he would not understand at all. How could I explain it? Do I angstily respond with “you don't understand”? How do I admit to him that if I was in his position I would say the exact same thing but that's because I wouldn't realise how it feels. I'd have absolutely no idea what it's like to be in this situation and not want to say anything. The thought of how strong the desperation to forget it happened would not even cross my mind. You have to go through it. You have to be right in that mindset. It completely changes as soon as you are in that position. When you are at the centre of it and you realise it's not just a right and wrong situation, there is more gray areas than you can even imagine. I guess it's just hard to see that when it's not you.

Maybe I should do as he says, it is the right thing. I'm just not sure I can.