Malena’s Story
I was sexually assaulted my freshman year of college. When I was in high school, that was the “thing” you had to watch out for as a college student in 2010; that was one of the things your parents warned you about before going off on your own...being drugged and being raped. I knew I had to be on the lookout for strangers doing that to me, but I never thought I’d have to worry about someone I knew.
I had gotten a job as a Desk Attendant (DA) in my dorm 2nd semester of freshman year, in hopes to make some friends. The DAs and RAs sometimes worked hand-in-hand and helped host events together so I ended up joining that group of friends. Some of the other dorm residents were a part of our friend group as well, and one of them started showing some interest in me. We’ll call him Ben*.
Ben was tall and fit but showed a softer, more vulnerable side when we were alone. It was quite the manipulative relationship, which of course I couldn’t see at the time. Somehow I ended up in a situation where if something did go right in my ill-defined relationship with Ben, he’d end things and start dating another girl in our friend group - we’ll call her Angela*. I’m not sure what would bring him back to me, but for months he’d go back and forth between us.
One night, while we were seeing each other, he went to the bars with his friends and I went to a house party with mine. I remember arriving back to the dorm and seeing some RAs, DAs, and friends from our group sitting in the lobby, chatting - including Ben.
I went up to my room, texted him to join me, and moments later, he knocked on my door. I don’t remember how my clothes came off but they did. He started to try to have sex with me and I told him I wasn’t interested in having sex. When he didn’t stop, it became “fight or flight” mode, but my only option was to fight. My knees were tucked up to my stomach and in between his arms which were on either side of me, and I began pushing them against his chest to try and get him off of me. I continued to say, “no,” “stop” “get off,” convincing myself he just couldn’t hear me. I started crying and tried to scream. I can’t remember if any noise actually came out of my mouth or if it did and no one came to help. Either way, my heart sank knowing that no one was coming.
When he realized I was crying...that’s what got him off of me. I immediately covered my body in my duvet, afraid that if he saw it again, it would trigger him to keep trying. He turned on my lamp and stood his naked body under it. He pointed at his penis as if I should be impressed. He told me to look at it...he kept telling me until I did. He said something along the lines of, “don’t you want this?”
Eventually he got dressed and went downstairs like nothing happened. Somewhere between that night and before my Saturday 10AM shift at the dorm desk, I told an RA what happened. She was a part of our friend group so I thought she was someone in a position of authority, yet also a friend who would have my back. She didn’t.
She told Ben what I confided in her. At least that’s what I pieced together. Ben confronted me in the stairway that morning, minutes before my shift. No one else in the dorm was awake yet - it was just me & him. “You’re telling people I raped you?!” I remember thinking: ‘1. I need to get out of here. 2. I don’t want anyone to hear this. 3. I have to go to work.’ I definitely panicked and said whatever I knew would make him go away.
He was excellent at manipulation. He somehow convinced me to keep seeing him when he felt like it after that. Years later when I meekly attempted to confront him about what happened, he gaslighted me. “Well why’d you keep seeing me then?” Shortly after that, our journey was done. He started officially dating Angela. In fact, I believe they’re married now.
I regret not reporting. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time because ‘plenty of women get sexually assaulted, why am I different?’ ‘An RA didn’t report it and instead TOLD him what I said. No one will believe me.’ ‘I’m kind of a slut, maybe I deserved it.’
These are the thoughts I had at the time.
I know now that nothing that led up to that moment meant that I “wanted it.” It’s taken years of therapy and working on my self image to understand that what happened wasn’t my fault. Even now - 10 years later - I catch myself making excuses and trying to justify what happened. Even as I write this. It DOES take time to cope with that kind of trauma. Sometimes I wonder if I’d have “healed” sooner if I truly reported him. But what I’m doing now is monumental for myself, and I hope for others.
To know this story is to know that my tiny 19-year-old brain wasn’t sure what to do. Many people, regardless of age or life experience, don’t know what to do. So I’m encouraging you to report, report, report. You are not alone. You are worthy of not only being heard, but being believed.
