• Sat, 13, Jan, 2018 - 5:00:AM

TOP 30 OF 2017 - 9. My best friend was a rapist [Trigger Warning]

First published on Tuesday the 18th of July, 2017, this piece comes in at number 9 in the top 30 most read Villainesse stories of 2017.

Dear X,

Remember me? I hope so. We spent at least three years of high school as best friends! I know it’s been many years since I’ve been in contact, but I thought I should write and bring you up to speed on where I’m at these days. I honestly haven’t thought about you in such a long time, but somehow memories have a way of coming back when you least expect them.

Many, many memories.

We were tight, you and I.  We hung out together a lot. Sometimes with our large and rambunctious group of friends, and sometimes just the two of us. Some assumed we would start dating. We laughed at them for thinking that. Idiots! Why would we mess up our best friend status with the complications of a relationship?!

We told each other everything. All our dreams, our secrets, our crushes, our plans. You once confessed that you found me sexy, and I burst out laughing in horror, but maybe I was a little bit flattered. We definitely kissed a couple of times over the years, mostly to figure out what we were doing for when the right person came along. I loved you so much, and you loved me too. I never thought there would be a time that you weren’t in my life. I loved having you as my best friend.

Do you remember how self-destructive I was back then, after I lost my virginity when I was sexually assaulted? Remember how you used to accompany me every Thursday to the counselling practice so that I could learn how to process what had happened to me and my innocence? You were my absolute rock. I could call you at any time of the day or night, and you were right there.

Having sworn off guys for a while and being determinedly single, I was really happy for you when you started dating someone. We still spent time together, but not as often as we used to. I remember a pool party I had one weekend. There were at least twenty of us, and a combination of sun, chlorine and alcohol soon got the better of me. You sent everyone home. I loved you for looking after me.

But then you raped me.

I didn’t know that was what it was called back then. One minute I was hugging you, the next your tongue was down my throat. I remember telling you that I was really drunk and your dad was on his way to pick you up. You told me that you loved me as more than a friend, and that this was something we both wanted. I reminded you about your girlfriend, and how you were cheating on her by kissing me. You told me you would break up with her the next day if it meant we could be together.

I was still in my togs, and you were in your swimming shorts and a T-shirt. I remember you yanking me down onto the linoleum floor of my parents’ kitchen, pulling the straps of my swimsuit off as I fell. You rolled on top of me, telling me the whole time that this was right, that we were meant to be together. I can still remember the cold feeling of the floor against my back. And then you were inside me while I cried and asked you to stop.

Eventually you did. Not because I asked. Because your dad was ringing the front doorbell. You kissed me on the cheek, got up and pulled up your shorts, told me you would call me tomorrow, and left.

I remember curling up in a ball, and crying so hard that I sounded like a wild animal. Then I got really, really cold, and really, really scared. The house was dark, and I was afraid of being alone. I ran next door to the neighbour’s house, telling her that I had had too much to drink and must have passed out, and when I woke up, everyone was gone and I was too scared to be by myself. I stayed in her spare room that night, and went home the next morning as though nothing had happened.

You called me the next afternoon to ‘talk’. I didn’t know what to say to you. I just knew that something had cracked inside of me, and we would never be friends again. I couldn’t understand why the person that I trusted and loved could do exactly the same thing that he’d been helping me get over after my assault fifteen months earlier.

Your voice turned cold when I said that to you. “It’s not the same thing at all,” you said angrily, “how could you even think that of me? I am nothing like that guy. I’m your best friend.”

I believed you when you said that. In my head, you COULDN’T be a rapist. You were right – you were my best friend. Friends don’t rape friends! I must have given you the wrong signals for us to be in the situation we were in last night. And I was drunk. Plus you were dating someone else! I thought about how hurt she would be because you had sex with me, when I knew from all our conversations that you weren’t sleeping with her. She would probably think that I had skipped in and given you what she wouldn’t, and that made me a slut.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you assured me. “I still love you. And I know you love me. Let’s just pretend it never happened. If it makes you feel any better, I was going to break up with her anyway.”

I told you I needed time to think. I hung up the phone, and I never spoke to you again. And you never tried to contact me either.

You might be wondering why I’ve suddenly decided to write this after all this time. Because if, like me, you are now married with a family, then I hope that something inside you understands that what you did was wrong. If you have sons, I hope you’ll make sure they know that it’s never OK to rape someone like you did. I hope you’ll raise your daughters to understand that just because someone is close to them, it doesn’t mean they can’t be raped by them.

Rape is rape.

I’m telling you this as a friend.


  • Rape /
  • Sexual Assault /
  • Sexual Violence /
  • Testimony /
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