I escaped. Barely. At least, I think I did. My nightmares are becoming more and more graphic as I remember more and more of what happened, and my nightmares tell me that I didn’t escape, but the friend I was texting at the time tells me I did.
After That Night, I couldn’t be around people. I was scared that even the people I love and trust were going to hurt me in the same way that They did. I would flinch away from every touch and every noise, and still nobody saw the problem with this.
My (attempted) rapists said it was to ‘cure’ me. That I wasn’t natural because I’m asexual, and that I just needed a good fucking. I was fifteen.
I haven’t dealt with what happened to me, because I feel like my story is less valid because I escaped. At least, I think I did.