PAVE My Stories: Brigid

PAVE My Stories: Brigid
It was a Saturday night, Valentine’s Day, a friend and I had decided to go out and get tanked to celebrate how miserable we were as we had both recently broken up with boyfriends. We went to a local “meat market” and were hanging around flirting and drinking and pretty much still feeling miserable.  I ran in to a couple guys I used to know from a restaurant where I had worked for years, and they immediately recognized me too. We shouted back and forth over the music, then one asked me to dance so I did.  It was a typical club scene, drinking and dancing, whatever.  My friend had run in to her ex with another girl and wanted to leave, so Dude said he would drive me home.  I agreed.

He drove me home and, boy I was DRUNK.  He said he had some pot, we smoked some, which immediately made me puke.  I was so embarrassed and he was really sweet about it. He held my hair, brought me water, told me over and over it was ok, we have all been here.  When I told him I had to go to bed he asked if he could stay, didn’t even get under the covers because he didn’t want to freak me out. A gentleman!

He called several days later in the afternoon to see if I wanted to hang out.  I told him I had been fighting a nasty cold for a couple days, so maybe the weekend would be better. He said ok, fine, yeah.  After meeting my family for dinner for my nephew’s birthday, I came straight home, feeling ill and tired and wanting nothing more than my bed.  When I arrived home there were all these utility crews in the parking lot – apparently there was a gas leak of some sort.  I talked to one of the guys and he said it was fine for me to be home, they would let me know if the situation changed. Ok, good.

So I went inside and took some Nyquil because I felt like crap. I crashed immediately (you know the way Nyquil does that).  Some time later, maybe an hour or two, I heard the phone ring.  It was Dude. I didn’t answer, I was too sleepy.

A bit later I woke to this insanely urgent knock on my door.  It was after 1 AM. I was confused like, “WTF?” and then I remembered the gas leak.  Oh no!  So I got up and answered the door.  It was Dude.  He said he had tried to call but I hadn’t answered so he just came by, was that ok?  I told him I was really tired and didn’t feel very well. He said ok, but he had left the pot the other night (indeed he had, I had it stashed) and could he get it?  I agreed, turned to get it from the hiding spot in the bedroom.

He followed, teased me about my pajamas, “What are you wearing?” with a laugh as he gave the waistband of the shorts a little tug. I got the pot, handed it to him, and then pretty much collapsed in the bed.  I guess I thought he would just leave, but he offered to give me a back rub “to help me relax” (because I obviously needed that) and urged me to turn over. I sleepily did.

So, I was sacked out face down on the mattress, half asleep, he was rubbing my back and it was nice and cozy when all of a sudden he yanked my shorts and undies off – one fell swoop! I jerked to sit up but he pushed my face back into the bed, catching my temple on the table at the head of the bed pretty hard.  He straddled me, and I could hear him undoing the belt and the jeans in a frenzy.  I thought HELL NO! and tried to roll over, in the process he got a hold of my right arm and managed to get it pinned under my back as I rolled, torquing out my shoulder pretty good. I tried to push him or maybe hit him with my one free arm, but he grabbed and held it fast, then with his other arm elbowed me in the head. I tried to squirm out from under him kicking and such but only succeeding in twisting my shoulder further – I thought for sure it was going to just pop.  He was using his knees to pry my legs apart while holding my head against the bed by smashing my face with the palm of his hand, I was struggling too much for that to work very well so he planted his knee into my sternum good and hard (knocking the breath from me) and then punched me a few times in the head.

I saw his face then – he had this sick grin I will never ever EVER forget and that was the moment I realized a) he was clearly enjoying himself and b) I wasn’t going to win – he was going to beat the hell out of me and fuck me anyway. So I just stopped fighting.

So, he then raped me. At one point he actually asked me if I was enjoying myself.  At some point he was done, rolled off me and we laid there.  I was so completely defeated, I couldn’t even get up then. I remember his heart was beating so loudly, I said something about I thought it might explode, he laughed and said it must have been all the coke he did before he came over. He got up then and went into the living room to smoke some weed, to “help him relax.” I looked at the time – it was 2:30 and for some reason that, of all things, made me bawl.  He came back in the bedroom and asked what was wrong (!?!).  I cried until I passed out.

I woke when the alarm went off and he was crashed out next to me. Ew ew ew. I showered and quickly got ready for work and then had a heck of a time waking him up so I could leave.  I didn’t want to touch him or talk to him, but I couldn’t just leave him there.  I shook him awake and told him I had to leave right then. We got out into the parking lot and I started getting into my car, he said something like, “Aren’t you even going to say goodbye?” and I replied, “You can’t do this to me again.” He smirked that same sick grin as before and said, “Oh yes, I can.”

That day at work was pretty much hell.  I remember the secretary mentioning that I had got there really early – I had too!  I didn’t take time to eat or make tea or anything, I just wanted to get the fuck out of my apartment. At noon I went to lift weights with a coworker and friend, which was our habit on Thursdays and as we dressed she asked, “What happened to your leg…both of your legs…and your arm…my god your shoulder! Brigid!”  I sheepishly looked away, told her that Dude had been over the night before and it got a little out of hand. I remember her looking at me waiting for me to say more and I didn’t. That was the extent of the reporting.

Of course I didn’t tell anyone, especially the cops.  I felt like an idiot for trusting him, for opening the door, for being stoned, for wearing those pajamas, for not being smarter or stronger or any adjective that would have kept it from happening.

Over the next couple of weeks there were several nights Dude called repeatedly, and then, often, some time later there would be frenetic pounding on my door, him hollering my name.  It was awful – I would squat behind the couch in the dark because if he saw a light or heard noise he wouldn’t go away for long periods of time, sometimes banging on the door for 20 minutes, going out to the car and calling again, leave a message saying he could hear my phone ring, my car was there he knew I was home, then he would come back in and knock some more.  Eventually he gave up.