||I finally left Daniel 8 months ago. I'm still trying to analyze the events that transgressed during our 6 years together, but thus far I have not yet been able explain exactly what happened to me or how I let myself fall prey to such circumstances.
It was after our first fight in which he actually inflicted physical injury that convinced me I needed to leave. In a fit of rage Daniel wrenched my arms behind my back and slammed my body and face onto the bed. He held me like that with his knee and massive weight pressed into my back as he cursed me for being an "ungrateful bitch" and informed me "you're lucky I'm not beating the crap out of you". When finally released I slunk away to nurse my wounds. I could barely rotate my shoulder for the pain and swelling. It still gives sporadic pain. Sitting in the corner of the room I was terrified. I knew I couldn't fight back I simply lacked the strength, nor could I leave; all bus service was done for the night. I was trapped, injured, scared, and alone so I apologized. I still hate myself for this weakness, but I still don't know what else I could have done.
Because of this one night I can no longer tolerate yelling arguments of any kind. Others arguments leave me terribly jumpy, and participation is quite terrifying. My current boyfriend understands but when his voice catches an edge and he sees that Daniel-inspired fear flash in my eyes he feels terrible and I feel guilty and sad - he is wonderful and it isn't his fault.
I'm not sure whether the violence or the sexual experiences haunt me more. Though I was manipulated and pressured to perform more sexual acts than I could have ever hope to count, I consider myself to have been raped three times. I have difficulty identifying the manipulation/pressure driven incidences as rape, because some semblance of a choice existed - I chose submission over trying to survive rage, but it was still a choice so I felt slightly more whole before during and even after.
The first rape took place shortly after we had just gotten back together for the first time. It was obvious that I wasn't happy, and our love had lost its luster. I was sleeping. Daniel spent almost an hour (I know this because he bragged about it after) slowly, so as not to wake me, stimulating my clitoris until I became lubricated. He then inserted his penis and began to groan with pleasure as he raped me. I woke in terror. I could feel the weight and heat of his body above mine. My vagina felt full, and it felt wrong. There was pain - though there was more pain afterward when the adrenaline and terror had ebbed. I cried out in fear, and he stopped moving but left his penis embedded in my body.
"It's me" he cooed - Was that supposed to be comforting?
"What are you doing?" I whimpered. I could barely get the sound past my lips
"You like it". Then the thrusting started again. I was confused. I turned by head away and wished for it to be over. I had never whished for anything with that much intensity before. Tear leaked from my eyes. I orgasmed.
"See you love it" he crowed. I felt dirty. I called myself a whore. After he exhausted himself he held me while he snored. I couldn't sleep for feeling so hollow and raw. I could still feel the imprint of his penis in my vagina for hours. I saw the sun rise.
This first time I couldn't call it rape. I told myself he just didn't know I wasn't enjoying it - how could he when I didn't actually say "no"? - but my best friend convinced me of the truth. Even though I comprehended the magnitude of this event I still loved him and I didn't leave him.
The second rape occurred much like the first, but this time I woke before the penetration. I never really slept soundly after the first rape. I recognized the chain of events, instantly recognized the familiar "full and wrong" feeling of this time his fingers in my vagina.
My message was clear though thin and whispered "Stop, I don't want it".
"Oh yes you do, feel how wet I've got you". The arousal dripped from his voice and my stomach knotted with the knowledge that I couldn't stop this from happening again.
"Please don't" - this time the same whimper he understood as consent.
He lifted and spread my legs and thrust his penis into my vagina. Pain seared though my body and erupted from eyes in salty tears that I tried fruitlessly to contain behind my lids. As before the rising sun was greeted by my red eyes and Daniel's snores.
The third rape was significantly different and more damaging. Daniel had ended our relationship over the phone in an uncontrolled rage of yelling and profanity. I calmly agreed to this decision and hung up. Though I still loved him I was ready to let go. Without warning he drove to my dorm. I cracked the door and he calmly explained his presence. "You deserve better than being dumped over the phone. We should talk this over"
I let him in. I really wish I hadn't, but I was still too innocent and idealistic to bar his way.
We talked. I cried - afterall I did still love him and I was sad to bid the sweet parts farewell. Then I initiated the curtain call, "well that's it - I guess you should get going"
"I'll stay awhile," he was looking at me strangely, "Can I have one more hug"?
I had an uneasy feeling about this but I relented. He pulled me into his lap. I tried to get up but he held me there and slipped his hand into my sweatpants. "Stop! What are you doing?" my voice was full and my own. It could not be mistaken.
"Just one more time - please? - you'll like it" he practically cooed.
I felt chaos of panic rising from my toes to the top of my head "NO! you need to leave now".
This outburst deflated his false pretenses. I struggled and he easily restrained me. I was crying and frantic and begging.
"You'll like it," but now his voice was harsh and cold. He forced me onto the bed, he forced himself into my vagina, and he slept there smugly afterward while I tried to scrub the skin from body in the shower. After this violent episode I felt like I was watching myself live. I saw this television caricature of myself fail organic chemistry, lose touch with family and what few friends she had left, and finally move into Daniel's apartment. Thus this brings the story full circle as that fateful night - the beginning of the long awaited end occurred shortly after moving in together.
Despite all that has happened I am doing much better, and I know I will be fully healed in time. I'm seeing a counselor. Also, I never actually lost faith that good, true love exists. I have also come to understand and more importantly believe that what happened really wasn't my fault, but I am still struggling at times with the concept that I am a truly good person. I am starting a new relationship and even though I am aware to watch for warning signs this time I still trust my boyfriend quite purely.