I was raped as a student - and I'm not the only one
I don't remember being taught about consent at school, other than "No means no." What I do remember is being told not to walk home on my own, or I'd risk being raped by a stranger in a dark alley. But when I was raped it was not in the street, but in my own student house, and I had taken the precaution of being walked home by someone I knew.
It was the first social event of that academic year at the University of Bristol and it had been a fun night. It was everyone's favourite time of term - lectures had not properly begun and deadlines were still far from our minds. I drank, laughed and danced until I was ready for sleep.
As I was leaving the club, a guy also at the social said he lived near me and offered to walk me home. Walking home alone, late at night, in the dark was something I actively tried to avoid, so I gladly accepted his offer. We'd only met a few weeks before, so conversation was light - we chatted about the night and what to expect in the new term.
When we got to the steps that led up to my house, he politely asked if he could pop inside for a glass of water because he was feeling unwell. Maybe this is when I should have heard alarm bells, but even as I was pouring the drink in my kitchen nothing struck me as amiss. Not until after he'd finished the water, and the pretence was over.
With his first demand to go to my room, came my first rebuff - my first spoken "No."
To this day, it still strikes me how a charming disguise can so quickly disperse, and turn into aggression.
Despite my refusal to go to my bedroom, and my repeated attempts to get him to leave, he was relentless: "Why would you let me in if you didn't want something to happen?"
The more I said I wasn't interested, the more forceful he became. I lost count of how many times I said "No". And then suddenly there was someone physically stronger than me, refusing to leave until he got what he wanted. His hand grabbed my arm so fiercely that it became instantly clear that his intentions had never been to get me home safely.
It is a strange feeling, being so paralysed by fear in your own living room. In that moment, I realised saying "No" wasn't going to be enough.
He took off my tights. When he was done he finally left.
The next day I locked myself in my room, only leaving to shower away the reminders of the night before. I lay there overwhelmed with disgust, self-blame and guilt.
