Earlier. Around 8pm.
‘Please, just fucking let me go,’ she said slowly, trembling, and making sure I heard every single word.
I didn’t want her to go and she knew it wasn’t me, I just wanted to calm her down. I – whoever that was – probably hurt her, but that wasn’t me. It was not me.
Still, she could’ve screamed. She could have shouted, banged on the walls so people heard her; she knew how thin these walls were. She could have had someone running to rescue the damsel in distress, but she didn’t want to be saved. Because she enjoyed this. She would always come back to me because she loves me. I barricaded the door and that was the last thing I remembered when I was there.
‘Please,’ I heard her whimpering. I blinked and I was no longer by the front door; I looked down and saw myself holding her against the wall by the bathroom, my hand wrapped around her throat. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face looked slightly swollen. Her body was stiff and unmoving, the way it is when you’ve given up fighting and you’re bracing yourself for the worst. It took me four seconds to register what my hands were doing and I immediately removed them from her neck, allowing her to scurry to the corner of the bed.
‘Fuck,’ I whispered, looking down at my hands.
‘Tell me what just happened, what did I do to you?’
Moving on from the last post, and my argument begins.
I’ve discussed the situation in which a man must take blame one hundred percent in every single aspect, the sober coward that attacks a woman just because he’s a dirty piece of shit. But many girls are at a party, getting so drunk they can’t see what’s in front of them, so they say yes to anything.
Alcohol is the main perpetrator in rape cases; the victim can’t remember anything, the jury decides that she was too intoxicated to give consent and the rapist, with the same blood alcohol content, is imprisoned. Like this, the Stanford victim said she couldn’t remember a thing because she drank too much [her own mistake], and the rapist said they kissed and danced, which they probably did, and she gave the impression that she liked it. Ultimately, she cannot remember giving him consent – she may have done, she just can’t remember it. She obviously wasn’t sober enough to fight him off, like her sister had done, as she couldn’t handle her liquor. So, I’m not talking about the drunk women who are dragged away and forcibly raped. This is about the ones who are too drunk to ‘give proper consent’. Do you still not see the problem?
I finally had my last exam yesterday! I have no excuse to tear my fingers away from this keyboard now, and just in time, as many blood boiling issues have found their way into my mind.
By now you will have heard about the further controversy of the Stanford rape attack. Just to clarify, even if I wholly condemn the way the victim was behaving or dressed, which I often do, the rapist is always at fault and should be killed in the most painful way possible. There is no reason to keep a rapist alive. I still maintain, however, that we need to stop living in delusion and must realise that certain things make you more susceptible to being raped or attacked. You gonna leave your front door open and not expect a burglar? No. For those who would accuse me of objectifying my own body – your body is YOUR house, just the same. Your body does not mean anything to a rapist or a murderer, it is just an object. Understand that. It is your responsibility to look after. Deal with it.
In a nutshell, Brock Turner, found sexually assaulting a woman in January, has been sentenced to 6 months county jail. Nothing longer because it would have a “severe impact” on him. Oh, and he’s really sorry; the poor guy is so shook up that he doesn’t even like ribeye steaks anymore!