Crash Into Me_ A Survivor's Search for Justice - Liz Seccuro [22]
“Someone should get Jonathan,” someone said. I heard footsteps running down the carpeted hallway. Jonathan was an upper-classman friend. He was dating a girl who lived on my hall and was sort of an informal adviser to many of us. He came into the room, bringing a clear sense of authority.
“Everyone give her some room!” he bellowed.
He sat on the bed and hugged me.
“What happened?” he asked.
I couldn’t bring myself to tell the story again and I started to sob, great heaving, choking sobs. One of my friends gave him the short version. He hugged me so tightly that my already-bruised ribs hurt and he said, “You stupid, stupid, girl. Why don’t they tell you never ever to go upstairs at one of those houses? Why?”
I went cold. He had called me stupid. This had happened to me because I was a “stupid” girl. Of course, Jonathan was primarily expressing his frustration with the university and its failure to give first years thorough safety briefings, its unwillingness to suggest that fraternity houses could be dangerous places, especially during rush. But this was the first suggestion that my actions had contributed to my brutal attack. This is how it begins, the cycle of self-blame and destruction.
I was shaking, but Jonathan just hugged me tighter and gave some orders around the room for more blankets, summoning people as needed while clearing others out. I was left with Jonathan and Caroline. Sleep was beginning to beckon and I drifted in and out until it was dark. Someone turned on a small desk lamp so I wouldn’t be frightened and they stayed there with me all night. Tightly wrapped as I was in my robe, the sweat poured off me, but I could not have cared less. At one point, someone helped me to the bathroom, where I urinated for what seemed like the first time in ages. The burn felt like someone had poured acid on my genitalia and I actually screamed. Fresh blood began leaking out of me and I asked my friend to get me a sanitary pad to line my underwear. She assisted me back to my dorm room and I crawled back into bed and slept fitfully until dawn.
When I awoke, there were three people in my room and I was fuzzy and disoriented, unsure where I was. Every part of me that had hurt, hurt more. I was one big bruise, throbbing and tender. I was clutching a stuffed blue seahorse. Someone told me that Samira, the adorable grad student down the hall, had brought it for me and tucked it into my arms in the middle of the night. I will never forget that. Still awake, I began panicking—what was I to do? Who knew about this? What was being said? Jonathan asked, “Is there someone we can call for you?”
“Meg,” I said, thinking of my best friend from high school. “I need to call Meg. She’s at Trinity in D.C. I need her here.”
Flipping through my little address book, I found her number and dialed it. Meg answered groggily and I gave her the thumbnail sketch of what had happened, then handed the phone over to someone to give her directions. She would leave later that morning and come to me straightaway. Arrangements were made for someone to pick her up at the train.
Carefully dressing in a sweater and loose pants, I avoided the dining hall, though I was ravenous. Someone ordered me soup for breakfast and I ate it greedily, sitting up in my bed. My body was depleted from the experience and needed nourishment. As soon as I finished, my fears returned. I began to fear that he would come for me. After all, I’d left him my dorm room number, hoping for a chance to confront him on my turf. How fucking stupid.
And then I got scared for Jim. Where was he? Did he get out? Did they hurt him, too?
In my panic, I began screaming for Jim, thinking they had killed him or kidnapped him, as he was the one who knew me. It took three people to hold me down and tell me he was just fine and had no idea what had happened. He assumed I had gone home, tired of waiting for him. He was at class, they said. Thank God.
Meg arrived late that day. She burst into my room and found me still in a ball under my covers. We embraced and she told me