We’ve been friends for years, best friends really, ever since middle school. Neither of us ever really fit into any of the typical adolescent social groups, and I think that kind of isolation really formed a tight bond between us.
We have always talked about everything: fights with parents, issues with school, the awkwardness of puberty and everything else. We shared secrets and fears and dreams. You were always my best friend.
We were each other’s first kiss during the summer before eight grade. We were both so nervous and awkward. We’ve laughed about it over the years. Everyone always said they were surprised we never ended up dating, but it just always felt like the timing was not right. Maybe we were just scared to ruin our friendship.
We went to different colleges and made new friends, and while we didn’t talk on the phone very often we always made sure to talk at least once a month. And when we were both home for breaks everything clicked back into place for us.
Thankfully we both moved back home after college. It was so good to be able to see you every week again. Life carried on. You dated a couple guys, and I’ve had a girlfriend for the last couple years. But having an SO that understands the importance of our friendship has always been a priority. In fact, my girlfriend loves you and just rolls her eyes at our inside jokes saying, “the twins are at it again.”
I guess that’s kind of what it is. We are as much brother and sister as we are friends. Always there to support and offer a hand when the other is hurting or in need.
So it was no surprise that I was the one you called when you were attacked in the alley behind our favorite bar. You could barely get out the word “rape” between sobs, and my heart just dropped.
I told you to stay where you were and rushed over to pick you up. I drove you straight to the hospital and stayed with you through the exam as well as the questioning from the police.
I held your hand as you cried, and listened as you told the cops what had happened. How your attacker had dragged you into the alley and shoved you against the wall. How he’d lifted your skirt and ripped your panties down to your ankles. How he pinned you against the wall with a forearm against your throat as he forced his cock inside you. You sobbed as you described his hands running up your shirt, pushing your bra out of the way, and manhandled your breasts.
The cops asked you to identify your attacker, asking the same questions in different ways, trying to jog your memory. But you just said it was dark and he wore a mask, so you had no idea what he looked like.
You nearly hyperventilated when you described how he had growled when he came inside you. I held you tight, telling you to take your time and breath.
“I know this is difficult mam, but you’re doing a great job.” Said the police officer. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
You nodded hesitantly. I just squeezed your hand, offering what support I could. “When he .. After he .. finished, he pulled up my panties and asked ... he asked if I was going to keep the baby he had just fucked into me.”
I drove you home when we were finally done with all the questions. You were worried you wouldn’t be able to sleep, but the emotions must have taken a lot out of you because you passed out as soon as you crawled into bed.
I called my girlfriend and told her I was staying on your couch, and she of course agreed. She came over the next morning, bringing coffee and donuts. The three of us together set up a plan.
Well, really my girlfriend and I set up a plan. We told you that her or I will come over, or have you over, whenever we possibly could. And we made you promise to call every time you left the house and when you got back home. You protested at first, but we were insistent. I knew you were just worried you would be a bother to us, but I assured you that we would do anything we could to help you feel safe.
A few weeks later you called me nearly an hour late from leaving work. I immediately stared fussing at you. “You forgot to call again didn’t you? Or did you stop somewhere? I was so worried ...” the sound of you sobbing cut me off. “Oh god. What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t understand everything you said, but I caught two words “happened again”.
“Stay there. I’m on my way.”
When I got to your place I found you curled up on the couch. Your eyes were red and swollen and tears were streaming down your face. I rushed to you, kneeling beside the couch, and put my arms around you. You sobbed uncontrollably.
When you calmed down a little I said, “let’s get you to the hospital.” But you just shook your head. “Then let’s at least call the police!” I demanded.
“What’s the point?” You asked. “I never even heard back from them last time. I just want to take a bath and go to bed.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok. I’ll make up my bed on the couch then.”
You smiled weakly and said. “You don’t have to do that.”
