I don’t know how to start this letter to you because none of the ordinary beginnings to letters apply. To be honest, I’d rather not address you at all. Even thinking of your name sickens me.
Let’s make one thing clear from the get-go. This letter is for me. You have no right to know anything or ask for anything. You don’t deserve to know what a devastating effect your actions have had on my life. I tell you exactly what I feel like telling you and not one damn thing more.
You’re a monster. You’re a sick, criminal monster. You fucking subhuman. You don’t deserve to draw a breath, you have no right to say my name.
If I had a chance to talk to you, I wouldn’t ask you why you did what you did. That’s because I don’t care. I know you did it on purpose. You knew what you did was wrong and you did it anyway. And you did it again. And again.
I don’t know how I would react if I ever met you again.
Maybe I would violently throw up the second I set my eyes on you.
Maybe I’d jump on you like a wild animal and I’d have to be pulled off you while spitting your blood out of my mouth.
Maybe I would just freeze, like I did all those times you forced yourself on me.
One thing I’ve learnt is that you never know how you will react to something until it happens to you.
If you had a chance to speak I know you’d only use it to come up with excuses. You never take responsibility for anything you do, why would you do that now?
If I had a chance to talk to you, I wouldn’t want an apology. I don’t care if you’re sorry. We both know that your apologies don’t mean anything. If you’re sorry for anything, you’re sorry for yourself.
Also, what you did was unforgivable. It cannot be apologised for and cannot be forgiven.
Just in case you try to spin this around somehow though, let’s make it clear: you are not forgiven. I will never forgive you for what you did.
And you know what? That’s the one no you can’t ignore. Finally, after all this time, I will have the final word.
You will never face consequences for what you did, while I’m the one of us with a life sentence.
We will never be even. Even if I killed you, we still wouldn’t be even. Your life isn’t worth serving jail time for.
The only thing that would make me feel even a tiny bit better would be that you would have to experience the horror I felt even for a millisecond. I’d want you to feel as helpless as I felt. You are incapable of empathy but maybe if it would happen to you, at least I’d know that finally you had to visit the place of which’ existence I never wanted to know about.
I want to leave you with this image. The only reason why I’m able to tell this without you interrupting and telling how I’m wrong is because this is not a real conversation.
I say that I don’t want to have sex.
You make me have sex anyway.
I lie on the bed, looking at the ceiling. I know now only because I have been attending counselling that I was traumatised in that moment. At the time I just felt like I wasn’t really there. I just looked at the ceiling. I could describe you every kernel of paint that formed white swirls above a slanted wall.
I can’t see you, not only because I’m looking at the ceiling but because you’re sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed.
I’m not. I don’t make a sound. I don’t feel anything. I’m empty. I’m weightless. I’m floating in the air, closer and closer towards the swirls. A ceiling like that is called an artex ceiling.
Somewhere really far away you’re crying.
Just in case you ever think of yourself as a decent human being, if anybody ever even considers that you are a good person, just in case you ever close your eyes and try to have a peaceful night’s sleep, I want to give you this following image.
I am floating towards the artex ceiling and from somewhere below I hear you asking:
“Did I just rape you?”
Not only did you recognise what you did, you had the absolute audacity to ask for absolution from me.
It wasn’t because you were confused.
You knew what you did was wrong.
You just raped someone and you still have it within you to ask them to make you feel better about what you did.
I have to admit, nothing about my life up to that point had prepared me for a situation where a rapist is asking for comfort from me. I’m a hundred percent certain any person put into my situation would’ve said no too because a sensible person would expect a rapist at least not to make their victim say what they did was OK.
I re-illiterate. In case you ever manage to tell yourself or try to convince others of otherwise.
You are not a good person.
You are not a victim.
I hope every single millisecond of your miserable life is filled with the knowledge that you are a rapist and that nothing you will do will ever change that fact.
Years later the police used this exact scenario against me because I said no.
I can never win.
I am not going to sign this letter because that would mean this is finished and it’s never finished. I will never have a conclusion, so why should you?
The difference between us two is that unlike you, I can fall asleep at night knowing that I’m not a rapist.
And this is where you will stay forever while I move on with my life.