Submitted by: MM
Backstory: This happened to me 25 years ago. I made a police report days later just to have a record of something, but because had washed away the evidence, I had no case. It was during the police interview that I learned I had most likely been drugged, as I had never felt so unable to move in my life. I wrote this as exactly how I felt and how the memories came back to me. It still haunts me to this day.
Movement. Sounds. Eyes crack open, exceptionally dark room, window, the outline of a short-haired male figure hovering above me, music playing. Different male laughing farther away. Groggy, numb, unfamiliar place, not dreaming… or am I? Thirsty, cotton scraping my tongue and roof of my mouth, cigarettes in my nose. Hard, cold floor, sheet or blanket, carpet. Hands on me, cannot see, cannot move.
An undetermined amount of time has passed before waking again. As if a nightlight has been switched on, it is dawn. Laughing male with a lit cigarette can be seen and heard moving around on a couch by a large window draped with a sheet. The long-sleeved turtleneck shirt I am wearing is pushed up to my bra, a blanket somewhat over me. Something is missing, something doesn’t feel right, something is wrong. Short hair and shoulder-length hair moving above me, everything seems surreal. Cannot move, don’t know where I am, how I got here, why I feel the way I do. Tears roll down my temples as Nirvana plays on the radio, the male on the couch laughing between stanzas. Laughing at what? No one is talking. Laughing at me? I fall back to darkness.
Night before… Valerie… dark, cold, windy… cold enough in Florida to wear long-sleeves, pants, boots. Dancing, laughing… Valerie… domestic beer, packed dance floor, lights flashing…. Valerie’s grungy boyfriend, his grubby friends… one: tall, blond, skinny, creepy… two: short, mousy, uninteresting… three: tattooed redhead… dancing, beer, lights… Sitting on beach dunes… freezing cold… Valerie?… creepy next to me, talking, talking, talking… wind blowing, sand blowing, sand in my boots, my socks, my eyes.
Awakened, the sun has risen. I can see everything… Valerie and her boyfriend sleeping on the floor across the room… the laughing redhead on the couch asleep… creepy and mousy sleeping on each side of me. I now recognize that I’m in a shady part of town where Valerie’s boyfriend stays, an apartment we’d stopped at before going out last night.
Head hurts, nauseated, lethargic. Why do I feel so weak? This is not a normal hangover. I force my way to a bathroom, wrapping a sheet around me. Only a few steps onto a matted, dirty carpet to a filthy bathroom, the toilet hasn’t been cleaned in months and no toilet paper. I look at the disgusting sink, no soap for my hands. Gross. No towels. A mirror above the sink is speckled with white spots, barely visible to see a reflection. Who lives like this? My entire body hurts, I hold my throbbing head. What the fuck happened? How did I end up here? Where are my pants? I use the sheet to wipe myself and tiptoe back to where I had been on the floor, finding my pants bunched up under a blanket.
I wake Valerie, whispering as to not disturb anyone else so I can have a clean escape. We search for my underwear, socks, boots. Everything is found except my underwear, which will no doubt become someone’s trophy. We grab our purses and head to her car where I tell her everything I remember.
Valerie knew? She knew what they were doing and didn’t stop them, didn’t know that I was unconscious. How could she not know I wouldn’t have wanted that to happen? She agrees they should not have done that, acts upset about it. I can’t believe she knew.
I feel somewhat relieved as I shut the door behind me at home, except that a whole new emotion has kicked in knowing that I have to rid of these repulsive clothes and shower away imaginary putrid maggots. A long hot shower washes tears and snot and puke down the drain. Water is warm and comforting. At least I have soap now, but it is not enough to cleanse the revolting filth that has encrusted my soul.