What They Did

I’m not too sure how old I was when it started. Maybe 8? Around that age I think.
He would call it ‘massage’, made it seem like a game. He made it seem normal,
I didn’t feel like I was doing anything wrong. He made me do things to him.
He would ask me if I wanted to play in his room with him. Mum thought he was being a good brother who was loving of me.
He liked to kiss my body. I didn’t like it, I found it boring, I remember always asking if we could play on his Super Nintendo. He said we could after the “massage”. He would tell me not to tell mum or dad about the game “massage”. He made me play with his erect penis and he would play with mine. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he didn’t stop.
This went on for about 2 years. I don’t know why he stopped, maybe he felt bad about taking advantage of me or something. Maybe he thought I was getting too old and would soon realise what was actually going on.
I remember feeling angry and sad that he didn’t want to play “massage” anymore. I didn’t feel special anymore. This game was our game and my other brother wasn’t included.

Time passed and I think I just blocked and repressed those horrible memories. I just didn’t think of them. When I was 18 I was walking up the steps to gym. I saw a sign at the front that read ‘massage, only $30 for an hour’ (said something like that). As soon as I read the big bold word of ‘massage’, my mind unlocked these memories. Not all of them at once, just a few. I remember thinking ‘brentton and I used to play a game called massage when I was little’. Then I pictured what the game was about. I remember him telling me a different way to massage the body. I remember him taking off my pants and underwear. Lots of pieces came flashing back to me.

I was shocked. I didn’t know what to do. I continued walking into the gym, scanned my card to get through the gates. I remember getting on the treadmill and walking. Thinking about what brentton had done, what he made me do to him and what he had done to me. I felt so dirty and disgusting. I remember working out for so long that night. I remember pushing myself to the brink. I didn’t want to think about it anymore, I was so angry with him. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to see him. I stayed at the gym until it closed. On my way home the song ‘ode to my family’ by the cranberries came on the radio. The lyrics hit me and I balled my eyes out.

Brentton has never said anything about it. I’ve never asked him or confronted him. I believe that he thinks I’ve forgotten. He acts likes it’s never happened. I wish I remembered earlier, I wish I remembered before I got that tattoo B3 forever on my arm…

23rd of March, 2011.

On Wednesday the 23rd of March, 2011, I was in the city, a couple blocks off lygon st. It was my first year of uni. In my drama class we were asked to go see a performance. We had to watch it and write a review about it. The teacher gave us a list of performances we could see. They were all in the city (sigh). I finally chose one, it was called ‘now now now’. I caught the train into the city. The play was awful. It was a horrible play, I had no idea what was going on. It ended quite late, it was around 10pm at night. I was on my long walk back to the train station. I was heading to flinders st station , it was the only one I knew. I later found out that parliament was closer and would of saved me a 20 minute walk.

I was walking down lygon st. It seemed dead. I couldn’t see anyone in sight. It was a ghost town. I stopped by the public toilets to do my business as one does. What I didn’t know however, was that there was someone in there waiting for  me. This bathroom was disgusting and smelt horrible, as most public restrooms do. I was doing my business on one of the urinals, then in my peripheral vision i noticed a man standing in the corner on the other side of the room. I was a little shocked at first. I felt his stare on me. He looked at me very intense angry eyes. I felt nervous. I quickly finished and flushed. Now a smart sensible person would walk out of the restrooms straight away after having a creepy man stare at you. But I was dumb and decided to wash my hands. There was a point where I was washing my hands and he moved from the corner towards me that I can’t remember very clearly. It all happened way too fast. I remember flinching , then getting punched in the side of the head and thrown to the ground. Adrenaline coursed thought my body, everything happened so fast. He was strong and quick. He kept kicking me in the gut. I was winded and didn’t have any breath to tell him to stop, I couldn’t plead,(not that it would help anyway)

I thought he wanted to rob me, I was confused as to why he didn’t take anything. He started cursing at me and calling me a ******. A “fucking ******”. I then thought maybe he just wanted to bash me up because he thought I was gay. I got my breath back and pleaded with him, telling him I’m not gay but he didn’t listen. He kept hitting me, I had no strength to fight back.
“Take off your fucking clothes” he shouted at me.
I was confused, I didn’t understand why he wanted my clothes off.
“Take your fucking clothes off now!” He demanded then kicked me hard in the gut.
I pleaded with him and begged him to let me go. He hit me more and told me he would kill me unless I do what he says.
I took my shirt and jumper off and he laughed at me. I begged him again to not do this but it didn’t help. I tried to fight back but he was too strong. He kept telling me that if I continue to resist he would kill me.
I started crying hard and he got annoyed. He pushed me onto the ground once again, my back landed on broken pieces of glass. I was in so much pain. He undid my belt and pulled my pants and underwear off. I felt so exposed, so scared, I didn’t want him to do what he was about to do. But I let him, I had to. I couldn’t run, he had beaten me.

I won’t go into much detail of the sexual act. But I will say that it was the worst day of my life. The pain was so extreme, it hurt so so much. I wasn’t aloud to scream. Every time I made a noise he would hit me across the head. I tried not to make a noise. I just heard him grunting and swearing. I remember wishing that I would just pass out. I really thought I was going to die that night.

He eventually finished and got off me. My eyes were full of tears, I looked up at him, waiting for him to bash me some more and eventually kill me. He laughed and called me a “******” again. He then said that I was as ‘ugly as fuck’. He put his pants on and left the restroom. I was shocked, he actually left. He didn’t kill me.
I slowly got up and put my clothes back on. There was a lot of blood. I was terrified that he would come back. Although I was scared that he would come back, I was equally scared about going outside, so I stayed in the bathroom for another 5 minutes. Crying as I tried to wash the blood from my face. There were small cuts on my face. Most of the damage was on my back and stomach from him kicking me and from the broken glass.

I walked out and ran down lygon st towards the station. I didn’t stop running. It hurt very much to run, but It was 12am and I didn’t want to be trapped in the city after missing the last train.
I made it in time. Like I was saying earlier, the city that night was a ghost town. I didn’t see many people at the station. People I did see didn’t seem to pay any attention anyway. When I was on the train I had my phone in my hand. It had a cracked screen but still worked. I knew I should have called the police but i was too scared. “Tomorrow I said to myself”. But I never did.

I never told my family. I covered my face with makeup for a couple of days. There was some bruising but they didn’t say anything. I was glad.
I was too frightened and ashamed to tell my family that I was raped. I couldn’t tell anyone.
6 months passed, I eventually confided in my friend, but they didn’t know what to say. I kind of knew that this person wouldn’t say much, all I wanted was a hug or for them to say that I would be okay. But nope, nothing.

I tried to see a psychologist but it didn’t work out. The way the psychologist looked at me. She told me things that I already know. Gave me useless activities like keeping a journal. I tried them, and felt that therapy just wasn’t for me.

The reason why I’ve written this is so someone would know exactly what happened. I just want to get it off my chest, I don’t want to bottle it all up. I know rape isn’t an easy thing to talk about.

Thank you so much if you read this far.