Ione Wells

“A child conceived of rape was growing in me.”

By Josephine Kira

Sometimes, I convince myself that because my rapist was my ex-boyfriend, that makes the assault any less legitimate. We dated since seventh grade, so I grew up and matured from a girl into a woman with this boy by my side. He was my first kiss, my first time sleeping with someone, and my first heartbreak. Yet when we broke up during my senior year of high school, I wasn’t heartbroken because I missed him- I was heartbroken because I discovered I was in love with a serial cheater. My boyfriend, we can call him Will here, was obviously far from an angel. I suffered with confusing emotions that senior year, but nothing could have prepared me for June.

About the week before the assault, I went to the hospital with serious anemia (a result of my anorexia) and received a blood transfusion. Thus, spent some time in bed at home recovering from my weakness. During one of these days spent in bed, feeling too weak to even get up, I heard that dreaded voice on my intercom. “Hey, Josephine, I had to drop something off. Do you want anything?” My ex boyfriend. The boy who broke my trust a thousand times and didn’t even feel bad. The boy who knew how to get into my house and who dared to even talk to me. But I was so weak, and for some reason, I was so dehydrated. I was home alone, but I couldn’t get myself anything to drink. It seemed smart to ask Will for a glass of water.

There was no water when he came into my room. He sat on the foot of my bed and started caressing my legs. I told him to stop. He told me he was just going to make me feel better. His hand wandered up my shirt. I started crying. I was too weak to fight back, so my only defense was saying “no, no, please no.” He took off his shirt. I told him to fuck off. I started kicking him, but his hand suppressed my legs. “Hey you bitch, you love me, you know, and you want this. Trust me. I basically own you.” and then, “I just miss you so much. I regret it all. Let me have you.” I didn’t have much of a choice.

His body was on top of mine, crushing me, as stood there, helpless, scared of being hit or physically hurt. I cried the whole way through. I whimpered “no” a thousand times. And then, just like that, he got dressed and told me that “no one will believe this, so don’t make a fool out of yourself.”

I didn’t believe it myself. I woke up in my bed a few minutes later, maybe an hour, I have no idea. I forgot that he raped me. I forgot we had sex. I guessed I just stopped remembering after a certain point. It wasn’t until a day later when I remembered. And when everything came rushing back. And when I remembered it more vividly than anyone would like to remember anything. I got a rape kit to make sure I wasn’t delusional; I wasn’t.

Sometime later I found out I was pregnant, with his baby. A child conceived of rape was growing in me. I have always been a supporter of life, but it would be unfair to this child to bring it into my world. I was prescribed an abortion pill, which my sister inserted inside me as I had a panic attack on the cold tile floor of my bathroom.

I had been raped. I had had an abortion. Everything was going downhill. My life was in pieces.

I’m five months out from my assault and I don’t think I’ll ever be over it. I’m a happy person now. I run lots and travel as much as I can. I’m going to my top choice college in the fall, and I’m slowly transitioning back to thinking about people romantically. I feel like me again.

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