By Chloe St. Onge
“Well you were blacked out,” I said.
As if that were supposed to give me some comfort, or some form of justification.
“Well we were both drunk,” I said.
Trying to reason with the situation.
“Well he asked me on a date afterwards,” I said.
As if that makes up for the actions he took against me.
“Well I can’t remember it,” I said.
As if having sex while you are incoherent means that it’s consensual.
“Well he seemed happy about it,” I said.
Because someone seeming happy the morning afterwards means that it wasn’t rape.
“Well maybe he didn’t know,” I said.
Even though everyone came up to me the next week, telling me how drunk off my ass I was.
“Well maybe if I hadn’t drank so much,” I said.
As if my drunkness led to to the consequence of this situation.
“Well maybe if I didn’t flirt with him so much,” I said.
As if there is no such thing as innocent flirting.
“Does it count as rape?” I ask.
Because I feel like I’m responsible for what happened to me.
“Me too,” I said.