I couldn’t tell anyone at all.
I was 12 years old.
My parents were always busy with my siblings who were in highschool.
I wasn’t important to them.

He was my neighbor at our old house.
He wasn’t much older than me.
We became friends really quickly and talked on the phone a lot.
We couldn’t go out together here.
He called me one day and told me he was on his way back from university and would stay for a while at his family’s apartment.
“I want to see you,” he said.
I wanted to see him too.
He asked me to come over and I did.
He asked me not to make any noise on my way up even though his parents weren’t there.
It was because his uncles lived in the same building.
I went up.
I don’t know why he assumed I was a slut, or why he thought I went over to his house to sleep with him.
He started touching me, and when I resisted, he tied me up and tore my clothes.
He had sex with me.

I didn’t understand what he had done.
Or why he left when he was finished.
I didn’t scream.
I waited until it was late and went home.
I didn’t tell anyone.
I don’t even know if I’m a virgin or not.
I was bruised all over my body.

I understood years later that he raped me.
I feel ashamed.
I hate my body.
I hate that I didn’t scream or tell anyone.
I hate that I didn’t make a sound.