Boys Like You

Chapter Two

(Remember that this book will contain themes of sexual assault. Please take care and stay safe when reading.)

CHAPTER TWO:
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"And yet I feel lucky to hear all your lines.
I hate that they shake me up every time."- dodie

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Dear Jack,

Thank you for making me stronger.

I wasn't going to do this. I wasn't going to write you a letter, and I was going to forget that you ever existed. For many years I tried to. But my counsellor told me that, to move on from things, I have to talk to you. So, ten years later, I am finally writing down everything I've bottled up inside of me for years, even if you'll never read this.

Firstly, I'm so fucking mad at you. I want to hate you, but I can't. And that makes me hate myself more than I could ever hate you. I'm not mad about what you did. It was wrong. So wrong, and it's not okay. You should know that doing that to someone is not acceptable. I felt so uncomfortable and scared of you, but that isn't what made me the maddest. I'm mad because you ruined years of friendship.

I'm mad that you couldn't see how desperately I wanted you to stop because I trusted you.

I trusted you to know your boundaries with any girl. To know when to stop when they want you to. I cared about you so much, and you broke that. You got off the bus that night, and I just sobbed. I felt like my best friend had betrayed me. I was mad because I used to like you so much, as more than a friend and by the time that you finally did something about it I was so confused. I didn't understand what I felt for you. I could tell that you probably liked me when I liked you and I was mad at myself for doing nothing about it. Maybe I loved you. Fuck, maybe I still do. For some twisted reason, the universe will not let me let go of you. It has, however, told me that I'm better without you. I don't need you.

I hate that I've been made to blame myself, not by you, but by society. There's always something the girl did wrong. Honestly, I'm not sure that I didn't overreact and was then too stubborn to admit it and forgive you.
I never said a straight no to you. But I never said yes either.

I didn't say yes, Jack.

So you still sexually assaulted me because you didn't have my consent. This is not my fault. That's what I tell myself, so why can't I believe it?

I can't describe to you how much that hurt me. I missed you more than I wanted to admit, and I hated myself for it.

I still do.

And I know that you've forgotten I exist and couldn't give less of a shit, but I was told to do this so I will. I blamed myself for what you did. I thought that all of those times you confided in me, that I didn't do enough; that I failed you in some way. I should've tried harder to make you okay. Now I've been told that you were never my responsibility and that it's not my fault. And I know they're right. But even now I want to message you to make sure you're okay, even though I know you'd never do that for me. I still worry about you, and I hate that I do. I can't count the number of times that I wanted to contact you but I couldn't. I was scared to. And writing this now is terrifying. I am completely vulnerable, and you know I've never liked that. I'm not expecting anything from you. I'm not expecting an apology because I know that's not you. At least I don't think it is. Clearly, I've never known you as well as I thought I did. I was told that telling you might help. So I am.