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It is a strange feeling, being so paralysed by fear in your own living room. In that moment, I realised saying "No" wasn't going to be enough.
He took off my tights. When he was done he finally left.
The next day I locked myself in my room, only leaving to shower away the reminders of the night before. I lay there overwhelmed with disgust, self-blame and guilt.
When we got to the steps that led up to my house, he politely asked if he could pop inside for a glass of water because he was feeling unwell. Maybe this is when I should have heard alarm bells, but even as I was pouring the drink in my kitchen nothing struck me as amiss. Not until after he'd finished the water, and the pretend was over.
With his first demand to go to my room, came my first rebuff - my first spoken "No."
To this day, it still strikes me how a charming disguise can so quickly disperse, and turn into aggression.
Despite my refusal to go to my bedroom, and my repeated attempts to get him to leave, he was relentless: "Why would you let me in if you didn't want something to happen?"