16 Days of Activism of No Violence Against Women and Children - Quiet expression from the safer outskirts

Who is to blame when she was too drunk.
And so was he.
And neither can really recall the details properly.
How did he realise what she was implying when she followed him into a deserted barn stall at the free-and-fun-for-all Ox Braai.
Who was around to clear up the misunderstanding when she climbed into his bed hoping for a cuddle, and he stumbled in after her hoping for a lay.

How did she look when he discovered her fast asleep and curled into a corner of her friends’ couch.
What were the ways that she asked to be ravaged, while she slept unawares.
How did she feel when she woke up to find a strange man shoving his fingers up her. Her top pulled over her head. Nothing making sense.
Who did she turn to when she was told her good friends did not believe her, that he in no way seemed to be a guy who would do that.

When did she start to lose count of the times and the types.
Where was she in living when she decided it was a sick life joke, just not possible.
And how old was she when she began to believe it was every girls’ way of becoming a woman.
Who would have known she would be given a nickname she despised after an incident she hurt to recall.
How much strength did it take her to reclaim her name, to show the world she was “Gorgeous”, not cheap and dirty.
Who would have guessed this was what her university education was involving, while women judged from their sidelines.
Why did life decide to cheat her of her years of frivolity and exploration.
How did the first gentle man react when he brought home this great girl who turned angry and raging and wriggled away from him to curl away in pain and fear.

When did she start just waking up to it, or feeling him climb in next to her, and start to just lie there and allow what she was realising she deserved.
Why did the friend only wait for years later to apologise that his res mates had made conscious decisions to get her as drunk as possible so to “show that silly bitch”.
Did the confused young teen in her speak up when he told his friends and dad in front of her what had happened on his becoming-a-man birthday night, while she recalled having slept in separate beds.
Does she grin now at his own newborn son and happy family.
Who understands what she means when they jokingly ask the group what was the age each lost their virginity.

Why did her body betray her by getting warm while her clit felt so incredibly ugly and dirtied.
What type of girl was she to let that happen to her. Time and again. To be in those places. Time and again.
Who tells the rich girl that there are easy ways of making her feel so cheap. So scared. So unsafe.
When did she start learning she could be treated differently, be treated how she had once expected, be treated decently.
Why does she still have tears inside of her when she types this so many worked-through years later.

How could her friend have betrayed her like this when they were only teens. When he pulled down her shorts, shoved himself and her down to the ground, and pushed himself inside her. And she banged onto his chest and beggingly repeated that this was not what she wanted.
And he did slowly register and he did eventually stop.
So it never was rape.
And she had been drunk anyway.

When will she learn to start looking out for herself.
And when will she learn to stop, and to let a man in so that he can look out for her.