“I want you to be the mother of my children. We’ll have a baby, maybe two or three. We’ll get married and travel the world.” That was what my boyfriend kept telling me just after I said yes to his proposal. It sounded sweet, but it also felt like too much, too soon. We were still getting to know each other, and while he was already planning a lifetime together, I kept telling him to slow down. “Calm down, let’s get to know each other first. You don’t rush into a battlefield.”

From the beginning, I had boundaries. He didn’t visit me at home, and I didn’t visit his either. We met at work, on dates, or in public places, but never behind closed doors. That was my way of protecting myself while giving our relationship room to grow at a pace I was comfortable with.

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Then one weekend, I fell seriously ill. I woke up exhausted, my whole body aching, my skin pale, and I barely had the strength to walk from my bed to the bathroom. There was no one around to help me, so I called him. He told me he would come over and that he was bringing a doctor friend to check on me.

By the time he arrived, I was sitting weakly on the couch. He sat beside me, but there was still some space between us. Every now and then he reached for my hand, trying to hold it, and each time I gently pulled away. My eyes kept closing because I was too weak to keep them open for long. I thought he was trying to comfort me, maybe even make me smile because I had barely spoken since he arrived.

Then his touches changed. His hand moved from mine to my shoulder, then to my arm, then my thigh. It happened over and over, and before I could fully process what was happening, he moved closer and began forcing his mouth onto mine while his hands wandered over my body, from my shoulders to my stomach and back to my thighs.

I tried to get up, but he pushed me back onto the couch. When I tried again, he stood in front of me, blocking my way. I was trapped, sitting there while he stood over me.

“I beg you, I beg you. Please leave me alone.” Those were the only words I could manage.

I repeated them again and again as he pulled down his trousers, forced my underwear off, and tried to penetrate me. Because I had never had sex before, he couldn’t. That did not stop him. Instead, he grabbed my hand, forced it onto him, and used it himself until he climaxed. The moment he was done, he breathed a sigh of relief and walked out of my house.

Maybe my brain didn’t fully grasp what was happening until he left, because then I started sending messages. Why do you send a message to the man who assaulted you? I did. I was looking for answers. “Why did you do that to me? Why? Did you ever love me?”

Days and months later, he started coming back. He would use different numbers to call me and say, “I want to talk to you, I want to see you and explain,” claiming he saw me around and wanted to talk. He would even come to my house at odd hours, calling me from outside. If I didn’t come out, he would keep calling, trying to get me to meet him, and he would send messages asking me to come and see him.

I also feel like I should have seen the red flags earlier. The man was controlling. He would ask where I was, tell me not to have friends, and get angry when I went out or spoke to other people. He also kept insisting that I should have a baby with him, it was his anthem. At the time, I brushed those things aside because I was trying to understand him. I believed that maybe things would get better.

They didn’t. For a long time, I was angry with myself for not seeing him for who he really was. I kept asking myself whether I should have left sooner, whether I should have recognised the signs earlier. But I remind myself every day that what happened was not my fault. I refuse to carry the shame for something he chose to do. If I keep blaming myself, then I end up paying for his crime, living with guilt that belongs to him instead of me. I will not give him that power over my life.

I Called My Girlfriend And Another Man Answered The Phone

What happened on that couch forever changed the trajectory of my life. I started having terrifying nightmares that made me scream in my sleep. Nights became something I feared, and even during the day I couldn’t wash away the feeling of what had happened. One of my biggest regrets is that I never reported him to the police. I dated him for only five months, and any more months later my story would have been different.

—Awura

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