She wore her checkered Vans the day they met. She wore them the day she met his parents and the night he came to her dance recital. And she was wearing them Feb. 9.

Her parents weren’t home that night and neither was her sister.
It would just be her and her aunt. Nothing significant was supposed to
happen. After all, it was just another day.
Feb. 9. The day Eleanor Snow was raped.

CALM BEFORE THE STORM

She slept in until noon that day, allowing herself a breath of laziness.
When she woke up, Eleanor rolled over in bed, seized her phone from her
nightstand and checked her notifications. She’d missed his daily morning
text.
Good morning! How’d you sleep?
Eleanor groaned and scrubbed a hand across the side of her face.
Just woke up. I’ll tell you when I’m conscious. She would look back on that
morning, and the normalcy of it would disturb her.
It had been just another Friday. She threw on her favorite shirt and a pair
of shorts, letting her feet sink into the familiarity of her checkered Vans.
She invited him and a friend to hang out at her house. It would be
nothing too spectacular. Just a movie. It was always supposed to be just a
movie.

DOWNPOUR

Her aunt told everyone to stay in the living room while they watched
their movie. But he didn’t listen.
The two curled up together under a blanket on the couch. It was then
when she felt his hands attempt to slip beneath her clothes. Eleanor smacked
them away. Not forcefully, but hard enough to send a message.
“Stop,” she muttered beneath her breath. She shot a glance at her friend
sitting opposite her, focused on the movie.
He cocked his head to one side and withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry,” he
whispered. “I’ll stop if you want me to.”
Eleanor nodded and returned her attention to the screen, but her body
was tense. Why now, in front of her friend and without her permission?
A few minutes later, he tried once more to pull down Eleanor’s shorts.
“Stop,” she whispered, not wanting to clue her friend in on what was going
on for fear of dramatizing the situation. He furrowed his eyebrows once
more and stopped.
Five minutes passed. Then he slipped his head underneath the blanket
and started kissing her. Eleanor froze. What was she supposed to do?
Her friend was oblivious to what was happening. If she screamed, she’d
probably freak her out. He would be furious. What if they broke up? But what
if this escalated? What if—
He stopped and took the blanket off himself. Eleanor stood up,
uncomfortable and slightly panicked.
“I’m going to go get a drink of water,” she announced. Her friend nodded
and Eleanor left the room, desperate for a moment to collect her thoughts.
She never got one that evening. Eleanor was reaching into the cupboard
when he appeared next to her. When she looked into his eyes, she knew
something was wrong.
He seized her hand, his grip like iron. Eleanor tugged back passively,
aware of her friend in the next room as he led her away.
“My aunt said we need to stay in the living room,” Eleanor pleaded. “We
need to stay in the living room. Please. We need to stay in the living room.”
He said nothing as he led her into the bathroom. His movements were
aggressive and cold.
“We need to stay in the living room. We need to stay in the living room.”
He gripped Eleanor’s hair and began to kiss her. She stood still, paralyzed.
He unfastened his belt and told her to get on her knees.
His voice was foreign to her. It wasn’t the one that asked to hold her
hand on their first date. And this wasn’t the boy who sent texts every
morning to check up on her.
No, this was not the boy she loved. Her body trembled uncontrollably.

Her mind was void of all thought.
She was forced to do things that she didn’t want to do. And then she was
turned around, undressed and raped.
Her entire body was numb and distant, like she was underwater. Like the
body she called hers for 16 years was no longer her own.
Eleanor shot upright and twisted back, slamming her elbow against his
stomach. Now, her whole body felt like it was burning. She stood and glared
at the boy standing before her.
“I told you I wanted to wait.”
Her voice was cold and threatening as she stormed out of the bathroom,
her arms crossed over her chest, leaving the boy she had once loved
standing alone in the dark.

HEAD ABOVE WATER

The next eight hours were filled with sounds. The low thrum of the car
engine whirring as they drove to the hospital. The comforting voices of the
nurses as she was led back to various rooms. The quiet steps against the
cold linoleum floor, her favorite shoes still at the house. The questions of
the forensic examiners while they interviewed her. The sobs of her sister
when she arrived at the hospital.
The wounds of that night were waves shoving against her, dragging the
weight of her hurt into deeper, darker depths. She was drowning in them.
Eleanor’s road to recovery wasn’t easy. It still isn’t.
That first night home from the hospital, Eleanor fell asleep next to the
toilet after hours spent throwing up. For an entire week straight, she could
only eat the same meal over and over again because food had simply lost its
taste.
Wednesdays were marked with hour-long therapy sessions. Those hours
spent venting, crying and learning to cope were—and still are—vital to her
process of healing.
Hours where she learned to surround herself with supportive people who
had her best interests at heart. Hours spent studying her Bible and praying
to God for hope. Hours where she learned to “box breathe” and meditate.
Hours turned into days, days that led to better thoughts and eventually a
better outlook on life. Music became an escape route easily taken when her
thoughts began to weigh too much.
She never wanted to be the victim.
No one ever does.
But in time, Eleanor was able to overcome her shame and forgive herself
and everyone else involved in the situation, including the boy who raped
her.
To Eleanor, Feb. 9 is not the most significant day in her life. Feb. 8 does
not mean that she is any less than she was before. To this day, she still
considers herself a virgin. She won’t let that one night in that bathroom
define her life.
And she still wears her checkered Vans, worn and torn, but still intact.
Still whole.

________________________________________________

You are not alone and you are so loved, valuable and important. There are
people willing and ready to help you heal and get better. You are not any less than
you were before and you will never lose the value that your life holds, no matter
the circumstance.
Everything is going to be alright.
If you or someone you know has been sexually assaulted, call 911 and speak to
a parent, guardian or trusted adult. You can also speak to a trained staff member
at 800-656-HOPE (4673) or visit online.rainn.org to talk anonymously online.
They will transfer you to the appropriate local health facility that will educate and
walk you through the process of getting help at your own pace.