Friday, May 18, 2012



It’s hard to know where to start with something like this. There are so many levels of just plain crazy, that if I wasn’t in the middle of it, I probably wouldn’t believe it myself. I have told a few people, and I am honestly scared at losing their support as this situation only seems to get worse. I can’t tell many people because of the barrage of questions is so frustrating. I feel in some way I have to protect the man that did this to me because I can’t risk not putting him on the stand, or losing my day in court, over one heated moment. Not like I haven’t weighed the pros and cons of getting this piece of shit off the streets and protecting other women out there since the service from the LAPD has been less than overwhelming.

I like to think I am a good person. I like animals and children, have bought food for homeless on the street asking for money, fought to make my neighborhood a better and safer place. I work hard and want to make sure clients actually have an enjoyable experience at the studio. I pay my taxes. I guess I can start at the beginning. That one precious moment when the drugs had started to wear off and I came to. When I didn’t know yet what happened or just how screwed up my life was going to become. That one precious moment when everything was as I thought it should be and I was still safe. I’ll never have that moment again. I came to on my bed. I was naked and my legs were spread apart. I was aware of a bad taste in my mouth. I thought, this is strange; we are still at the bar so how can I be here? I was so convinced that everyone else must still be at the bar that I got up to put my clothes on and go back. It was literally like closing your eyes for five seconds after dozing off and then opening your eyes and being someplace else. Like you do when you have a desk job and it’s after lunch. Imagine when you start to shut your eyes waiting for a big attachment to download onto your desktop and you didn’t even realize your eyes had shut for five seconds. Except, when you open your eyes, you’re not at work. You could be in your own bed, in an alley next to a dumpster, in the back of a car. And the worst part is you’re naked.

I got up, not aware of the deep hurried scratches in my back where he had dug his nails into me trying to get my clothes off. I really did think if I went back to the bar, they would be there having a beer saying “Hey Sus, where have you been?” I remembered I had to open the studio at 7am. I checked the clock, it was 3 am. I decided that even though the guys were waiting for me, it was too late. I should just go to bed and wake up for work in a few hours. I checked my phone and found the disgusting texts from Ed about sex. I decided I didn’t want to go back to the bar anyway. I went into the bathroom and started to brush my teeth to get the bad taste out of my mouth. I went to take out my contacts. I opened the holder and realized they were already in there basking in saline solution. The two unexplained blue dots looking back at me. That’s when I knew something was wrong. If I had just come back from the bar and passed out, I wouldn’t have taken my contacts out. I didn’t remember taking them out. I looked around the bathroom like the answer would be written on the wall or something. That was when it slowly started to dawn on me. I didn’t remember taking out my contacts, I didn’t remember walking home from the bar, I didn’t remember being at the bar. What did I remember?

I remembered 5 PM. I remembered it because that was when I got my call sheet for the next day. I remembered two beers and one shot, and ordering another round. I remembered Naylor, and Ed and three other guys that came in for a beer and left. They played AC/DC’s “For those about to rock”, and I exchanged emails with one of them who owned a limo company. I remembered that Naylor didn’t like them. That was all I remembered. What the hell happened to me? I felt the scratch from the dug in nail on my shoulder and felt horror sinking in. I put in my contacts. I drove myself to the hospital. It hurt to sit down. That pain would get worse throughout my ordeal of the next 12 hours. I got to the hospital at 3:30. I was crying uncontrollably. The nurse behind the window asked me to explain what happened. It’s hard to explain when you’re not even sure, especially thru nine little holes in Plexiglas. There just to allow enough communication and no contact. “I was drugged and raped” I tell her. My last memory was ten hours ago. “Do you want to press charges?” she asks. I do. She wants more details. I see the sign that says my patients’ rights are to discuss in private what I feel to be a private situation. This would seem like that time to me. I don’t want to have to talk any louder into those nine holes so the whole waiting room can know what happened to me. I’m taken back to triage by a sweet nurse. I can barely make out her face thru the tears that won’t stop flowing now. She says she will get me a private room and not a curtained one.

That would happen five hours later. I had to sit in that waiting room with crazies and homeless looking for a warm place to sleep for five hours. The precious evidence of the drugs used on me is slowly dissipating. The bottle of water I came in with is taken away from me because it could wash away evidence as the now increasing dry heaves are kicking in even stronger. I would also notice the allergies or head cold I had would return with fervor. It had subsided during my blackout and I could feel the difference between it and the never ending supply of tears from horror and humiliation. Five hours is a long time. Even longer for a “non- acute” rape victim. I was not allowed to eat, drink, piss, or defecate in case I washed away evidence of the rape. My body is feeling worse. By seven am, I have now been interviewed by four police officers. I have been texting Ed who I had gone to the bar with. I told him I had been raped, had no memory of the bar, and I needed answers.

He called back. Finally I thought the answers I have been looking for. “No, your mistaken”, he says. “You weren’t raped, it was consensual”. My stomach fell. The dry heaving intensified. How could he say that? “No”, I say. “Ed, I have no memory, this wasn’t consensual”. Looking back on it now, I should have realized he would never use words like that normally. Consensual wasn’t in his vocabulary. I woke up to his appalling texts referencing sexual acts. I will never forgive him for that. The word consensual appeared nowhere in them. I have told every nurse, doctor, and police officer the same thing. Got home from work, went and had a big lunch with Ed, he bought me a Claritin from the store next door, we went to his place, smoked weed and went to the bar around 4 pm. Ed had gotten into a fight with our slumlord landlord. He was pissed off and wanted to have some beers to blow off some steam. I fought thru my head cold/ allergies and said ok. We went to the bar. I still love that place even after all of this and I really do hope I can get back there someday without the fear of running into Naylor. It was the first bar I ever went to in Hollywood. Its façade beckoned me in. I was part of the family. I miss that bar and the people who go there. We had a beer and a shot and we were halfway thru the second beer when Naylor got there. It was before 5 pm. He sat awkwardly at the other end of the bar by himself. Ed saw me looking at him. Yes, I admitted, I had slept with Naylor about a month or two prior. I hadn’t been to the bar much and hadn’t seen him since. “He probably thinks you’re on a date”, says Ed. “Should I invite him to come sit with us so it’s not so awkward?” he offers. “Yes” I said. He flip flopped over and invited him back. Naylor looked somewhat relieved I wasn’t with another guy on a date. He sat to my right, Ed to my left. I told Naylor I had a head cold or allergies, I’m not sure which in response to his question if he will get to see more of me tonight. I don’t want to get you sick. He doesn’t care. I do. A snot nose isn’t exactly sexy. He is free to sit and hang out with us, but that’s all that’s going to happen I inform him. I guess he didn’t like that answer. Three loud guys enter the bar. They play AC/DC and Ed poses with them as I snap pictures never leaving my bar stool or my beer. Things started to get a little dreamy. A little far away. Naylor doesn’t like the guys and plays Nirvana thinking it will shut them up. It doesn’t. “Just have fun and who cares what they do” I say to him. Not aware of how much dreamier things were getting. I remember exchanging emails with one of the guys about his limo company. I would love to use one in a photograph. The next shot is ordered with ED and Naylor. I remember putting the shot glass to my lips. Then it’s all gone. Until I come too ten hours later. Naked on my bed with my legs spread apart.

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