Knowing what the word "heinous" means

There is one rhetorical question I have longed to ask people. That question being:
Have you ever experienced something that has left a stain on your memory?
Which lead me to another question in pursuit for understanding:
Is that same occurrence something you think about at least once a day although years have past by like minutes?

I have.

I try to understand why I have kept this secret for so long, although 4 years have gone by but my memory haunts me. Whenever I lay alone in bed the same memory flashes before me, and I seem reluctant to speak the words on my mind. My husband doesn't even know what has happened. I can only imagine what other women have gone though, trying to forget what had happened to them as well, all of which most likely worse than my own experience.

I know what it feels like to be completely helpless. Eventually realizing I had put myself in an awkward and dangerous position. I haven't spoken about what had happened to me, but I remember every detail like it was yesterday.

I think one of the main reasons why I remember so vividly what had happened, is not only the experience itself but the repercussions afterward. I was a nerd, loner, he was a beloved jock. Of course, everyone turned against me, believing I was a liar although the experience remained a secret within my memory. If his family hadn't constantly called me leaving threatening messages on my phone, added metaphoric salt in an emotional wound, I would have repressed the memory and never uttered the words to anyone.

I had told my best friend about it, and how his family threatened me and how his friends whispered behind my back, making things worse and worse, but for some reason I kept to myself when it came to talking to the police.

I realize now I should have.

The lies soon became truth in their minds. A psychological outcome I should have predicted.

If I knew then what I do now, I would have reported him for the sexual predator he is. I don't know, to this day, if he ever attacked another helpless girl, but I know statistics, and they say he will strike again. A sexual sadist derives pleasure from the pain of others, and I got away with my life in tact. Someone else may not be so lucky.

Before, I thought I was doing my attacker a favor, allowing a jock, with a 4.0 go to college and become something. I wanted the rumors over. I wanted him to stop telling people I was going to snitch to the police, I wanted life to go back to normal.

It never did.

I remember the dogs barking outside the door. I remember shuttering in the corner, asking him to stop, and I remember him teasing me. As if it all were a joke.

Of course I blamed myself, and on some level I still do.

I am the type of person who laughs things off, awkward things, feared things, but then I should have said no. I should have started with no. But I didn't. I might have mislead the poor boy, but he should have known when enough was enough.

It was enough.

As soon as my brother arrived, luckily in the nick of time, who knows what would have happened. I was scarred from the things that had happened to me, but who knows what would have happened if others hadn't come over. If my phone hadn't rang.

My life had changed. I had become a victim over and over again. Starting with physically, ending emotionally. To this day it haunts me.

I try to write about it, I try to talk about it, but it seems silly and yet I know I'll cry. I should have done a lot of things. I joined the military hoping it would cure my emotional wounds, and protect me from future predators. It seems nothing can help me now, and time, does not cure anything. It just postpones the pain.

The agony.
The lies.
The deceptions.
The hate.
The tears.

I don't know what I would do if I saw him again. I don't know if I would leave, confront him, attack him, or cry. I don't know.

What I do know is for now, remaining in ignorance is better than knowing.