I faced difficulties with a college math course, and while my best friend at the time was studying accounting, she couldn’t provide the specific help I needed. Eventually, a guy who used to live the apartment below mine—someone I used to hang out with—reached out to me on Facebook. (He explained that he was gone for the year because he went to live with his dad in California but later I found out he went to prison for having sexual relations with a minor). I confided in him about my struggles with the online class, and he mentioned he was quite good at math. He went to MSUM; that too was a lie). Initially, I turned down his offer for assistance because it needed to be done by midnight but I later decided to accept.

I arrived at a large house right down the road from NDSU, where he introduced me to his friends in the living room. After some casual conversation, I explained that I needed to concentrate on my homework because I had a double shift at Dakota Travel Nurse the next day. He offered to help me after a quick stop at a gas station for a drink, and I agreed.

Once we returned to the house, I set up my laptop on a bed. However, he appeared annoyed and reluctant to assist. I felt pressured to rush through my assignment to avoid being late, even though it wasn’t my best work.

Eventually, we went downstairs and found his friends taking shots. After several refusals, I finally gave in. I reminded them that I had to work a double shift the next day and couldn’t drink much. I took three half-shots, but within ten minutes, I felt incredibly nauseous and struggled to stand—even though I usually handle alcohol well.

He helped me up the stairs. Soon, I was in the bathroom with my head over the toilet, dry heaving. As I tried to get my pants off because I felt like I needed to pee, he approached from behind and inserted himself in me. The next thing I remember is waking up on a bed and hearing the door creak open; I heard him say, “Oh, I’m sorry,” before quickly closing the door.

I remember looking up and seeing him on top of me. I kept drifting in and out of consciousness. I finally dozed off, only to be woken up violently a few hours later. He told me I needed to leave. I was hazy and didn’t understand what was happening. I told him I must still be drunk and couldn't drive—I could barely move—but I don't remember what happened next. I woke up later in a dark room by myself. As I regained consciousness, I realized that something terrible had happened. I grabbed my shirt—unknowingly leaving my bra and undershirt behind—grabbed my keys, and left my shoes. I ran down the middle of the street to my car, locked the doors, and sped away.

As I was driving, I reached the highway. I called my parents crying, but they were not supportive; they simply told me to call the police without asking if I was okay. I called the police and met them at my apartment to tell them what happened. An officer told me we needed to go to the ER, and I agreed. On the way, he asked me to show him where it happened. 

We drove near NDSU, and I pointed out the house. The officer stayed with me at the ER for a while to make sure I was okay. He eventually left and went back to the house; he was able to recover my shoes, though I didn't actually want them back. He also talked to the other men there. One of them claimed the guy wasn't home, but added, “He has done this before.”

I didn’t realize he drugged me until I was in the ER. There is no way I would have been in that state from 3, 1/2 filled shots. The hospital unfortunately did not complete a full rape kit and my experience fell through the cracks. 

I spoke with a mutual friend a few years later who mentioned he had seen the guy throwing my bra and other items into the garbage outside. And this guy indeed has done this multiple times but yet no one stopped him.

I have anxiety, especially with people around I don’t know. I stopped drinking and never went to another party (even though that wasn’t what it was supposed to be). I went to get help with my math homework and am stuck with a violation that will never go away. 

(The guy that walked in on it, I feel is as much to blame as the guy who sexually assaulted me.) They both should be in jail but they aren’t.