Free Butterfly by Elle Harper Page A

I
bring the mug to my lips. Swallow a mouthful. ‘So you didn’t report
it?’
    ‘No. How could I? We’d been
seeing each other for two years. I’d slept with him lots of times
before. How would anyone see this as any different?’
    ‘But it is different. It’s completely different.’
    She stares down into her
mug.
    ‘About four out of five rapes
are actually committed by people you know, not by strangers. And
half of those are committed by partners or ex-partners. Many women
don’t report it because they think people will think it’s not
“real” rape. If you slept with him before, then what’s the big
deal, right? It’s not the same as some stranger jumping out of the
bushes and raping you? But that’s not true. It’s another myth,
another lie, and there are plenty of them out there. The bottom
line is you didn’t consent to it. You didn’t want it to happen, and
he forced you. That’s rape. Just because he was your partner
doesn’t make you any less raped.’
    We drink in silence for a while,
but the silence doesn’t feel uncomfortable. I don’t break it. She
needs to get this out in her own time.
    Eventually, she says, ‘I didn’t
report it to the police because his Dad’s the mayor here, and his
mum’s a barrister. I knew if I told the police, I wouldn’t stand a
chance of people believing me. They have the power to make me look
like I’m lying. They’d say it was consensual, and it would’ve been
my word against his. And I just wanted to forget it ever happened.
I couldn’t bear to be touched by anyone afterwards, even if it was
a doctor doing a rape exam.’ She sniffs. ‘After he raped me, he
passed out, drunk, and I left. The next day, I got up for work as
usual, trying to put on a brave face. Trying to make myself believe
it didn’t happen. Except it’s not as easy as that. I’ve tried to
forget, and it doesn’t work.’
    I bite my cheek before I can say
anything, because the injustice of it all makes me see red. ‘And
Lisa doesn’t know?’
    ‘No. I only met her when she
started working here after it happened. All my friends were his
friends, so it wasn’t like I could tell them what happened. And I
can’t put all my shit on Lisa. It’s not fair.’ She wipes more tears
away with the back of her hands. ‘But I don’t want to be the person
I’ve turned into. I just want to ordinary again. The Grace I used
to be.’
    ‘The first step to healing is
identifying the damage so it’s possible to decide you need to heal.
You said you were attacked, but you weren’t. You were raped.
There’s a big difference between knowing what it is and naming it.
Naming and identifying it as rape is a big step forward. It gives
the responsibility for it back to him instead of you keeping hold
of it. You’re not a rape victim, Grace; you’re a survivor. And
you’re not ordinary, you’re extraordinary for surviving.’
    ‘Survivor.’ She rolls the word
around her tongue as if trying to commit it to memory.
    ‘And I’m going to say it again,
because I really need you to understand this: it’s not your fault.
So instead of taking the blame for this, give the blame back to
him, where it belongs. He did this to you. You didn’t ask
for it or want it to happen, and you didn’t deserve it.’
    She takes another sip of hot
chocolate, looking at me over the top of the rim. A shadow passes
over her green eyes, and something sparks there.
    An idea?
    A realization?
    ‘How do I give the blame back to
him?’ she asks.
    ‘There are lots of ways. Getting
angry with him is one, but take out your anger in positive ways,
like exercise. Running or hitting a punch bag. Your being angry
doesn’t affect him in any way. All it does is affect you and
hold you down.’
    For the first time since she
started talking, that ghost of a smile is on her face. ‘Yeah. I
think I could probably do with hitting something.’
    ‘Look, this is just the first
step. We’ll work on this together. You’re going to