For months I would come home each day from school and sign on to the Internet and each day I was greeted by the same person, Terry. We talked almost every day on the Internet and over the phone. He was 29 and my best friend, my confidant. Our age difference didn't seem to odd to me because I had always gotten along better with people older than I, but it did seem weird when Terry said he wanted to see me. I figured that he was my best friend and I knew that I could trust him. But I couldn't trust him and I was so gullible that it never occurred to me that Terry was untrustworthy. One day we made plans for mid-March. He would fly here and pick me up and we would go out together. According to Terry, this was the only time that he wasn't completely busy and it was during my spring break, so everything worked out. I told my mom that I was going to my friend's house and had earlier told my friend to lie for me. Everything seemed like it would turn out okay. I said good-bye to mom and Terry picked me up Saturday morning. We went out and saw "Liar Liar" (how fitting) played video games at the Golfland Arcade and had dinner at Chili's. I went back to his hotel room with him and that was when he raped me, several times. The next morning, I was returned home. My parents confronted me about my lies and asked me where I had been. I didn't answer because I had this demented notion that I was in love with Terry. The police showed up about an hour later and asked me again where I had been. I finally cracked and was taken down to the emergency room where I was examined. In the emergency room, there was a woman from the Women's Center there to offer me support. As stubborn as I was, I refused and decided that I would put on the front of being strong enough to handle the situation myself. My family also took advantage of the Victim Witness program which helped pay for our therapy bills. I understand why my parents chose to send me to a shrink, but I still don't agree with their decision. Therapy didn't do anything for me, in fact we never talked about what happened to me in the two years that I attended. I was unable to admit to myself that I had been raped, that I was a victim. To some extent, that is still true today. I will always regret that I didn't participate in the trial that took place here in California, that trial that put Terry away for only two years for raping me. I was told that the only reason he didn't get more time was because of me and that it was because I wasn't willing to cooperate with he police. I had lied for Terry in all my interviews with investigators and I made up new stories each time they visited me at home. I didn't want to testify against him because I still thought that he was my friend. It turned out that Terry had also been raping a girl in the state of Washington who was younger than I had been, only 13 years old. Terry lived in Washington and was able to rendezvous with Jenni* more than once. Two years after I was raped, I was subpoenaed to testify in the case against Terry in Washington, but was unable to take the stand when Terry pled guilty just 20 minutes before his lawyer was to interview me. I was enraged that I had again missed my chance to help put Terry away but I was able to attend the sentencing where I spoke and he was sentenced to 23 and a half years in prison. Although Jenni didn't go to the sentencing, I was happy and proud that I did. I had stood just six feet away from Terry, looked the judge dead in the eye, and for about five minutes told the judge why Terry should never see the light of day again. I had said my piece and knew that I had contributed to his extensive sentence. Rape isn't something that just goes away. It stays with you forever. I hear his name or see his face in the crowd and I remember. I remember that I could do nothing to make him stop hurting me and that I had no control over my body. I'm reminded by everything in life from his smell to the things he whispered in my ear. And when I remember, I lose control of my emotions, the same control that I lost while he was with me. I try not to cry. I try not to let people see that I can be weak, but it doesn't seem to work. It's not like I can go out and talk to my parents or even my closest friend. Every time I hear someone say "You can trust me," all I hear is Terry's voice. I hope one day I'll allow myself to trust once again, but for now I'd rather take on my problems myself. I've come to the conclusion that the pain may never go away. The nightmares, relapses, sudden mood swings of depression and anger may never leave me alone but only time can tell. Two years ago, I would have never been able to write something like this but here I am. I don't expect to heal my scars overnight, or even in the next decade, but I do expect to learn to love and trust again. There is a light at the end of the tunnel and every day, I take one step closer to the light. One day I'll overcome this hurdle and look back only to see that this has made me who I am today. That is nothing to be ashamed of.