This is the first time I have spoken out in detail about what happened to me one year ago, but here I go. Please bear with me, it’s not the easiest thing to talk about and it’s definitely not the most pleasant. I had wanted to get to Los Angeles since I was a little kid in St. Louis, Missouri, before I even knew anything about the place. All I knew is that people who had a dream to be an artist of some kind; headed over there with oversized dreams. I was twenty seven and time was ticking away, I knew if I didn’t go then…I’d probably never get there.

It all happened fast, all I did was put it in my mind that I’d get there no matter what it took. I found someone looking for a roommate in the San Fernando Valley area. A guy my age that was in the real estate business and things were really looking up for him. He had another roommate, but had plenty of room, as his house was huge! He sent me pictures of his property, it was beautiful. He told me it would be a great place for me to write and be inspired, I agreed. We made an arrangement for me to fly out to L.A. and meet…check everything out and see if it was a place I’d like to live. He even offered me a job working for him, until I found my own thing to do. I got my plane ticket and was to fly out on May 24, 2007. I was tired of my life in Missouri, I was unhappy and wanted to leave and never look back. I was nervous about leaving my home of twenty seven years and stepping out into the world, but I knew it was the only way I could break away and be me…to do what I wanted. Trust me; I had never wanted anything more in my whole life; twenty years of wanting something that bad and you get desperate.

I packed as much as I could, because I didn’t know if I’d be staying for good or not. I got on that plane early in the morning and my journey began. It wasn’t my first time in California; I had spent a week there in 1999, but didn’t get to do much. I was nervous through the whole flight and right before the plane landed; I knew there was no turning back. I got off the plane and was greeted by a friend of the guy I had arranged to stay with. He carried my suitcase to his car and drove me to the house I was to be staying at. The house was as beautiful as the pictures portrayed it to be. I met the guy I had talked to on the phone; he was very professional-yet down to earth. The first night I was there, we spent talking, laughing, and getting to know each other for hours. It’s not what you think; this was strictly friendship, as he knew I had a boyfriend and never once crossed the line.

The second day I was there was a Friday, so we had the whole weekend ahead of us. I spent the day resting, because I was tired and we stayed up quite late the night before. When he got home from work, he had a friend with him. This was a man he had been friends with since they were children and most of his childhood friends were employees of his. He introduced us and then we decided to go out to dinner. I never once felt threatened by any of these people and I thought I was a decent judge of character-definitely not as trusting as most. After a sushi dinner, we went back home and talked about what we were going to do that night. Me being the guest, I got to choose and I was eager to hit up the beach. I loved Santa Monica the first time I visited and that is where I had been aching to go.

After tossing ideas back and forth, I could see that my new roommate was tired from working all day, but his friend told me he would take me. At first, I sort of thought it was a bad idea, but life is a chance and when you even so much as go on a date with a new person-it too is a chance. I told him ok and we left for Santa Monica. We were on the freeway and I watched each exit as we passed by it. Listening to music and talking about nothing of importance, things started to become clear. All the sudden, I didn’t like the way he was talking to me. He told me to tell him the kinds of things I wrote about. He wasn’t really listening and before I could even finish, he would make a big deal out of it-almost condescendingly. I became quiet and uncomfortable, things certainly did not feel right, especially when he passed the Santa Monica exit. I asked him where he was taking me, he told me he had to stop by his house and get some money. I knew this wasn’t right, but hoped for the best…I hoped things turned out ok. We got to the Inglewood exit, which he took. I had heard the stories of this area and that did not make things feel promising for my future. He stopped at a gas station with bars on the windows. There was trash flying around the street and homeless people at each corner. No one else was at the gas station, except a Hispanic girl that looked around my age. I watched her as she pumped her gas. I wanted to run over to her and ask for help. I wanted to get out of the car and run, but looking around…nowhere seemed safe. He got back into the car and drove a few blocks away to his house.

Bars on the windows and doors of every house in sight, Dobermans lurking in yards, and large fences with locks on them surrounded each house. He opened the fence and drove through. We got out and entered his house, no one was home, but he said his mother lived with him. The house was decorated like an older woman lived there, with a deep pink covering every piece of furniture and floor. In the kitchen I saw cockroaches the size of a mouse, though their home was not filthy. He showed me each room and last was his. He shuffled around, acting like he was looking for something. I just wanted to wait outside; it had to be safer than what I felt in there. He made me a drink, but I didn’t want it. He then turned on a movie-The Illusionist, something my sister and I watched a lot together. It made me wish I was back home, where I knew I was safe. Not wasting any time, he pulled me over to him and started kissing me. I pushed him away, telling him he had the wrong idea. That did not work, as he continued doing it, then taking my clothes off. I’d never been in this position before, though I knew many who had. In twenty seven years, I’d managed to keep safe from men like this, I felt too far from home. I felt like all the stories I was told about Los Angeles, were coming true.

Even though I repeatedly told him no, he kept doing whatever he wanted…he raped me. He not only raped me, he sodomized me. I have a problem with my kidneys and the only thing I could think when feeling the pain, was that he was damaging my body further. There was blood everywhere, all over his bed. Finally, I told him I needed air, I told him I needed to go outside because I felt sick. This was for me to think of a way to avoid him hurting me even more. He let me cover with a towel and led me outside by the arm. I looked around while I was sitting outside. I wanted to just run; I didn’t care if I had clothes on or not. That was not an option though, because in order for me to get outside the fence, I’d need to be able to unlock it and fast. Even if I got free, where would I go? This neighborhood was frightening. He told me we had to go back inside and he pulled me in by my arm. I shook him off me and was so scared; I had tears in my eyes. I remember telling him I wanted to go home, but I think that motivated him more. It was the last time I acted scared. He took me back to the bedroom and continued hurting me, blood still everywhere. I stopped him when I couldn’t take anymore and told him I needed to use the bathroom. I was running out of excuses. He led me to the bathroom by my arm and stood outside the door. I looked around for something to hit him with; the best I could find was an aerosol can of hairspray. My adrenaline was pumping so fast and I was in one of those ‘what would you do’ situations. Believe it or not, when your adrenaline is flowing that fast, time seems to slow down and you can think clearly…you go into survival mode. I was taking too long; he came into the bathroom and told me to come on. I knew hitting him on the head with a can wouldn’t hurt him, only fuel his anger and who knows what would happen then.

He took my arm and he pulled me back to the bedroom, but on our way, I saw a large kitchen knife on the counter. It was in my reach, I could have grabbed it and stabbed him in the back, but I didn’t. I didn’t, because I knew if I didn’t do it right-he would use it on me. That knife has never once left my mind. He finally finished killing me inside and went to sleep. I didn’t sleep all night; he had me tightly under his arm. All I could hear around me was planes, sirens, helicopters, and people outside. I waited for the sun to come up, as if the light would some how save me, like nothing bad ever happens during the day. I got up at 6:30 am, put my clothes on, and ran to the living room. I sat there quietly and waited for him to get up. I told him to take me home, because he had promised he would in the morning. Then he told me he lost his car keys and I thought I would be stuck there forever. He found them and drove me back. No one was there, but the door was unlocked. I just wanted him to leave and get away from me. I was afraid that he would do it again. He kissed me on the head and said, “Thanks for last night.” It felt like one last smack in the face, a perfect ending to a night from hell.

When he left, I got in the shower and watched the blood run down my legs-which lasted a week. I knew I couldn’t go to the hospital, because I had no way to get there and I was afraid. I locked every window and door to the house when he left, just in case he decided to come back. I didn’t want to call my family, because I was afraid they’d tell me they told me so. I felt stupid, angry, and sickened. I ended up telling my roommate what his friend did to me and he acted shocked. He told me he tried to call his friend to see what we were doing and if I was ok [which I remember him getting calls and texts] but he never answered them. When I asked who it was, he told me it was his friend…no big deal.

I ended up leaving L.A. a week later. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t live in that house or work with those people. Not only that, but there were other things that made me feel unsafe. During that time, the media was making a big deal about illegal immigrants. The guy and his friend were Mexican and I am not so sure if they were legal. The guy I was staying with was looking for a way to bring people over from Mexico illegally. I often wondered if I was a product of a terrorist attack. A mad group of illegal’s looking to hurt legal people. I’ve played things over in my head and thought of everything imaginable, but I’ll never know. I don’t care to know, I am just happy I survived that and made it home safely. It took a ninety dollar cab ride and a prayer that the cab company had gotten the request I put online, as he hid the phone from me and refused to give me a ride to the airport.