It was January 22, 2012, a beautiful, sunny, Sunday morning. The weather was fair, the birds were chirping, and the church bells were singing their glorious melodies for the Heavens to hear. School was out for the next two days for sixteen-year-old Clara Lynn. As the dawning of a new day began, Clara, like most teenagers her age, slept far into the afternoon, relishing the extra time she had to sleep. However, she woke to the insistent ringing of her cell phone, lying on her bedside table. It was Clara's latest love interest, Declan.

The two of them had been dating for approximately a month, and Clara had never felt more infatuated with another human being. Declan was seventeen, the star athlete of the town's biggest high school, and he knew exactly what to say to a girl to make her feel special. However, Declan was not as emotionally stable, as his external appearance would have everyone to believe, his mother was sick and had only a short time left. Meanwhile, Declan's father was not in the picture, and the responsibility of taking care of his younger brother mostly fell on his shoulders.

A week before this beautiful Sunday, Clara found out that Declan had been cheating on her with another girl. Clara was heartbroken. Nevertheless, she told him to come to her if he ever needed to talk. Thus, Clara did not give it a second thought when he came to visit her on the evening of the 21st. Little did she know that her life would completely change in a matter of minutes.

That night, after speaking to Declan, Clara walked him down the back stairwell of her family's apartment building. When they reached the bottom step, Declan turned to Clara and kissed her softly, at first, but then the intensity changed, and he got rough. Next thing Clara knew, she was pushed into the wall behind her, her arms pinned above her head, held in place, by one of Declan's, the weight of his body pressing against her own. Clara felt she had no other choice but just to let it happen, no one could hear her from the stairwell; no one would come to her rescue. Seeing the aggression he was using while she complied with him, she decided she did not want to see what would happen if she struggled.

That night -- the young man who she trusted -- violated her, taking the virtue she held so dear. Clara, a compassionate sixteen-year-old girl who only wanted to love this beautiful boy ended up alone and broken on the dirty floor of her stairwell asking God why he would let such a thing happen to her.

It took Clara a week to tell her family and friends about what had happened due to the burden of shame that wore heavily upon her shoulders because she did not fight him off or even try to struggle. After her father had found out, despite Clara's protests and pleading, the police were called to take her statement.

After weeks of interviews, offensive questions of whether there was any virtue left for the boy to steal, and causing Clara's parents to question who the girl was sitting before them, the police told Clara and her parents that they would not be continuing the investigation. A large leather bound book was laid before Clara; the detective read the formal definitions of rape in which a conviction is sought. His words barely broke through, resounding against the walls her mind laboriously built to shut out the pain and disbelief of her current situation. The officer informed Clara that he was sorry, but her version of events didn't match the descriptions.

Clara was seen as guilty of what the police labeled teasing in this instance, having sent risqué pictures to Declan's cell phone is what, they claimed, had caused Dylan to act the way he did. In the end, the police told Clara that she had brought this upon herself, that, even though, no means no, sending those pictures to Declan meant yes, in his mind.

The girl whose life is laid out before you in the shape of a cautionary tale, is not, in fact, just a story. The girl's name was not Clara, that girl was me. I was sixteen, a junior in high school at one of the top charter schools in the state, yet I was not seen as a victim by the officers in that small police station only a few blocks from my house, but rather as the perpetrator who cried wolf. I was forced to temporarily mend my wounds so I could focus on the rest of the school year and come back to the pain when I had the time. I ended my junior year with excellent grades and perfect attendance. However, pain is not like a toy you can just put away to bring out later when it is convenient. I ended my school year with severe anxiety, night terrors, and anorexia.

To this day, I have nightmares reliving that night. I look back and try to figure out if those detectives were right or wrong. I question myself, and that's why I'm writing this article. I'm not asking for anyone's pity or sympathy, because I've come to terms with what has happened in my past, and recognize that who I am is due in large part to my past. I just want to express that no girl should ever have to wonder whether she asked to be raped. No girl should be told she "asked for it."

I made my mistakes, but I was sixteen years young, and at the end of the day, no meant no. I implore you, if anyone out there in cyberspace who reads this, has gone through the same ordeal as I have, don't back down just because you don't fit neat and tidily into an open and shut case. Speak out, and never doubt the severity of what you went through just because someone says you caused it to happen.

So, to the officers who told me that my story didn't fit their parameters of what rape is within that mighty leather bound book, I didn't ask for it, and no really did mean no.

Sincerely,

Forced To Grow Up At Sixteen