We called you ‘Carandiru’, because you looked like you’d just been released from a Brazilian prison of that name, in a movie we’d seen. You were always dirty, and typically dressed in shorts and a singlet, presumably so people would see how tough you [thought] you were, with your fighting scars, and ‘SAMOA’ stencilled across your chest. God and the way you smelt… some days I still find myself gagging at the memory of it; unwashed, unclean, and reeking of old cigarette smoke.

One of the stupidest things I have ever done was accept your offer of a ride home. It was hot and humid, a typical Hamiltonian summer day, and I was exhausted from a full day of back to back classes, and so when you swerved your car in right in front of me and told me I should get in, I didn’t remember to be wary of strange men in cars, and in I got. I knew within moments that something was wrong, when you introduced yourself with “hi my name is Sione, and I’m single�, while your backseat held a few children’s toys, and the indent of your hastily removed wedding ring was still painfully visible on your finger. Almost two hours later I was home, after much driving around and you given repeated excuses as to why the usual ten minute drive in the direction of my house was permeated by detours and pit stops. Nothing had happened, this time, but when we finally pulled into my street I was too nervous and frankly too scared to have the sense to tell you my address was further up the street, and instead I jumped out right in front of my own front door.

F**K that was stupid of me.

A few nights later, you showed up INSIDE my house. Didn’t knock or anything, just strolled straight in the front door with the accursed broken and hence un-lockable lock. Luckily you bumped into two of my flatmates; two large Maori dudes I knew from my high school, both of whom could have pulverised you easily had the need arisen.

You left pretty quickly after that.

For about the next fortnight, I was certain I could see your car parked across the street from my bedroom window, walking me through the dark. I didn’t tell anyone though, because I thought I was just being paranoid, and that they would laugh at me.

I wasn’t just being paranoid.

One night, with the two big Maori boys at rugby practice, and our other flatmate, my best friend Peter, over at his girlfriends place, you pulled up into the driveway and started knocking on the front door. I turned my music up loud and turned away from the window, hoping I could pretend to not know you were there, and praying that you would go away.

After a few minutes I heard the front door open, and you started knocking on my [locked] bedroom door. I started txting Peter repeatedly, begging him to come home because I knew his girlfriends place was relatively close and if he ran he could be home in ten minutes. He didn’t reply, so I started trying to call him, but after the second call went unanswered, I discovered his phone had been turned off. I later learnt that his girlfriend had turned it off, without a single one of my txt messages even being opened. Almost crying in frustration, I did what I felt I had no choice to do lest you start destroying the accessible parts of our house. If accepting the initial ride home from you was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done, then this too was on the same list; I opened the door, and let you in.

I tried to stop you from doing it. I’d pushed you away, and hit you, and told you to F**K off, but all this served to do was further excite you, and within minutes I was naked, pinned beneath you as you grunted and groaned, on my single bed. The more I resisted, the harder you hit me, and bit me, and so I gave up; just lying there staring up at the ceiling, trying to block out the feel of your body on top of me, and the feel of you inside me.

When you were finished, you loosed a horrible moaning sound, like the call of a Bull Seal, and the whole weight of your body fell against me, crushing me between that and the mattress, preventing me from drawing a breath. After a moment, you got up and started to get dressed, while I grabbed that morning’s discarded towel from the floor and wrapped myself in it, then I just stood there, tears streaming down my cheeks, watching you stare back at me with that horrible mocking, triumphant, smile on your face.

“Are you dripping?�

That’s all you said to me. After a moment of me not answering, you just shrugged and walked out of the room, and a few seconds later I heard your car door slam, then you driving away. Once I decided it was safe to leave my room again, I jumped straight into the hottest shower I could handle, and tried to forget about everything that had just happened, because all I wanted was to feel clean again.

About nine weeks later, I discovered that I was pregnant. I knew the baby wasn’t yours, and that a guy I actually chose to be with, not you, was the father. I knew, and the doctor confirmed, that the dates didn’t match up, and so there was no way that the baby could be yours. The doctor told me that because of my recent binge drinking, and because of a medical condition I had been diagnosed with previously, that my baby had a chance of being born severely handicapped if it survived at all. Because of this, I made the decision to terminate the pregnancy. Well, that the reason I gave to the doctor, and the father, and even to myself, but really I just had grasped at the excuse the doctor had unknowingly given me. In truth, I was just so scared that baby could still have been yours, and I didn’t want to give birth to it, and love it, if there was even the slightest chance that it was the product of such a hateful act.

Getting in your car was stupid. Showing you where I lived was stupid. Letting you in my house that night was even stupider. But this; letting what you did to me influence my decision to abort a baby just in case it was yours, even though I knew logically that it could not have been, was by far the stupidest thing I have ever done, and I know I will be called to account for it someday.

And the next stupidest thing, other than letting him get away with a crime, will be to let him ruin the rest of your life. Which I know you won't do.