It was just after 2 a.m. on a pitch-black Friday morning when Bernadette Greene-Placentia’s life changed. The Democratic candidate for Congressional District 8 strolled across a parking lot to repair a damaged campaign sign. It was a routine she’d followed all summer. This time, she only made it a few yards.
An attacker smashed her over the head. She blacked out. She woke up to find a strange man on top of her.
Greene-Placentia struggled to open her eyes. She felt a sharp pain below her waist. The attacker was pulling his penis out of her.
She heard him mumble something like, “-ic bitch, not a very good fuck,” which her mind filled in as “Democratic bitch,” she recalled. She wasn’t sure that was exactly what he said.
One leg was out of her jean capris. She wore brand-new tennis shoes and a campaign t-shirt. Another man came over. Greene-Placentia felt his weight nudging her left leg further apart. She began swinging her foot at him. “Not even worth it,” she heard the man say as he moved away. He wore black boots and had small feet, she recalled.
The two men left Greene-Placentia face down in the parking lot. The hatch of her silver Jeep Grand Cherokee was still open. The car was still running. She heard music.
She doesn’t remember pulling up her pants or picking herself off the asphalt parking lot. She doesn’t remember closing her Jeep’s hatch and putting her foot on the gas. She doesn’t remember pulling her car into the driveway and collapsing into her bed.
“It’s just these little tiny flashes of things that I do remember,” Greene-Placentia said in an interview with Phoenix New Times. “As much as I don’t want to remember, I’ve tried very, very hard to remember more stuff. But that’s where I’m at.”
I saved a friend of mine from a similar situation. I was living in a house with 5 people. She was shit faced. I came home and found her in the shower. Clothed. Passed out.
I got her changed (we were pretty close friends). And put her to bed.
Like a bit later I get up to check on her. Cause people can die from alcohol poisoning. I See her door is open. Go in and a fucking guy is in her bed.
Can you believe that !?
Some shit stain that was there for the party, from one of the other housemates was throwing.
I flipped out on him and cussed him out. He called me a bitch. Told me to mind my own fucking business. She was into it. …
He really wasn’t going to leave. I am pretty sure I threatened him with violence. (This was like 20 years ago).
Man, I was so angry. I’m still angry when I think about it.
I remember it was actually really hard to get him to leave. He didn’t think I had any right to tell him he couldn’t rape my friend. I do recall there being a lot of yelling.
I did finally get him to leave. And I told the housemate about it but she honestly didn’t care.
Next day I told my friend some shitty guy was in her bed but I chased him off. I tried to recall what he looked like. So she could figure out who he was. But I don’t think we figured it out for sure.
And cautioned her about Ashley’s “friends”.
She said she got in the shower because she realized how drunk she was and thought it would sober her up. And didn’t remember much after that.
Thank God I got off work in time.
A woman underestimates her alcohol consumption one fucking time and the vultures swoop in. In her own place.
Not safe anywhere.