It still haunts me

It was either March or April of 2015, my sophomore year of high school. I’d been dating this boy since November. We were in the same grade but I don’t remember how I met him or why we started talking. Just one of those things I guess. We had a decent enough relationship. I was emo as all hell and he was a sketchy theater kid no one really knew anything about which drew me in, who can resist a mystery. It started out very innocent, just texting and hanging out for a little bit after school. Then as I started opening up to him, he started using that information as ammunition to guilt me into doing sexual things with him that I didn’t really want to do. But I was a sophomore who didn’t know better, and he WAS my boyfriend so I didn’t think it was really that bad. Then that one day in spring. I went over to his house after my post school band lesson, he had gone home right after school. He used that in between time to steal some of his parents alcohol and got very drunk. I walked in and he handed me a glass of what I thought was ice water but turned out to be straight vodka. I put the glass down and yelled at him for it, he apologized and said he meant to give me a different glass. I asked him where his parents were (he had told me they’d be home), he said they were outside cleaning and prepping the gardens for spring. They had a big yard so it made sense why I hadn’t seen them. I got him a glass of water and watched him drink the whole thing. We sat and talked while I waited for him to get a clearer head. He started acting a bit more normal and he asked if I wanted to go downstairs (to his bedroom) to play some video games (which is normally what we did when I came over). He had no intention of playing video games though. He started touching me and pulling at my pants. I was trying to calmly tell him to stop because I didn’t want to do anything while he was under the influence but he just ignored me and pushed me down onto his bed. I was in shock, honestly. I couldn’t move. He was holding my legs open while he just touched and messed around. The thing that snapped me back into reality was him taking his pants off and trying to go in unprotected. I had been saying no the entire time and crying softly but this was too much. I’d had sex before with my first boyfriend, but I loved him so much and it was sweet and loving, I had pretty high standards for what I wanted my sex life to be like. I pushed him away, he said “but you’ve already had sex so why can’t I?” And I just broke down. I fell onto the floor full on sobbing. He sat down in a chair across the room and touched himself while watching me lay there crying, with bruises already forming and a big black “hickie” on my neck. He finished, put his pants back on, then shortly after that he sprinted to the bathroom to throw up. I composed myself, got up, got him a glass of water and put it on the floor outside the bathroom door, and texted his mom asked her to come home and drive me home.... a lot of people back then and also since have told me it wasn’t rape, because I stopped him from putting his dick in, and I’m just being dramatic and trying to ruin his life. He was popular at school. I was not. I didn’t press charges on him because I didn’t think I had any grounds to, and if I did I would’ve had to sit there in front of people, in front of him, in front of my father, and describe to them how this boy violated me. It’s been years but it still bothers me, a lot, and frequently. I can explain why and I understand why it happened, why I didn’t press charges, my actions towards him and others afterwards. The thing I can never explain to people is the same thing I can’t even understand myself and it deeply confuses me: why did I get him the glass of water? I know it’s a really stupid thing to be hung up on but I am, it keeps me up at night. Why did I get him water, why did I take care of him after that?