Rachel Reardon’s voice breaks through the patter of rain drops one Thursday evening as she and 49 volunteers battle 37-mph winds and slosh through damp streets to cry out against sexual assault.

The forceful, almost desperate sound of Rachel’s voice rings out as if speaking to each onlooker individually.

“No more silence, no more hate. No more violence, no more rape,” she hollers into a megaphone. The group behind her repeats in unison.

Armed with ponchos, boots and umbrellas, they plan to march west along Green Street from Urbana’s Lincoln Square Mall, curve left around Sixth Street and end at the English Building as part of Urbana’s 34th annual “Take Back the Night,” an international march that began in Belgium in 1976.

The Urbana event is sponsored by the University’s Women’s Resource Center and Rape Advocacy, Counseling and Education Services, a local rape advocacy organization that offers medical, legal, educational and counseling services to survivors throughout Central Illinois.

“Oy vey,” Rachel says after several chants, cracking a smile. Her throat is on fire from the yelling. A graduate student in social work at the University, Rachel has been an intern with R.A.C.E.S. since August. Most of her work focuses on counseling clients and accompanying them to the hospital.

It was only five years ago that Rachel herself was inside the R.A.C.E.S. offices, as a client. When she reflects on her long, personal experience with sexual assault, she knows it will always be a part of her life.

Tonight, however, it’s not about her. It’s about the hope that even one person might be able to avoid a similar pain.

Rachel takes a few moments to catch her breath. When the shouts of the crowd also begin to die down, it’s time to get back to work. She lifts the megaphone to her mouth.

“No matter how we dress, no matter where we go, yes means yes, and no means no!”

* * *

Rachel lay under the covers of his bed, crumpled in a fetal position, crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. She couldn’t answer. She tried to digest what just happened.

Was this the way it was supposed to be? Her first time? “The Birds and the Bees” was not something Rachel had been taught as a child. Most of her knowledge about sex came from friends or health classes in school.

Now, it was the summer before her freshman year at the University, and she was the last virgin among her friends. Rachel was embarrassed. She just wanted to get it over with, almost like an inconvenient doctor’s appointment. So, she and a guy she dated at the time headed back to his apartment.

He was a student at the University who gave Rachel the “willies,” but she didn’t have much dating experience. He liked her.

Did she ask for this? Rachel tried to remember exactly what happened, but most of it’s a blur, memories buried behind a protective wall in her mind.

She couldn’t remember if he pinned her down, or how hard she fought, just the words: “I can’t do this, I’m scared. I can’t do this. No.”

“You’re fine,” he answered. And then, nothing. She couldn’t move, breathe, feel anything. Afterward, when she finally gathered the strength to walk, Rachel got out of the bed, put on her clothes and left the apartment.

She tried to pretend like everything was fine. She had done it: lost her virginity. She should be happy — right? During dinner with her friends, Rachel told them a pleasant version of the story, and they were excited for her.

She tried to move past it, put it all behind her, but this “gross feeling” just wouldn’t go away. Rachel even tried to make things work with him. One night she went back to his apartment — just to hang out and watch movies.

Suddenly he asked for oral sex, and Rachel paused. She was shocked and a little confused. She had never done that before. After a few moments, he got tired of waiting and tried to push her head onto him.

After a struggle, Rachel wiggled her way out of his grasp and rushed toward the door.

“You need to stay,” he said as he tried to stop her.

“No. I need to be somewhere. My friend is picking me up,” she responded. Her hands were shaking.

He was persistent, but eventually Rachel persuaded him to let her leave. After that day, he called. No answer. He texted. No answer. He searched for her at parties, and asked her friends where she was. Rachel was terrified, but she tried to hold it together.

During that first year of college, she still didn’t completely understand what happened to her, so she lived life as “normal” as possible. To her friends, she was outgoing and funny. She drank a lot, sure, but that was normal — right?

But her friends weren’t there when Rachel woke up from nightmares in cold sweat. They didn’t know that during work she had terrible flashbacks that left her shaking.

She didn’t tell them that when his car drove past her one day on campus she broke into a sprint to get away; it gave her a panic attack. Rachel didn’t want them to know those things because she wanted to be strong.

Eventually she realized that something wasn’t right. A counselor at the University referred her to R.A.C.E.S. They told her that what happened wasn’t normal, it wasn’t love — it was rape, and it wasn’t her fault.

Rachel began to feel relief, but it took years to work through these feelings: the confusion, the guilt, the anger, the fear.

She slowly began to open up to family and friends. Some were caring and supportive, but others said nasty things, and called her a liar.

Rachel still battled with self-confidence issues and the need for validation — especially from men. Her constant hunger for love and approval led to a year-long relationship with a man who isolated her from family and friends. He even said that she should just “get over” the rape.

It wasn’t until the year following her graduation from college that she was diagnosed with and treated for post-traumatic stress disorder, and things began to turn around.

She went through an exposure therapy that focused on getting to the root of her sexual assault trauma.

Eventually the anxiety started to fade away. Rachel regained control over her life and even started to feel happy.

Her inner judge began to quiet with only one question remaining: Will she let her past take over the future? And her answer to that was no.

* * *

At 7:35 p.m. the marchers file into room 160 of the English Building, guided by a trail of small candles placed in white paper bags.

Seated in the second row of the classroom, Rachel smiles brightly as she glances down at her hand entwined with her boyfriend’s. His thumb gently grazes the back of her hand.

She and Jordan started dating six months ago. He’s “amazing,” understanding and completely different from her past relationships.

It’s been two years since Rachel began treatment for PTSD, and she no longer recognizes the girl she used to be. After graduation from her master’s program in May, Rachel wants to continue working with survivors like those in room 160 who shared their stories one by one.

The first, a freshman at the University, speaks publicly for the first time about the molestation she endured as a child from her father.

The second is a male in his early 20s, who told the group that he was touched several times growing up by an older cousin.

These forums used to be a lot for Rachel to handle. It’s difficult to hear the details of something so horrific, but as a counselor she has to be there for those who need support. Her mission is to help them see that “the experience changes them, but it doesn’t have to define them.”

Rachel doesn’t pretend to know what the future holds for women’s rights or sexual violence. She knows that taking on the social and political stigma attached to rape is not easy; it requires extensive education and empowerment.

Now that these issues have been brought to the forefront of recent debates, Rachel is hopeful that the dialogue means the silence will be broken.

Candice can be reached at [email protected].