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“Hi,” I say softly.
She shoots her head up and looks at me. “Hi. I’m sorry. I don’t—I don’t know why I’m here.”
I extend my hand and gesture for her to come inside. “I’m hoping you’re here because you need support and have realized you don’t want to go through this alone. I know it’s scary, but I’m glad you decided to come here tonight. You’re doing something good for yourself.”
She clutches the doorway as she breaks down crying.
I walk over and gently guide her to the row of chairs in the waiting area and sit her down. I sit next to her and grab a box of tissues from the table. She grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly, murmuring the words, “I feel so alone. I’m scared.”
I squeeze her hand back. “If you can, tell me a bit about what happened. If you can’t, that’s okay, too. I’ll sit here with you as long as you need.”
For the first time, she meets my gaze. Then her eyes drop to her hand wrapped around mine. Pink colors her cheeks.
“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “It’s fine.”
She takes a deep breath and nods, then breathes out shakily and looks up again, eyes on the wall behind me. I understand that feeling. It’s not easy to look someone in the eyes when you talk about these things.
“I was assaulted at a party over the weekend.”
My heart tightens, but I focus on the girl in front of me. This isn’t my story.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
She nods and squeezes her eyes shut as a few more tears stream down her cheeks. I want to reach out and wrap my arms around her in the biggest bear-hug possible, but I know better than anyone how much touch can negatively affect you after something like this.
She continues to clutch my hand as she begins, “I was at a party with a few girlfriends. We try to look out for each other, but you know how it is at a party, people start making out or hooking up and they lose track of each other. Anyway, this guy who graduated last year—I’m a senior in high school now—he was back visiting some friends and came to the party. I always thought he was cute. When he left the girls he was talking to to come sit with me, I felt special. He was a track star. Everyone knows his name.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Anyway, I thought we’d kiss, talk, maybe—maybe—do more. A little bit. I had no intention of having sex with him. He led me to a room, and we laid down in bed together. He was a gentleman at first. Kissing and some touching over the clothes. But then—” She stops and shudders, closing her eyes again. I know she’s reliving it.
I squeeze her hand, trying to bring her back to the present moment. “You’re safe here,” I whisper.
She nods and takes another steadying breath. “It changed quickly. He was sticking his hand under my shirt, then in my pants. I told him to stop and tried to roll away, but he forced himself on top of me. He pressed his hard-on against me, then slid his fingers in my pants. At that point, I started smacking him and pushing him away, but he kept going, shoving his fingers inside me.” Her tears flow faster and my heart aches for her. “Thankfully, my brother taught me how to throw a punch, a kick, and how to knee-strike someone when I was a freshman. I got his attention and waited. Then I kneed him as hard as I could in the crotch and pushed him off me. I punched him and ran as fast as I could. Luckily, he was pretty drunk, and I wasn’t. I got home, went straight to bed and haven’t spoken to anyone since.”
“I’m so sorry you went through that. I know how hard it is, feeling alone, not wanting to talk to anyone or tell anyone what happened.”
“I feel so much shame.”
“I know.”
Her eyes meet mine again. “So it’s happened to you?”
I nod. “Not your story, but something similar. Also at a party.”
“What did you do? How did you get away?” she asks, eyes wide.
“Well, he wanted only one thing from me. Sex. He was going for it. I was extremely lucky that my best friends—three of whom are big guys—were there and saved my ass. I was getting ready to make a break for it, but he was huge and not the tiniest bit drunk. I doubt I would’ve stood a chance.”
She blinks at me and bites her lip. “Did you tell anyone?”
I shake my head. “Not at first. Only my four best friends and sister who were there knew. I stopped talking to everyone and shut down. Eventually—months later—I found a place like this and a support group and I told my parents and reported the guy.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t imagine reporting him. It would be awful.”
“I felt the same, but for whatever it’s worth, I am glad that I did it.”
“I want to tell my mom and my brother, but I’m scared. I’m scared it will break my mother’s heart and my brother will kill the guy. And I…” She sniffles again. “I don’t know how to tell them. I feel like I’m going to shatter if I do.”
I squeeze her hand again. “You won’t. Look, it’s entirely your decision, but are they supportive of you?”
Her eyes snap to me, big as saucers. “So supportive.”
