![]() ![]() When I heard this decision, I hardened my cheeks and the little muscles behind my eyes. But the mediator found our he-said she-said narrative inconclusive. ![]() She suggested the matter be pursued at the school with a mediator. My irrational request would later fog the clear act and help spare him from expulsion and conviction and shame.Ī few weeks later, too late for physical evidence to still exist, I went to the campus’s sexual assault counselor. Because I desperately wanted to think I had wanted this, to feel that everything was fine. I should have screamed.Īfterward I asked him if he wanted to stay. I remember hearing the sound of the button from my shorts hitting the floor and feeling as still as soft dead wood. A half-minute later, I said an awkward “Bye!” to the other boy, who was sitting on my bed. When the movie ended, the thin boy left with the freckled girl. Classes hadn’t yet begun, and we were wandering from dining hall to orientation activity to campus-safety lecture without certainty or friends or direction. On my second night at school, I had invited a girl and two boys I had met, all of us new freshmen, to watch “The Breakfast Club” in my dorm room. ![]() But I’d already told them what really made me decide to leave: I had been raped. I told them I was cold in Colorado, even in April. ![]() WHEN I was packing to leave college in the spring of my freshman year, shoving jeans and T-shirts and mittens into my suitcase and crying, I spoke with my parents on the phone. ![]()
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