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Life Her Story

"Come to dinner with me," David* said. It wasn’t a request. I was packing up to go home after working an eight hour Friday shift at my college's IT Help Desk, as I would’ve any other day. At least, until that moment. "Excuse me?" I spluttered in response, utterly confused. David was my boss: 22 years old and looming over me as I gaped at his crossed arms and smug expression. "You should come to dinner with me." This was not happening. This. Was. Not. Happening. "In what context?" I played dumb to buy myself a few seconds. Anything that would give me even the slightest bit of extra time to...
I hated looking in the mirror. I couldn’t stand to look myself in the eye; I was afraid to see the emptiness in them. I hated to look at myself knowing what happened, what I let happen. I was afraid of finding another bruise on my body.  I was afraid of the reality of my situation. I was sexually assaulted. I was not raped; a sexual assault does not necessarily include rape. I said “no” and he didn’t listen. I said “no” so many times, and he didn’t listen. It began right before winter break. There was still a handful of people left on campus before we all got to go home. I was introduced to...
I have never thought of myself as a feminist; I love wearing dresses, I want to be a housewife, I spend more time finding recipes on Pinterest than I do on my calculus homework, I have never voted in an election, I’m pro-life, and I believe that the guy should always make the first move. But I do think I have the right to say no to a guy. And for the past three years I have been denied that right. When I was 15, I began dating Ben. He was never late to our dates and called me every night. I was convinced I had found “The One.” Well, I was until I met Bobby. Bobby was funny and charming; two...