I was outside on the backyard patio when I saw my high school rapist walk in with a date. When I asked a lawyer I know how often women are blamed or implied to be at fault, she went silent. I pulled out a bread knife and ran the serrated edge along my fingertips. I started by telling my mother. Perhaps I have some issue that has made me such a fan of detached physical relationships. He was the first boy I allowed below the waistband of my Bluenotes, and underneath my fluorescent padded bra. All of it was easy enough to hide.
No when they bunched into an accordion at my feet.
Fifteen years of silence
I grew up with 41 siblings in a polygamist cult. Fifteen years of silence I was raped three times in less than 10 years. Yes, you read that correctly. It was also a twisted sort of affirmation: I saw no problem in compromising myself to get that approval. I pulled out a bread knife and ran the serrated edge along my fingertips.