She felt it every night; a familiar pain in her loin, a gasp of air, the numbness and the nauseousness, the rapid heartbeat, but he was never physically there. He was there only for the first time, only for 238 seconds; not for the rest of her life but it didn't feel any different.

He tore off her pajamas. She wasn't out with a fresh face of makeup with her hair done or a short dress, she was asleep two rooms down from her parents. The windows were open; her mother liked to keep them open in the fall as the September air filled the house. Her mother thought they were too far for someone to even try to break in the house but someone did. He slipped the window screen open very gently and climbed on in. He knew where she was for her parents had invited him over. Quickly he slipped on top of her with a hand over her mouth and his weight pressing her down. Whispering to be quiet as he pulled their pants off. Her screams were muffled by the screeching of the bed and his hand that shut her mouth. He finished and left, she was left shaking and crying.

Here, from her ashes you lay. A broken girl so lost in despondency that you know that even if she does find her way out of this labyrinth in hell, that she will never see, feel, taste, or touch life the same again.

Do you know that most men fear getting laughed at or humiliated by a romantic prospect while most women fear rape and death?" Rachel raised a skeptical brow as she spoke. "Let's just say, I've lost interest." -Being Brave Again

She told me that my rape was not my fault, that I should feel no shame, that – simple as it may sound – I hadn’t caused it. No one causes rape but rapists. No one causes rape but rapists. No one causes rape but rapists. It was true. And it had not been obvious to me. And hearing it from someone else, a professional, someone who should know, helped me believe that soon I would believe it.

Alone with thoughts of what should have long been forgotten, I let myself be carried away into the silent screams of delirium.