She cried. She had cried all night. And the night before. And the night before that. This had been going for almost a week now. Each night worse than the one before it. Of course everyone had said it would get better with time, everything does. But this wasn’t getting better in any way. The only thing she was getting better at was putting on a fake smile, pretending like she was having a good time. Like she was happy. Like she was strong. Like she hadn’t been raped.
But no matter how much she convinced herself she was okay and that he can’t hurt her anymore, the memories creeped up on her in the darkness, it’s tendrils invading her body and mind like he had done. Forcing itself on her like he had done. Choking her, deaf to her pleadings and cries and screams, inflicting pain and savoring her suffering and tears. Just like he had done.
Every waking moment and every sleeping one was torture and pain and nauseating.
Her life would not get better. Only worse. That’s what she believed.
He lived and laughed and got away with it all. While she had died on the same night that he considered an “experience”, the moment he would remember forever as a triumph of his manhood.
All of her feelings, all her pain, everything she is going through, it’s on us.
She could be any of the women in your life. Any women who is making your life better, helping you and cherishing you. Or she could be a woman you don’t know at all. Whoever she is, she does not deserve this. She does not have to suffer the consequences for the actions she did not commit. She does not have to endure pain and suffering for the injustice that was done to her. She does not have to go through all of this just because someone else wanted to make his life “more thrilling”.
The fact that such people get away with it, it’s on us.
The truth that people like him still exist in the 21st century, it’s on us.
The reality that she suffers every minute, knowing that he is still out there and might get to her again, it’s on us.
It’s time to take responsibility.
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