Caroline Catlin | Longreads | February 2018 | 11 minutes (2,695 words)

Here are some things I know:It happened in September of my junior year at college. It happened on a Friday. I left the party and went home with a well-liked acquaintance. The next morning I met a friend for coffee. She laughed, and said she was proud of me for being so “wild.” As we spoke, another friend walked into the cafe, said I looked “off,” and asked if I was okay. I began to cry. I lay in the bed of a third friend while she researched the process of reporting rape. As I waited, I curled my body into the shape of a comma. There was a circular bruise between my legs. There was blood in my underwear. I saw a therapist, just once. She offered to bring me to the hospital. I refused her…

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