My mom, Andrew, Jacob, Mr and Mrs Reynolds, Becky and I walk into Los Angeles airport. It's incredible, I'm looking around like a child on their first day of middle school. Broad-eyed and mouth open. I look at Becky and give her a wide smile. She turns to her brother and asks, "Is the goon squad really necessary?" I look at Jake's security team that was about 10 meters back but stuck out like a group of sore thumbs. He shrugs at her and waves at hand at them to give the family some privacy.

"Aww girls, let me take a picture of you," Mrs Reynolds says. We sling an arm over each others' shoulders and give overcompensating ample grins.

"Mom, we really have to go," Becky says during the photos. We unlink our arms and separate to our respective parent/parents.

My mom starts to tear up a little. I have never been anywhere out of Malibu without her, and it's an intimidating thought to have. "Don't cry mom, I'll visit every break and we can talk on the phone every few days."

She gave me a proud smile, "I love you so much," she says, bringing me into a hug, "just don't forget about me."

"Never," I tell her. I give Andrew a hug as well, tell him that I'll miss him and to look after my mom. Becky and I swap positions and I give Mr and Mrs Reynold a hug.

Mr Reynold whispers into my ear, "Keep Becky on a tight leash please." I give a small giggle and a nod.

Then I give Mrs Reynold a hug, "You are like a daughter to me," she says, "be safe and have fun gorgeous."

"Thanks, Lilianne." Becky and I stand back. She is wearing a button-up Ralph Lauren shirt and has stylistically left the first three buttons undone to highlight her breasts. She has paired the top with a short, but conservative, blue denim skirt. Her beachy blond hair is tied up into a messy ponytail and she is wearing a pair of Sophia Webster, embellished leather mules. I, on the other hand, have chosen to wear a deep-blue playsuit that extenuates my flat chest as well as my long dark legs. I have paired my look with some converse and neatly straightened my hair so that it reaches the middle of my back. Becky is slightly shorter than me, so her heels bring us to the same height. We give our final goodbyes and take our luggage. I have two suitcases and Becky has five, but she's taking her two essential bags on the plane and her brother is flying her other three on his private plane when he comes to New York in a few days. We walk down the airport and into the first-class lounge to get our bags checked in. There is about half an hour until we need to board the plane for our 5 hours and 20-minutes flight.

Becky and I find a couch where we can view the whole members lounge. It is a rectangular room, that has large floor to ceiling windows that overlook the tarmac. The bar extends 3/4 of the room, white pillars proudly support the roof, and the chandelier that hung from it caught the morning light which illuminated the dark corners of the room. Though it could be considered to be an overused and loosely defined term, this experience felt magical. I did feel a small pit of guilt burry into my stomach, because I know right now, at this moment my mom would be missing me. But the euphoric feeling that I had now was something I refused to depreciate. I look over to Becky who watches me with eyes that could only be described as endearing. "Is it everything you hoped for?" She asks me coyly.

"Everything and more," I reply with awe laced through my tone.

The interior of the plane was even better, and while Becky slept peacefully on the bed beside me, I marvelled in the sights. While the room was a tight fit, I was still shocked by the elegance and exquisite interior that the plane was designed with. The single beds were fitted crisply with snowy white sheets that cooled your skin at first contact. There were television sets built into the wall that adjacently faced each bedding area. Two cupboard compartments were situated bellow the tv's and could collectively hold my entire wardrobe. About 3 hours into the flight we were served with the most delicious french cuisine. A tomatoes bisque, crispy bread and a chocolate soufflé for desert. For the rest of the flight, Becky stayed awake and we chatted like teenagers about how we envision our first day to be like. Becky and I would both be in the John J Hall Dormitory, but each with a different roommates. Though even the boarding supervisor had a price that could have been negotiated to privilege us as roommates, we both decided that we should meet new people in the first year and live together the second. After all, Becky was most excited to just be Becky, and not Becky Reynolds, Jacobs sister. Which I completely understood, as I watched as she lived most of her life in Jacobs shadow.

--

Pulling up to Columbia university was like nothing I had ever seen before. The architecture was old, and appeared that every brick that went into its construction had it's own story. It was marvellous. We walk up to the freshman sign-in stall and give our names to the person at the desk. A girl with straight, platinum blonde hair, who also has the chirpiest smile I've ever seen, walked up to us and said, "Hi my name is Donna-Marianne-Heather and I am your RA, Miss Reynolds and Langa." The girl pronounces my name wrong, and when I try and correct it, she gives me a subtle but still rude, eye roll. I look over to Becky who completely missed the whole thing, which makes me think I was probably just reading into nothing. When we arrive at the John J Hall Dormitory, Donna directs Becky to her dorm room first and then mine, which conveniently was on the opposite side, three doors down. A placement which was probably instigated by her parents, but I don't mind all too much.

Before Donna leaves me to my room, she hands me a map of the school grounds and a whistle, I look up to her and say, "What's this for?"

"It's an emergency whistle." She takes a suggestive pause between her next sentence and says, "We have a zero rape tolerance at this school." Her eyes linger a little to long for comfort on mine and then with a swift flick of her hair she leaves the room, floating on a cloud of her her own self absorption. I remind myself to enjoy Columbia, because it cost my mom a lot to send me here. She refused to take a penny from the Reynolds, saying that it went against everything she stood for as a mother and that she would pay forth as much as she can, and the rest would be covered by student loans. I will always be grateful for my mother raising me by herself, and never once giving into the temptation of being, a 'deadbeat-mom', for lack of better words.

My thoughts are interrupted by a girl who walks into the room hand-in-hand with a guy whom I assume is her boyfriend. She has hot pink hair which extends from the black as night roots, and her 3 inch long nails are heavily covered in black shiny nail polish. Her T-shirt, which could pass as a bra, had multiple holes which revealed her lacy black bra on underneath. The heavy amounts of black clashed with her vampiristic skin colour and made her look sickly white, and I was surprised by the fact that I didn't actually see any visible tattoos or piercings. Not even her ears. "Hi," she says warmly, her voice sounded raspy and gentle at the same time, "you must be Emma?" She releases the guys hand and embraces me into a hug.

Her skin smelled of sweat, alcohol and men's cologne. "Hi," I reply timidly.

She releases me and smiles warmly. "My names Gillian, but my friends call me Leah." I stand awkwardly and she takes a deep breath which fills the growing silence. "This is my boyfriend Razor," he nods at me, but as far as interactions go, he was quite stand-offish and board. "What's your major?" she directs the attention back to me.

"Political Science."

"Well I don't know what that is but I hope you enjoy it. I'm studying Psychology and modern art. I've lived here two years in a row and am so glad to finally get a roommate who's a freshman. Last year, I got stuck with a Grad Student, who was a huge pain in the ass, she would always be like, 'Let me study' 'Stop having sex so loud'" Leah makes her voice raise a couple of octaves to imitate the person. Razor rolls his eyes at the sex comment and she turns to him and says, "Hey, it was nowhere as good as our sex." A sense of pride and accomplishment wash over his face. Clearly they haven't been together that long. "Well we just came to stop by and get some clothes, I'm going to stay at his fraternity tonight after the party. You should totally come!"

"To a party?"

"Yeah, It'll be fun. I'll be taking your college party virginity!" I laugh at that, but insistently decline her offer until her boyfriend practically drags her out of the room.

It takes me about 2 hours until I have made my side of the room more 'me'. The room is approximately 12-by-19 feet and fits two beds, two desks and a large built in wardrobe. The floors are hardwood and there is a single window in the centre of the room in between the two beds. The communal bathrooms is something I'll have to accustom myself to, however, I think that Becky will struggle more with it. Coincidently, Becky strides into my room, and says, "Wow, look at you Miss organised."

"What do you mean?" I ask smiling.

"I mean, we've been here for 2 hours and your already unpacked."

"I mean, yeah, what have you been doing?"

"Hooking up with my roommates boyfriend," she says casually and yet promiscuous.

I reflect her question back to her and ask, "We've been here for 2 hours and you've already made out with your roommates boyfriend? Watch out girls, Rebecca Reynolds is here to steal your man." We both giggle and sit down on the bed.

"There's another thing I wanted to talk to you about."

"Shoot," I say suddenly weary at her serious tone.

"Here at this school I'm going by Becky Ray. Because my brother is making every headline, be it wall street journal to page six, and I just want to create my own identity here."

"Hmm, clever pseudonym," I reply sarcastically, "what about that guy you were trying long distance with."

She smiles coyly and says, "Oh please, he's old news."

After exploring all the fraternities and clubs, we ask around for a good place to eat on campus. We find a small place called 'Koronet Pizza' and decide to share a margarita pizza. "So," Becky starts the conversation, "do you think I made the right choice with picking English as my major?"

"Yeah! Of course. You always loved to read when we were younger, plus, I'm in that class."

"But you chose political science as your major and..."

"We want to be different things when we're older. You'll find what you want to do eventually." I'm about to say something else but stop myself.

Unfortunately Becky notices and says, "What? I know you were going to say something."

Reluctantly, I say, "Don't get mad at me for asking, but, is there any chance that you'll work for..."

Becky cuts me off mid sentence and says, "My brothers company?" I nod my head and she sighs. "I know deep down my parents want me to, and they want me to have stability, and I love them for that. But I can't live under my brother my entire life. He has made himself into... something, and no matter how insignificant my job is, it will be one that I earn, not that I'm given to through nepotism." I nod acknowledging her, and I respect her for wanting to create her own success rather than leaching off Jacobs. The rest of the night goes by smoothly and we walk back to our dorm, and there we part for the night and go into our respective rooms. It's only 7:00 pm, so I decide to continue working on the assignments that were emailed to us for our classes. Time rolls around to 10:45 and I shut my laptop and text Becky to see what she's doing. Seconds later she replies with a blurry picture of her on some guys lap with a large crowd behind her. I roll my eyes and say to myself out loud, "Really? A party the night before our first day of classes?" Admittedly, her first one isn't until 1:30 pm, but mine is at 7:45 am and I want to be ready for it.

The next morning I wake up at 6:00 am, and my excitement propels me forward to face the day. I experience the communal bathroom for the first time, which was surprisingly not as bad as I thought it would be, yet still not something I want to get use to anytime soon. I decide a white sheer button up sleeve, loose fitting shirt, with a pair of denim skinny jeans and white converse. I prepare my books into a bag for the day. My first class is Mathematics with Mr Henson. Maths is not a subject that I was particularly great at, but in grade 11 when we were examined by administration officials, the lady who received my college application gave me some of the best advice I would ever obtain, "You need to stand-out more. Your application is impressive, but identical to every other applicant. My advice would be to place mathematics or science as your major. That can get you a job later on with a top law firm." I took her advice, hence I chose to study Mathematics, alongside Political Science, Business, English and Arts and Humanities. However, today I would only have Mathematics and English.

By the time English rolled around, I was overjoyed that Mathematics was over, and I have no idea how I am going to continue doing that class. I arrive to English early, with about 3 minutes to spare. Unfortunately my two classes are on completely different sides of campus, so by the time my Mathematics class has finished, I am racing to get to English. I look down at the pavement for a single moment, and in that spit second I crash into someone and feel a hot brown liquid, travel down my white shirt. It burns my skin almost as much as the embarrassment that has burned my pride. "I am so sorry," I apologise profusely to the guy who has fallen victim to my clumsiness.

"It's all good," he says dryly. Despite the fact that he didn't spill a drop on himself and rather it has all fallen onto me, he seems quite agitated by the situation. He sighs, "Here," he hands me a napkin, "I'm sorry, I'm just hungover. My boyfriend and I got pissed last night."

"No really, I'm sorry, I should have been watching where I was going."

He bends down to pick up the empty coffee cup while I rub at the stain on my shirt.

"Are you a freshman?" He asks.

"Yeah. Is it that obvious?" I joke.

"No. So am I, and I can show you the college merchandise store? And you can find another shirt?"

"That would be great!" I sigh relieved. If I had to go back to my dormitory just to change and then go to class, I would probably miss the first 30 minutes. We continue to walk and make small talk, and figure out that we are in the same Business and English classes. He tells me about each of the professors and how the English one had previously dabbled as an actor in major film productions, before wanting to become a professor. Then we arrived at the merchandise store. I went with a school basketball t-shirt and sweatshirt, which Spencer, insisted he payed for, however after much friendly fighting I paid, not realising that it would be 90. We ended up on walking to class together, and I was so relieved that we were only 10 minutes late. We sat towards the back, and talked quietly most of the time. He was hilarious and by the end of the class I had probably peed myself 10 times! I had looked around to see if I could find Becky, because this lecture hall was much larger that Mathematics, it made looking for people much harder. In the class we discussed the assigned novel, 'The Cay' and some key themes which it conveyed. I put forth many of the answers and had proudly established myself as teachers pet. Which, Spencer will not shut up about on our way back to my dorms.

Despite our only four hours of knowing each other, the sense of familiarity and closeness spurred our laughter.

Mimicking my actions in class Spencer raises his voice to a high pitch sound and recites in a very convoluted manner, "The idea of racial prejudice during WW2 was prevalent and white society would often marginalise minorities, hence the interactions between Phillip and Timothy, while racist at first, evolved to a sate where Philip no longer judged Timothy solely by the colour of his skin."

We both laugh again, and I was impressed by how accurately he recounted my answer. Eventually we made it back to my dorm room, at 4:15 pm. He asks, "Since we both have business tomorrow morning, do you want to get coffee before hand at that little cafe we passed on our way over."

I was thrilled by the idea of making a new friend, so my answer came off extremely excited, "Yeah!"

"8:30 work for you?" he asks.

"Sounds great," I reply enthusiastically. Once Spencer had left, I tried texting Becky, but she didn't pick up. After doing around 2 hours worth of study, I shut my laptop and rub my agitated eyes. Figuring that I should probably go outside, I grab my purse and head out. I ended up going to the 'Westside Market' to grab some non-perishable snakes that I heard come in handy for college students. On my way back to school, I get a text from Becky asking if we can meet for dinner. I text her back saying that I can meet her at her room in about 15 minutes and she replies with, 'Perfect!'

When I get to Becky's room, she is waring a black long sleeve T-shirt along with a short Burberry mini dress and a pair of knee-high boots. She looked like she was ready to party, whereas I was still waring my jeans and though I had replaced the basketball shirt, I am still waring the Columbia University sweatshirt which was now my favourite. "You can't go out like that!" Becky whines.

"Why not?" I ask confused.

"Because we are going to your first Frat party."

"Becky, no. It's only my second night here, I don't want to go to a frat. I have class agin tomorrow morning, which reminds me. Did you go to class today?" She gives me a cheeky and brazen smile, indicating that she did in-fact miss her class.

"Chill Emma, we won't be out late, like we'll go until 10:30 and I promise we can leave by then," her eyes were begging and despite my better judgement I give in.

"I suppose you want to dress me up as well?" I complain.

She claps her hands together excited and goes over to her wardrobe. "So how's your roommate?" I ask curiously.

"A lot like you in some ways, and then also really different."

"How so?" I ask paying very little attention to her answer, as I start to watch the potential outfits she pulls out for me become sluttier and sluttier.

"She's nice. Her boyfriends a drag, a real stickler and he seems like he's fifteen or something, but he's actually 25. Her style is very similar to yours and she study's so much, but lucky for me she says that the library got a much better 'Zen environment'." She tells me. I make a metal not to check out the library, as I suspect with a roommate like mine, a quite study space is exactly what I need. Surprisingly Becky pulls out something decent and something that I would feel comfortable waring. It's still a mini dress, it's a warm yellow colour with small lace patterns on the sides that reach from the mid thy to the bottom and have 2 inch tassels that conclude each lacy section. I get changes and then Becky persuades me to eave y hair down, and pair the out fit with a pair of gold hoops and similar pair of books to hers. We get an Uber to the party at the fraternity Delta Sigma Phi, which was already in full swing. Cliche red cups were tossed carelessly onto the lawn and the music was raging. She takes me by the hand and walks inside the building, clearly knowing where she was going. She manoeuvred herself to avoid the many bodies in the space from crashing into us. We make our way to a living room, where a group of four already sat. She goes and sit's next to a guy about our age, leaving me awkwardly standing.

"Emma," she says and points, "these are Kristen, Dennis, Olive and Jaco." They all give me polite smiles, and Jaco indicates the position next to me is free for me to sit down in. I go over next to him and sit down uncomfortably. As for the next 20 or so minutes they all talk, laugh and get wasted, while I stick to my singular cup of spiked gatorade that I do admittedly enjoy. I try and understand and listen to the conversation that is happening, but since all of them are a year or two years older than me, I don't understand any of what they are talking about in regards to the school or generic New Yorker things. I startle slightly when someone taps my shoulder. It's Leah.

"I didn't mean to scare you!" she yells and laughs, indicating her high level of intoxication.

"It's ok," I say absentmindedly.

"I didn't know, you were partying kind of a person," she slurs.

"I'm here with a friend," I look back over my shoulder and notice that Becky is no longer sitting down on the couch, and the sudden overwhelming feeling of being left alone at a party like this is really daunting. So when I turn to face Leah again and find her missing, I really start to panic. I didn't bring my phone and I don't have any money to get a cab. Deciding to remain calm and keep my wits, I begin to search the house looking for Sarah, working my way through the crowd a lot less graceful than she had. When I go outside to look for her, I instead find Leah with her boyfriend and a group of her friends sitting on the lawn passing around what I assume is a joint. Except one boy. Who had no beverage in hand and continuingly passed up on the 'hit'. When I go over to her to ask if I can use her phone, she pulls me down onto the grass next her. The grass is cold against my bare legs and I have to hold down my dress to stop myself from flashing.

"Guys!" she yells to the rest of the group, "this is my roommate Emma!" Everyone curtly nodded my way, clearly to high to care that I existed.

"Gillian, do you have a phone I could borrow?"

"Leah. Call me Leah, I hate when people call me by that," she hiccups mid sentence.

"Ok. Leah, do you have a phone I can borrow, I need to call my friend."

"Nooo, don't go yet! Come play a game with us. We're playing Smash or Pass."

Intrigued I ask, "What's that?"

"Watch for a few rounds then join us," she suggests.

I sit timidly and watch as the first person casks the person to their right if they would smash or pass with 'Camille'. The person says, 'Smash' and walk over to her and starts to make out with her. I already know that there is no way my first kiss is going down like this, so I get up and walk away, which nobody notices. I end up just walking aimlessly down the street, when the guy from Leah's group runs up to me and says, "Here," he hands me his phone, "I had to grab it from inside, but I'm glad I caught up to you. Do you still need a phone?" He was the first person who didn't smell like alcohol tonight, and I was glad by the fact that my nostrils final got relief from that pungent odour.

"Thank you," I smile at him. I use the phone to look at maps, and see that if I walk 12 minutes North I should arrive back on campus.

"Are you trying to get back to the campus?" he asks.

"Yeah. I don't know why I came here tonight, but I was supposed to leave with my friend about now, but I couldn't find her anywhere. I don't really think that parties are my scene." I start to walk and find that he actually is walking with me.

"Yeah. When I first started I lived in the dorms as well, and my first few parties were awful. But eventually I found the fun in them, and now I even live in that Fraternity."

"I don't think I'm going to live in a Fraternity anytime soon," I reassure him.

"Of course not. Girls live in sorority's."

I laugh for the first time tonight and ask him, "If you like parties and think their fun, how come you weren't drinking?"

"You know," he says, "if you need to drink to have fun, your boring."

"Huh. I never really looked at it that way."

"Not many people do. People get so obsessed with the idea of having a good time, I think they often forget that being sober and actually remembering said time is actually more fun."

"That's quite sensible for someone who lives in a Fraternity," I tell him. Am I flirting. He places his hand over his heart and makes a mock gesture of an emotional blow.

"I'm Ryan, by the way," he smiles at me. His teeth where white as snow, and his face was the colour of a winter sky just before it rained. His hair was a natural shade of fawn, and his body was built as a tennis players. Lean, and yet slightly muscular.

"I'm Emma."

"I know, the girl at the party introduced you," he laughs.

"Oh yeah. Wait don't you know her? You were sitting with her group."

"No I didn't know any of them. But these party's do get a bit repetitive and playing around with the stoner kids always produces a few laughs."

I recoil slightly when he called Leah 'a stoner' because in some way, I do consider her a friend. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you," he quickly

"No, you didn't," I reassure him lamely.

Eventually after some awkward small talk, we arrived at my dorm, and we said an uncomfortable goodbye, "Well, If you do decide to give partying another shot, you know where to find me," he says with finality.

The next morning I wake up, my mouth parched from last night. Despite only having one drink, I had a small headache this morning. I have a shower, blow dry my hair and dress into a three-quarter sleeve length navy blue dress. I have my first Arts and Humanitarian class at 10:50, which I'm actually excited for. This semester, we are studying phycology as our credit course. Unlike my English classroom, this room is a-lot smaller. Similar to that of a high-school classroom. I arrive 10 minutes prior to class, where I see around 8-10 other students already waiting for it's start. The professor was yet to arrive, so most people sat on their phones, however, I busied myself with the years curriculum. Moments later in walks our professor. She was a taller, skinnier woman about 6 ft and her long red hair extended to her elbows in a neat tangle. Possibly in her mid 40's, you could see the wisdom behind her grey eyes. She dove into the lesson passionately, and I could already tell that I would very much enjoy taking the class with her as my professor. Mid way through she introduced our first assignment. We would be listening and taking notes on the special guests story, of when she was abused as a teenager. I want you to respectfully explore every nook and cranny of phycology post, during and after which you assumed she would've experienced. Let me see your angle and let me see who you are through your interjection of empathy or political opinions on your paper. Class please welcome Willow Halflower. A girl about age 30 walks into the classroom timidly. She had high wasted jeans on and a plain pastel pink top.

She stands at the podium and introduced her story like a narrative, except it was as if she had entered a nightmare. "For a while I was very into online dating. I found a guy 'Hugo' who I was very compatible with, so we decided to meet up for Japanese. Dinner went great, in fact, at first he was an absolute gentleman, and I really could see a serious relationship bloom from this. After dinner, he insisted walking me home, as I told him I live three blocks away. At this time I was only 19, and it was my first year of college, but my friend and I insisted on sharing an apartment off campus together. Hugo walked me down an alleyway, that would get me ultimately quicker to my house. At the time, Yes, it did give me some creepy vibes. But here's when things took an unexpected turn."

I notice that Willow takes a minute, and I record in my notebook the enduring effect that this still must have for her.

"He placed his hand on my lower back, but I subtly moved out of his hold as the situation was making me uncomfortable. But then he unexpectedly grabbed my wrists forcefully and pushed me against a wall. I panicked and froze. While my mind was telling me fight back and scream, my body betrayed me and did nothing, and I found that my voice too wasn't working. He placed one hand on my shoulder and placed his other on my thy. I managed to utter the words, "No. Stop please." But he only continued, this time with a sick and sadistic smile on his face, and he said, "Trust me, you'll like it." Again I found myself mute and my heart racing a million miles per hour. His hand slid under my dress and he placed two fingers under the lace of my panties."

Again she took a moment. Her voice seemed to incline and she was taking more frequent sips of her water, she continued speaking, " He then whispered to me, "You want me to fuck you hard?" Finally, my knee jerked upwards into his crotch, he crumpled forward and steps back enough for me to continue running down the alleyway and back onto the main road. My eyes were pouring heavier than a thunderstorm in January. Too afraid to see if he was following me, I frantically tried to get the attention of numerous cars driving by. Eventually one lady stopped, and asked, "Sweetheart are you alright?" So thankful for her kindness I asked her, "Can I please get in the car?" She must have sensed the urgency in my voice, because she got me into the car hastily. Without even telling her where to go to, she pulled away from the curb and merged into the traffic. Sacred I asked her, "May I please use your phone?" She handed it to me and I called my best friend at the time 'Harriet.' I knew that she was at a Frat party, so I was surprised when she answered the phone", "Hello!?" she yelled over the music in the background. The sound of her voice has sent me breaking down crying instantly, "Harriet where are you! I had my date, and a the guy walked me home, and he-he touched me," I stammered barely able to say the words. "Hello?!" Harriet repeated clearly not hearing much over the background noise. "Harriet I need you," I manage to stutter through hyperventilating breaths, "A guy tried to touch me and rape me! Please come and get me!" "Hello!" she had repeated once more. Then I let out a frustrated grunt and hung-up. The woman next to me looked at me with kind and pitiful eyes. I cry in the seat feeling violated and small. When the car stopped I notice that we had pulled into a fast food place. "Are you hungry?" she asks and looks at me kindly."

We got seated into a booth, but I remember not being hungry. The lady asked me what I would like to eat, but I give her a shrug, not knowing anything that is on the menu. So she ordered a lemonade, burger and fries for me, and for herself, a black coffee. For a while there was just silence between us, until I eventually mumbled, "Well I guess you heard what happened in the car?" "Yes," she said, her voice serious." Willow looked up from her pages if now directly taking to the class who was now extremely invested in the story, "At first I tried to talk down what happened to me. I was hating myself for what happened. I blamed myself" she looks back down at the paper and continued, "I had told the lady, "It wasn't that bad, all he did was touch my hip," I said trying to talk myself down to not make it seem a bigger deal that in had to be. "Did you give him consent?" she asked me with immense trepidation, clearly trying to test what were safe questions to ask, and what were not. "No," I just met him I replied. "You should talk to the police," she suggests. I immediately look up from the table and say, "NO. No police. I can't have a record, I can't have my mother finding out. She's no religious, and online dating is her worst fear. She would disown me if she knew what I had been doing. "Okay," she withdrew her question.

Again silence overcame the space between us, but this time she said, "When I was 15 my brothers friend tried to get me to do despicable things, for him. I thought that it was just harmless flirting and joking over a long period of time, until one night when he slept over. He snuck into my room, removed his clothes and started rubbing against me. He was 18 at the time, and he convinced me not to say anything. That it was just part of our game, and if I said something he would get in a lot of trouble. At the time I tried to dismiss it, saying that it was harmless fun, that him grinding on me wasn't an offence. Three years went by, and my boyfriend of 2 years and I decided that we were ready to sleep together. But when he started to touch me, just like my brothers friend, I had a panic attack. I told him what had happened and he was enraged for me, but also understanding by why I told nobody. He helped me get through it by taking me to support groups and eventually I reported him to the police. An investigation was launched, and at first I thought it was stupid and he was engaged and I thought that I was ruining his life, and for a while, I felt like I was the bad person. But then, the lawyers found 8 more victims of his assault, and he was put behind bars and his family, payed all of us financial compensation. But to this day, I wish I had spoken out sooner, because maybe if I did, those other girls, wouldn't of had to have been treated as they had been. But, things got better for me, I eventually married my boyfriend who became a women's rights politician, I became an accountant and we have two beautiful kids...Only a select group of people know this story."

"Your really brave," I say to the lady. "Maybe," she said, "but I don't define myself by that experience. I don't define myself as a victim to his abuse. But rather a survivor in lieu of my own strength." "I think I want to report it," I said finally and showed her a lazy smile. S, I reported what happened to me to the police. Action was taken against Hugo, he was placed on the sex offenders list and earn a permanent record, a settlement of 5,000 was agreed upon, he would have to attend mandated therapy classes, receive a psychological evaluation and would have to complete 50 hours of community service. Thank you for listening to my story." There were many mixed emotions around the room, some angry, some melancholic, so rudely disinterested, some empathetic, the list goes on. The class gives her a loud round of applause and she exits the room, and I know exactly the direction I'm writing my thesis on.