Trigger Warning: Detailed description of rape and its aftermath.
“I want to talk about the rape.”
I’m not surprised; she has already told me that this was coming.
This isn’t the first conversation of this kind that I have had since arriving at Cambridge.
It isn’t the second either. Or the third.
But none of that makes me prepared for it.
I look at her.
Okay. You know better than me where to start.
She takes a deep breath.
“It’s weird – I find it really easy to talk about the act itself. I can always detach from it.
I was raped by a friend who I loved and trusted. It was after a party, and I was completely and utterly drunk. There had always been some flirtation there, but we’d had separate relationships and I considered us to be purely Platonic.
I was put to bed by…
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