It took me a long damn time to call it that.

Assault.

For almost six months I viewed it as my fault. I viewed it as my flirting too much, my being too friendly.

God damn it, Kitty, you should have been smarter.

For almost six months I carried the memory of every second of that night with me, everywhere I went. And not just the minutes I spent with grass pressed into my skin and your fist pulling my hair. I brought every second of the shift we worked together, of the car ride there, of the assault itself, of the car ride back - I brought it with me everywhere.

I had never even kissed a boy.

Never even came close.

And even afterwards, I had still never kissed a boy.

You. Were. Brutal.

I can feel your skin against mine. Your hand slipping down my shorts.

Oliver, please, don't.

I can feel your breathe on the back of my neck, my body tremble, my every nerve tense. I can hear your voice.

I can hear every damn word.

I can taste you.

When you finished you just up and walked away. I melted onto the ground. I put my head between my knees and I sobbed.

Are you coming or do you want me to leave you here.

When I got home.

When I got home, I sat in the darkness of my garage for a little while. Usually, I'd turn on every light. I'd whip out my phone and use my flashlight app. I wouldn't dare sit there in silence, in darkness. But that night - that night the darkness was a comfort. I was safely hidden. I could see nothing but black. As if the world around me didn't even exist. As if I - myself - as if I didn't exist.

I walked up stairs to the bathroom and I brushed my teeth for what felt like hours. Mouthwash. Water. More Mouthwash. Brush. More Mouthwash. Yet, still, I could taste you. Not just on my lips, not just on my tongue, in the depths of my throat. In my stomach. In my entire body. I couldn't get it to go away. The taste. The feeling. It wouldn't. I couldn't.

You raped me.

It took me six months to call it assault. Here I am a year later, labeling it rape. I spent hours researching the precise laws. Connecticut state law. How does my government define rape?

In layman's terms? unwanted intercourse.

What counts as intercourse? "vaginal intercourse, anal intercourse, fellatio or cunnilingus between persons regardless of sex"

Just because I left that playground still a virgin doesn't mean it wasn't rape.

The worst part isn't even carrying it with me. It comes in waves. The memories, the horrific feelings, the PTSD. And when it comes I've learned how to deal with it. I've learned to use my resources, my friends, my loved ones, my strength.

What's worse is that --

I don't --

I don't hate you.

I haven't once wished you dead.

And sometimes that makes me hate me.