“Exactly four years ago, my friend with benefits physically and sexually assaulted me. Those four years encompass one college graduation, eight moves in two cities, two jobs, one relationship, six months of therapy, and two unexpected run-ins with my attacker. Time has elapsed, but my memory remains fresh and, sometimes, when I close my eyes, I see the blankness that lived in his that night.

The morning after he assaulted me, I awoke into spring sunshine. Gold light crept up the foot of my bed. I had been up late, escaping from his dorm room while he snored, fleeing through St. Patrick’s Day revelers with my shoes untied. Even in my haze of shock, I knew going to the police wouldn’t help. Our text messages showed me asking to come over. There were no marks and no witnesses. There was no case. The last thing I wanted was a he-said-she-said fight in Ohio, a state not known for being survivor-friendly.”