It’s been said that fiction contains a significant degree of autobiography. So, before you begin this book, you should know why I felt it necessary to write about sexual assault and rape.
When I was a sophomore in college, I met a girl I’ll call Megan. I met her through a guy who asked me out on a date – a date that crashed and burned when it became clear he wanted more to happen that night than dinner and a romantic comedy. Megan told me later on that this boy had assaulted her one night at a party; I refused to believe her. Why? Because she and this boy were part of a bigger circle of friends who ate lunch together daily, in the same booth, in the campus dining hall. At the time, I couldn’t fathom how or why she could stand to be around him if what she said was true. In my mind, she was not acting like I thought a “true victim” should.
In one act of terrible judgment, I told her what I thought of the situation. Needless to say, we are no longer friends. Two years later, after ending my own abusive relationship, I realized how wrong I was to judge her. The same accusations I made toward her – Why do you still hang out with him? Why haven’t you pressed charges? – were the same questions I would face from some of my own friends. It was then that I realized the dynamic of abusive relationships and sexual abuse, in general, is far more complex than we realize. Thus, the idea for this book was born.
This novel is, at its core, fiction. The characters are products of my imagination, but they are also composites based on the stories of real people. This is not a book written to entertain, rather to invoke serious questions and promote dialogue about why we hold on to misconceptions that further traumatize and alienate survivors of abuse. To set these important dialogues in motion, I’ve included a discussion guide in the back of this book.
Because sexual abuse is such a complex, personal topic, I understand that not everyone will agree with my conclusions. There may be some who hold on to their previously conceived notions of what is or is not considered abuse, and how a victim is “supposed” to act. That’s okay; what really matters is that we are willing to suspend our judgments long enough to give people a chance to be heard.
For all I know, acting like nothing had changed was Megan’s way of deflecting the severity of what had happened to her. Maybe she was afraid of not being believed, of putting her friends through the stress of having to choose sides. Maybe that boy threatened her with more violence if she told. All or none of these possibilities could be true; if not for Megan, then certainly for scores of other women.
There are many things I could say about how to act (or how not to act) toward someone who has experienced abuse, but every person’s story is different, and every person will respond in his or her own way. One fact remains true: Rape and sexual assault are some of the most under-reported crimes in America, if not the world. Many perpetrators of these atrocities never see a day in court, or the inside of a prison cell. This is largely because shame and social stigmas prevent people from coming forward. Let’s do what we can to rid ourselves of bias and condemnation, so those who are suffering from abuse don’t have to suffer alone.
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