My pinkies still make a horrible popping noise if I bend them too fast. I’m sure you’d be glad to know that. My shoulder still hurts a lot. It will hurt for the rest of my life. It took you thirty seconds to bend my arm back until it snapped and the pain will follow me until the day I die.

The scars will be there forever. Maybe not forever. Maybe someday I’ll be so old and senile that I forget I even have them. What did you hit me with? It looks like someone threw a wild animal on my back. What did you hit me with? I wish I could remember, but if I did I’d probably wish I didn’t.

I wish that I had scarred you. Burned you, marked you in any way. So that you could look back on it and remember that I NEVER wanted what you did to me. No matter how many times you told me I did. I wish there was something, anything to remind you that you RAPED me. So that you couldn’t tell yourself whatever you want to make it easier. But there’s nothing. Not a mark. So you can believe whatever you want.

I wish I could. I wish I could convince myself that it never happened. I wish that the only proof there was of what you did to me was my memory. That I could, over time, tell myself that I’m just crazy. I’d rather it were all in my head. Everyone else tells me it is. You’d probably laugh if you knew that.

But you’re probably reading this, aren’t you? You leave notes on cars, you hack in to my computer. Why wouldn’t you be reading this too? I’m sure you see the things I post on here and laugh your ass off. You probably read the things I’ve written about you with your pants around your ankles and that fucking grin on your face.

But you know what? I don’t care. You may get off on it, but the joke’s on you because I’m getting better. I’m moving on and you’re still stalking me like a sick fuck. Doesn’t that bother you? Some day I’ll forget you even exist and you’ll still be scouring the internet for my name, hoping I mention you somewhere.

And you won’t dare face me again. I could snap you in half now and you know it. So you keep your comfortable distance, unable to let go, and taunt me with anonymous messages.

To think that all this time I thought I was the pathetic one.