My husband told me to take a night out, that he would handle our baby’s bedtime and bath so that I could escape the drudgery that is cleaning up multiple explosive poops and irrational toddler outbursts. It wasn’t that long ago that I was a new mom who hadn’t seen the outside of her house in months, hadn’t tasted the sweet elixir of a cocktail in over a year, hadn’t seen and laughed and hugged and danced with her friends in far too long.
Sometimes it’s at the hands of your best fucking friend. Sometimes it happens at the hands of the people who have protected you in the past. Sometimes it happens at the hands of the people whom you trust the most. It’s not always the result of alcohol or strange and demented monsters or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It doesn’t always play out in a dark alley while some frat bag disgustingly and willfully turns another human into a sex toy without their knowledge or consent. Rape doesn’t always look the way you think it does.
