I chose to share this chapter now because it deals with difficult—but deeply important—realities. Like many others, I am a survivor of sexual assault, and writing this is one way I process, heal, and raise awareness.

If you've experienced something similar, please know that you are not alone. This chapter was written with care and empathy, for those who have been through it, are going through it, or know someone who has. My heart is with you.

I've included support resources at the end of the chapter for anyone who might need them. Your safety, your healing, and your voice matter.

I always liked walking around in the park at night. Mom said it wasn't safe, but I went anyway. The dark felt easier somehow—like the shadows could swallow the parts of me that didn't fit. That night, the air was thick with the scent of wet leaves and distant rain, a refreshing promise that the world could wash away the grime of the day. The swing creaked beneath my hands, cold and rough against my palms, as I kicked off the ground, soaring high enough to catch the flicker of streetlights beyond the trees. For a fleeting moment, I let myself believe I could float away—untethered from names and pronouns, from Trevor's laugh that sliced through the cafeteria like a knife.

"Hey, nobody."

I looked back.
Speak of the devil.

"You think you can humiliate me and just walk away?" he hissed. "I don't forget, and I sure as hell don't forgive."
He wasn't just here to scare me. He wanted payback.

"Leave me alone," I managed, but my voice sounded small, like it belonged to someone else entirely, someone who didn't know the weight of fear pressing down on her chest.
He laughed—a harsh, brittle sound that sent a chill down my spine. "No one cares, Emily. Not your teachers, not your family. You think they're proud of some freak who can't even pick a side?" His voice cracked with spite. "People like you make me sick—pretending there's something brave about being broken. You think this is courage? It's disgusting."

I turned to leave, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his presence, but his hand shot out, gripping my wrist so tight it burned.
"Let go!" I cried out, panic rising like bile in my throat.

"Or what?" He yanked me toward the trees, his nails digging into my skin. My heart pounded, I wanted to scream, run or even fight, but my body froze, paralyzed by fear. The world moved in a slow motion—the slide's rusted metal, the mulch under my shoes, the stars blinking as if they didn't want to watch.

Then he shoved me down, the impact jarring. My head hit the ground, and for a moment, the pain was all I knew—a sharp, blinding pain that coursed through me. But then his weight pinned me, suffocating me, his hands everywhere, his voice a low snarl: "You can't even decide what you are, can you? Maybe I can help you figure it out."

He roughly grabbed at my pants, yanking them down along with my underwear. The cold night air hit my most private parts, sending a chill through my body. Tears stung from my eyes as I realized what was about to happen hit me like a freight train.

"I'm not... I don't..." I stammered, my voice trembled with fear. "Please, don't do this!"

But my pleas fell on deaf ears. Trevor smirked, his eyes roaming over my exposed body. "We'll see about that."

As he forced himself on me, violating me in the most intimate way possible, I felt a part of my soul shatter. The pain was unbearable, both physical and emotional. I wanted to scream, to fight back, but my body refused to cooperate.

In that moment, I felt utterly alone, betrayed by my own flesh and blood. I was trapped between genders, trapped between identities, and now trapped under the weight of Trevor's cruelty. As the world around me faded to black, I prayed for it all to end.

I woke up in pain. I must have been lying there for hours—or minutes, maybe—until the cold bit through my bones. My body felt wrong, foreign and violated. I sat up slowly, the gravel sticking to my palms, each piece a reminder of the horror I had just endured. The night air was thick, suffocating, and I noticed I was completely naked, exposed to the world that had so cruelly turned against me.

My clothes were strewn everywhere, a chaotic testament to the violence that had just taken place. The realization hit me like a slap across the face—I had been raped. My heart raced, a frantic drum echoing in my chest as I fought against the nausea rising within me.

As I sat there, the reality of what had just happened crashed over me like the relentless waves of a storm. I could still feel the echoes of Trevor's laughter ringing in my ears, the cruel taunts that had turned my world upside down. My body ached, and the cold air felt like a thousand knives against my skin, a constant reminder of the violation I had just endured.

I gathered my clothes, hands shaking as I pulled the fabric back over my body, desperately trying to regain some sense of normalcy. The world felt surreal, as if I were trapped in a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. I stumbled to my feet, my heart racing, and the panic began to seep in. I needed to get out of the park, away from the shadows that felt alive, ready to consume me once more.

But as I walked, the weight of my shame and fear pressed down harder. I didn't want to think about what had just happened. I couldn't bear the thought of telling anyone, especially my mom. I could already hear her voice filled with worry, the disappointment in her eyes. I felt so alone, so lost.

But deep down, I knew I couldn't keep this to myself. I needed help, even if the thought terrified me. I remembered how my mom always said that I could come to her about anything. Would she really understand? Would she be able to see past the shame I felt?

As I made my way home, the night sky felt oppressive, the stars dimmed by the weight of my grief. I thought of the swing, how it had once been a place of solace, a momentary escape from the struggles of my identity. Now it felt tainted, a reminder of the monster that lurked in the shadows.

The porch light buzzed on as I climbed the steps, illuminating the darkness that cloaked me. The door swung open before I could touch the knob.

"Emily—?" Mom's voice frayed at the edges. Her eyes darted to my torn jeans, the gravel dust smeared across my palms, the raw scrapes on my knees—searching for signs of the hurt I couldn't speak aloud. I saw the panic in her face, the dread rising behind her eyes, and I hated that I was the reason it was there.

"I'm okay," I said—but the lie cracked as it left my mouth. She didn't believe it. I didn't believe it either.

She stepped forward and pulled me into a hug without warning. I stiffened at first, but her arms only tightened, anchoring me to her, grounding me in the warmth I no longer felt inside. I wanted to disappear into her chest, to vanish completely, but all I could feel was the cold void pressing in around me.

She drew back just enough to see my face. Her hands cradled my cheeks, and I saw her expression crumble. "Emily, what happened? You're hurt."

I didn't answer.

"Emily?" she repeated, softer this time. She was trying not to sound scared, but I could hear it—lurking beneath the calm she forced into her voice.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The words wouldn't form. I looked down at my hands instead—at the small flecks of blood dried into my skin, the raw scrapes, the tiny tremble I couldn't stop.

"I just... I need to get you cleaned up, sweetheart," she whispered, as though the volume of her voice might shatter me. She took my hand, so gently, and led me inside.

The house felt wrong—too bright, too warm, too normal. Like I had stepped into someone else's life and didn't know how to act. I followed her to the bathroom in a daze. She opened the cabinet, pulled out the antiseptic, a stack of bandages, tweezers for the grit. Her hands shook slightly as she worked.

I stood by the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I looked... like me. But hollowed out. Gone. I couldn't meet my own eyes. My chest tightened until I couldn't breathe.

"Let me see your knees," Mom said gently, kneeling down.

I sat on the closed toilet lid and let her touch me, clean the blood from my skin. I flinched when the antiseptic hit raw flesh, and she paused, murmuring an apology. I didn't speak. I couldn't.

"Emily..." Her voice cracked again. "Please talk to me. Please tell me what happened."

I stared past her, my lips sealed, my body rigid. I couldn't tell her. I couldn't even think the words. If I did—if I said it out loud—it would be real.

"You're safe now," she said, like she could make it true just by saying it. "Whatever it is, I promise I can handle it. You don't have to be afraid."

But I was. I was so afraid. Not just of Trevor, or what he did—but of what it meant. Of what people would think. Of how I'd see myself if I let it all out.

"Emily..." She brushed a strand of hair from my face, her eyes begging me to let her in. "You don't have to carry this alone. Whatever it is... I'm here."

Tears welled in my eyes, hot and heavy, but still I didn't speak. I couldn't.

She sighed softly and wrapped her arms around me again. I didn't fight it this time. I let her hold me. I let the silence stretch between us like a wound that wouldn't close.

And still, I said nothing.

Author's Note:
If this chapter brought up difficult emotions for you, please know that you are not alone.

In the United States:
You can contact RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network) for 24/7 confidential support by calling 1-800-656-HOPE (4673) or visiting rainn.org to chat with a trained counselor.

Please note: RAINN connects callers to local providers, and experiences may vary. Some centers may not be affirming to trans or LGBTQ+ individuals, depending on the location. If you're LGBTQ+ and looking for a community-affirming resource, you may also consider contacting:

The Trevor Project
24/7 support for LGBTQ+ youth in crisis
Call: 1-866-488-7386
Text: START to 678-678
Web: thetrevorproject.org

Trans Lifeline
Peer support run by and for trans people
Call in U.S.: 877-565-8860
Web: translifeline.org

Internationally:
RAINN provides a list of global sexual assault resources at rainn.org/international-sexual-assault-resources.
Additionally, the RINJ Foundation offers international advocacy and support: rinj.org

Your story matters. Your healing matters. Take care of yourself and reach out when you're ready.