They sit in bed awake at night, knowing full well that you are having a peaceful slumber.
They sit in bed awake at night because when they close their eyes, they see your face; unapologetic, cruel and vile.
The image of you flashes into their mind, it never leaves, like a stain they have tried so hard to remove from their brain, but there is no use.
It's been two years, they think to themselves, though their body feels like it was yesterday. The pain and the memory fresh in their mind, vivid and detailed, it leaves no room for mistakes.
They sit in their bed awake at night and think the same thoughts that have mulled over in their mind like stale wine. It's not easy to forgive, and it certainly isn't easy to forget.
They often wonder if they could have done something to avoid it.
Perhaps if they walked a certain way, perhaps if they had gone out with different friends, perhaps if they styled their hair different, or wore different clothes.
Perhaps if their shirt would have been a different colour, or if they hadn't laughed at your jokes. They sit in bed at night and think of all these things as their blood boils and curdles.
They know it is not their fault, it was yours.
You who preyed on someone innocent and naive, you who thought you had the right to take away their innocence and corrupt them forever,
you who decided that one brief moment of pleasure for you justified a lifetime of trauma for them. They sit in bed at night, and their hands tremble at the thought of you.
Everywhere they go, every alleyway, every pub, every restaurant, they look for your face, they look for your face, so they know to run the other way.
Sometimes, they see you in other people, a phantom of you lingering in the air. When someone holds their hand they flinch, because they do not see a person holding their hand, they see you.
And this fear bubbles inside of them, the memory playing over and over in their head and until they let go of that hand, of your hand, it stops.
They sit in bed at night and think of how you must not have changed, how you are out there, doing what you did to them, with other young people.
They sit in bed at night, every night and they are tempted to tell someone, confide in someone, tell them how the very sight of someone new chills them to their bone.
They want to confide in how they do not go into clubs anymore and they do not drink alcohol anymore, just in case.
They wish they could tell someone how it felt, the sheer fear they had felt when they realised they could not overpower you.
Perhaps its this unwanted feeling of shame, this embarrassment that this happened to them, this vulnerability, perhaps that is why they do not tell anyone.
They sit in bed at night, and they wish they could go to the police, to report you, to lock you up for good, perhaps then, while you rot in a cell, they can sit in bed at night and sleep.
But they cannot go to the police, it's been too long and they have no evidence, the police wouldn't believe them.
They sit in bed at night and think of the statistics, only 3% of reported cases get convictions, they would become another statistic, another number in the system,
highlighting the corrupt system we live in. They sit in bed at night and they see you. They will always see you.