you made me tell you what happened and i did. this was after hours of me sobbing in silence, hours of you waiting in simmering anger. until that day, i told nobody what happened, not even you, my dear ex. and so i couldn't speak when you demanded that i do. i literally could not speak. you thought i was hiding it from you, but i was protecting myself.
immediately after i was sexually assaulted, on spring fucking fling, i threw the spotty memory of the day away. the past is the past (as you later reveled in saying), and there wasn't anything to be done about what had already happened. but you made me tell you, and you were angry. you were so angry at what happened. you weren't upset on my behalf, you were upset for yourself, that what you saw as yours, was touched without your permission.
you broke up with me. and you told your friends i cheated on you. your story is the only one they know, and their stares and judgment i endure.
maybe you thought i wanted it; maybe you thought i was asking for it. maybe you thought i deserved it.
you, the perp, me: we'll all return to our home countries when our time at tufts is up.
and i think i have grown a lot in the course of my soon-to-commence four years here.