You know that sensation when you’re on a roller coaster and suddenly there’s a lurching drop, and your stomach feels like it’s meters above your head? That was what I was feeling, only much worse and I definitely wasn’t on a ride. The lined and scribbled paper in front of me, though, was bobbing in and out of sight, almost to tease me with the frightening words on it.

I mean, this friend had been so close to me and we had always shared even the most unimportant secrets. You’d think her rape story would fall somewhere in the “drastic” catory, right? But she wasn’t ready to talk about it, only to write it down. And so far, she had only showed me. My reaction would have to be just right.

“I can’t beleive this.” I had no idea what to do; she trusted me. Her dark brown eyes looked down in shame. She wasn’t going to say anything.

“I’m glad you wrote it down. I don’t think you could have done it any better... Do you want to talk about it?” She shook her head, and I understood. A tear began to roll down her cheek, but she smacked it, as if to hit the man she had trusted. I took her hand and squeezed it, then let go before tears could knock on my door, also.