Author's Note: Though this a "spoiler" I feel like it is important to be upfront about certain content matter. Please be aware there is a scene at the end of this chapter that deals with sexual assault. It is not explicit or graphic, but it deals with a subject that may be triggering to some readers.

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Tyler was waiting in his car outside. I slid into the passenger seat, reflecting on how strange it felt to feel like a normal college student, to feel comfortable in my skin, to feel like getting into his car was familiar.

"Hi there," he said with a smile. "You look really nice."

"Thanks," I said, glad for the dark car so he couldn't see me blush. He looked nice as well, dressed in dark jeans and a simple, light-blue collared shirt. His cologne tickled my nose in a pleasant way. "So where are we going?" I asked, surprised at the excitement in my voice.

"There's an Italian restaurant downtown I figured we could try out," he said, pulling slowly out of the parking lot.

"Sounds good to me."

The Chateau was a cute little restaurant tucked away from the busy road and be-speckled with twinkling lights in the trees outside the front door. We were seated upstairs in a booth by the window that overlooked the river. Moonlight danced on the rippling water, and though I couldn't hear it, I imagined the sounds of it tumbling over rocks; a soundtrack to our dinner.

The waiter came by with a pair of water glasses and produced a small notepad to take our order. I flashed my fake ID to get a glass of wine with dinner.

"Ever been caught?" asked Tyler with a smirk as the waiter walked away.

"Nope," I said, tucking it back into my wallet behind my real license. "It's pretty good quality and it scans, though that feature cost a lot extra."

"My brother got busted his freshmen year at college. We got a phone call at two in the morning from the cops. Needless to say my parents were not pleased," said Tyler, laughing and sweeping his napkin into his lap.

"I can only imagine what my parents would do to me if that ever happened," I said, shuddering. My parents were blissfully unaware of my alcohol consumption and I preferred to keep it that way. "So you have a brother?"

"Yeah, my older brother Paul, and you know what they say about older brothers," he said. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbow, exposing well-defined forearms, and placed his clasped hands on the table. A small piece of a black tattoo peeked out from under his sleeve near the crook of his left elbow. I wondered what it was but didn't ask.

"Only by imagination," I said, shaking my head. "I'm an only child."

"Really?" asked Tyler. "I wouldn't have pegged you for that."

"What do you mean?" I asked, picking up my straw and ripping off the top paper.

"Well for one thing, you don't seem like a spoiled brat."

"Hey!" I protested, shooting my straw wrapper at him. It caught him near his right ear. "Not all single children are like that."

Tyler laughed and pulled the wrapper out of his hair. "You're not helping your case."

I took a sip of water and grinned. "Well, I didn't have any biological siblings, but you could practically count Danny's older brother as one. He used to pick on the two of us all the time—" I stopped. Thinking about Eric made me sad, and a little guilty. I hadn't spoken to him since the funeral, though he had reached out on several occasions to see how I was doing.

"You all right?" asked Tyler.

I shook my head to clear it, tucking my hair behind my ears to give my hands something to do. "Yeah, sorry. I promised myself I wouldn't talk about Danny tonight."

I was saved by the waiter who appeared at the moment with our drinks and a basket of bread. I took a sip of wine and then another, relishing the feeling of the tart flavor pricking the back of my tongue and throat, and hoping it would calm my nerves. After my third sip I forced myself to set the glass down and pick up a piece of bread so I wouldn't look like a dehydrated alcoholic.

"It's okay," said Tyler, "I understand."

"No, I'm keeping my promise," I said with determination. Tonight was not about Danny. I occupied myself with buttering my piece of bread; it was still warm from the oven. "So how old is your brother?" I asked, popping a piece of roll into my mouth.

"He's twenty-five, he works out in California," said Tyler, taking a sip of his own wine.

"Why so far away?"

"He and my dad got into a fight a couple of years ago and even after it was resolved, things were still very tense so my brother took the first job opportunity and left," explained Tyler. His voice was nonchalant, but his fingers where stiff around his wine glass.

"I'm sorry," I said. "That must be hard. Do you get to see him at all?"

"He still comes to Thanksgiving and Christmas with his girlfriend and I usually go visit him once over the summer, so it's not too bad," said Tyler. He shrugged as if to make light of it, but something told me he missed his brother more than he cared to admit. I decided not to press the subject.

The waiter demonstrated uncharacteristically perfect timing again and reappeared with our food. He set down a plate of chicken Alfredo in front of me and a plate of chicken parmesan in front of Tyler. Lazy spirals of steam rose from my dish, and I inhaled the smell of butter, cream, and grilled chicken greedily. My stomach rumbled as though I hadn't eaten in days.

I speared a piece of chicken on the end of my fork and chewed slowly while I thought of something else to talk about.

"Sports," I said. "Guys like sports, right? Did you play any in high school?"

Tyler laughed. "Yeah, I played hockey; it was pretty much my life from the time I was seven until senior year. My brother used to play too but he quit freshmen year."

"Hmm, I wouldn't have pegged you for a hockey player," I mused, twirling more pasta around my fork.

"Oh, and why is that?"

I took another sip of wine and raised my eyebrows playfully. "Because you don't seem like a huge douche."

"Well not all hockey players are like that," he said, flicking the crumpled straw wrapper from earlier at me. It bounced off my cheek and into my food. I laughed and fished it out with my fork.

"So what, no college hockey career?"

Tyler became strangely thoughtful, staring down at his plate where half his food still sat.

"I actually had a scholarship to play hockey at a different college," he explained.

"Oh?" I said, surprised. "What happened? Did you get injured?"

Tyler hesitated for a moment and I saw a flicker of unease and something that looked strangely like pain cross his face. "Yeah," he said finally. "You could say that."

Whatever injury he had sustained to end his hockey days clearly still weighed heavily on him. He picked at his food and wouldn't meet my eyes. I wondered if he regretted whatever had happened; he seemed too preoccupied with it for the injury to have been from practice or a game. Perhaps he had done something Danny-like only to suffer a bad ending. Danny had had his fair share of close calls.

"It's in the past now though," he said finally, pulling his easy smile back onto his face. "I wouldn't have done much with hockey anyway."

"So then what are you doing with your life," I asked, playfully, trying to lighten his mood. "Coach?"

"Nah, I'm applying to med schools. I'm a Neuroscience major, but I need to go to med school to finish out my degree. I want to find a way to make depression more manageable if not curable."

I set down my now-empty wine glass and placed my crumpled napkin on the table. "Wow," I said, stupidly. "That's really amazing." You sound like an idiot, I thought. I waved away the waiter who had come over to ask if I wanted more wine; Tyler's glass was still half-full.

He chuckled good-naturedly. "I don't know about amazing. Do you know what you want to do? Philosophy, maybe?"

I snorted unattractively and we both laughed harder. "Yeah, that's exactly what I want to do. Talk in circles all day."

"Well, you'll figure it out. You've got time."

"Yeah," I said, my mind wandering to Danny and the time I still had left because of him. "I do."

We talked more through dessert, a bowl of gelato that we shared, taking more than our fair share of time at the table while the candles burned low in their holders. I told him about Vanessa and how we had met through a town volunteering group when she was in eighth grade and I in sixth. He told me about growing up with his brother only an hour away from school and how the first thing he wanted to do after graduation was go to Australia. I complained about Amber to him and how I barely got to be in my room on the weekends while he complained about the latest party his roommate had thrown.

"I like to party as much as the next person," said Tyler, laughing. "But it's not a party when you spend the whole night playing bouncer and the only tip you get is being thrown up on."

I found myself admiring the way his lips curved up into a smile and the slow sure movements of his hands and body as he leaned closer to me while we talked, as though we were sharing a private joke. All too soon, it was past ten and Tyler asked if I was ready to go. The ride home flashed by in a blur; I had even been able to ignore most of my physiological reactions as we cruised along the highway.

As he pulled up to the front of my building, he spoke up. "If you're sexiled again, you can always crash at my place."

I grimaced. "I might take you up on that offer only because Vanessa went home this weekend."

"Well, I'll wait here until you give me the all clear," he offered.

"Sounds good."

I jogged up the stairs to the second floor and made my way down the hall towards our door that sported the latest half-assed nametags our RA had stuck up. The ugly fluorescent light that was positioned over my room-door had finally guttered out, so it wasn't until I was about to open it that I realized there was a hair-tie hung on the handle. I had my key this time, but I had no desire to walk in on a reenactment of Cosmo.

I turned on my heel, resigning myself to infringing on Tyler's hospitality again, when I heard a thump and a muffled yell. I froze, straining to hear above the sound of drunken students yelling from outside. Another gasp emitted from behind the door, but it was a sound of pain.

"Oww you stupid, bitch!"

"Let go!" Amber yelled.

I took out my phone from my back pocket, sent a three-word text to Tyler, and drew my key. Shoving it in the lock, I kicked open the door hard enough that it banged off the opposite wall.

It only took a few seconds for my brain to process the scene in front of me, but it felt like I was moving in slow motion.

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a small desk lamp on Amber's bedside table. But even as I looked, the light was knocked off the bureau and went spinning to the ground. A shirtless guy clad in jeans was kneeling on Amber's bed, Amber pinned beneath him, both of her wrists trapped in one of his hands while the other clamped over her mouth. There were tears on her cheeks and rage burning in her eyes as she struggled against his weight. She was dressed only in a bra, underwear, and a white cotton shirt that hung ripped from one shoulder.

Without thinking, I leapt on the attacker, locking my arm around his neck and pulling backwards hard. He choked with the sudden pressure against his windpipe and released Amber to try and pry me off. An elbow rammed into my gut and pain exploded in my abdomen. I gasped, losing my grip. The guy straightened abruptly and a sickening swoop went through my stomach as he threw his weight backwards and sent us over the edge of the bed to crash into the ground.

The air was crushed from my lungs and I struggled to regain my breath. The attacker rolled off of me and onto his knees to get a look at my face. There were nail marks across his right cheek where Amber had scratched him. His eyes were wild with adrenaline, anger, and survival-based panic. I kicked out with my left foot, aiming for his groin only to have him catch my heel and twist it painfully away. His right arm was rearing backwards when Tyler appeared behind him.

Tyler caught his arm and twisted the guy's fist behind his back. He gasped in pain but managed to throw another elbow at Tyler's knee to loosen his grip. As the attacker lurched to his feet, Tyler threw a fist into his jaw, knocking him sideways. Regaining his balance, the assailant dropped his shoulder and rammed Tyler to the ground, bolting through the door and down the hall. Tyler pushed himself to his feet and ran after him.

I sat up, finally able to regain my breath, and rubbed the back of my head where it had struck the ground. I winced at the pain that spread beneath my fingertips. "Shit," I said. I swallowed and tasted the coppery tang of blood from where I had bitten my tongue; it only added to the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

Getting to my feet, I saw Amber sitting on her disheveled bed, breathing hard and wiping at her eyes. Her lip was bleeding. I grabbed a tissue from the box on her desk and dragged the blanket from the end of my bed over to her. I placed the blanket gently around her shoulders and she pulled it close like a shield, her white-knuckled fingers digging in for support.

Dabbing at her lip, I looked her in the eyes. "Are you all right?" I said softly.

Her breathing had returned to normal and her eyes were dry, but her face had gone white as plaster.

"Yes," she said slowly, making sure the blanket covered her bare legs. "We didn't—he didn't—nothing happened," she said staring down at her lap. "He just got angry because I said no."

I went to the fridge to get her a bottle of water. She took it without a word. Blood had welled on her bottom lip again, painting it a dark red and her eyes were black where her mascara had run. Bruises were already blossoming on her wrists where the guy's fingers had dug into her arm like a matching set of purple bracelets. Her hair was a tousled nest of blond knots framing her face. It was an awful kind of make-up to look upon.

"I'm going to call Campus Police," I said, stooping to pick up my phone on the ground. Pain lanced through my side and I bent down and straightened.

"No!" cried Amber suddenly. I looked around to see her eyes bright with something that could have been fear or anger. "Don't call them!"

"Amber," I said gently, going over to sit next to her on the bed. "You have to report this so they can charge him."

"No," she said again, defiantly shaking her head. She tucked her disheveled blonde hair behind her ears. I noticed she was missing an earring.

"I promise, it'll be okay," I said, though as soon as the words passed my lips I realized it wasn't something I could promise. I put a gentle hand on her shoulder and she flinched away from the contact, crushing the unopened plastic bottle in her hands.

"I just can't believe it happened again," she said angrily, throwing the bottle against the wall. It burst open in a spray of water that shimmered briefly in the air as it caught the still-upended light, before dripping down the wall into the carpet.

A spike of fear shot through me. "What do you mean again?" I asked. "Has he done this before?"

She shook her head again and silent tears dripped down her face, though her eyes still burned with a feverish sort of hate. "When I was sixteen, my ex-boyfriend assaulted me in his basement while his parents were away."

I felt my heart constrict. Every single horrible thing I had said and thought about her ran through my mind. You didn't know, my conscience thought, trying to protect me. But you still slut-shamed her without knowing her, said another voice.

Amber spoke up again, glaring at the spot on the wall where water still dripped through the rivulets in between the cinder-blocks. "I told my parents who told the police who charged him. We went to court and he looked me in the face while he denied everything. He got off."

"Oh, Amber," I said softly. I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. "I'm so very, very sorry. But you—you can't let that keep you from reporting this one too. You can't let him get away with it."

Amber looked up at me, and I was almost scared at the intensity in her face; it was a wild kind of look, one of survival, of pain, of rage, of revenge. She had loosed her grip on the blanket so it had pooled around her waist, covering her legs but exposing her bare left shoulder where her shirt sleeve had been torn. There was a red mark where her bra strap had dug into her skin.

"They  will let him get away with it," she said. "You don't know what it's like, to tell your story in court and have them not believe you.

They ask where you were, what you were doing, if you were drinking—what were you wearing? You ask them why your clothes matter and they say it's to help set the scene, to help them understand the whole story. So you swallow your dignity and you tell them.

You draw memories out of the dark place you've buried them. You tell them everything hoping that one of those details will make them see what he did to you. But soon you realize it's your dignity that they're after—not the details. Because people who have dignity point fingers and make accusations and people who don't have dignity can't. So they try and get at the pride you just swallowed.

They peel off your clothes—they say it's to make sure you're not hiding anything. But they look you over the same way he did. Then they peel off your skin and expose your nerves to the air and make you relieve every touch, every tear, every "no" and "stop" that went unheard and ignored. Until they find your dignity and grind it into the ground—until it's so small you wouldn't be able to pick up the pieces even if you wanted to."

Amber took a deep breath and looked back at the wall. The water had evaporated.

"You can't accuse someone of sexual assault," she said. "Because they lie...and then, they get away with it."

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Hi, everyone. So I realize this is a sensitive topic to deal with. To be honest, I was going back and forth for a while about whether or not to include this "plot line" in the story. I would really appreciate any feedback on it. I want to portray it as accurately as possible so as not to diminish the severity of it, especially because sexual assaults on college campuses are an ongoing problem.

I've done research on the topic, but I am by no means an expert. Is there anything I should change? Do you think it is too much for the story? Please let me know any and all of your thoughts. And as always, thank you for taking the time to read.