I can't help but wonder if you think about me. I wonder if you've heard about me coming clean, if the thought terrifies you as much as it did me. I wonder if you know what you did was wrong or if you're still in denial, or maybe you honestly don't believe what you did was rape. I'm glad you're gone, that I never have to see you. I like not knowing when you come to town. But on the flip side of that, I never know. If I'm out shopping and I see someone who looks like you I panic. The anxiety builds and I'm frozen with terror. My heart races and I hurry to control my frantic breathing, to mask to the world around me that I'm ten seconds away from a massive panic attack. When you ended up at the same restaurant as my family and me, I refused to move from my table and chose to stay safe behind the wall dividing us. I forgive you. I really do, but that doesn't mean I ever want to see your face again. That doesn't mean I can't still be angry. I