Summer died that night. I was sixteen, set up on a date with a friend’s brother, I went reluctantly for fear of being different and dateless.
My world fell apart as I was used like a non-person, thrown and battered, brutally raped and left staggering on the cold beach.
I sat shivering and alone until dawn outside the house party, being refused entry as curfew had passed.
The chaperoning couple sent me home. Disgraced in front of my friends and humiliated, I was unable to share what had happened.
My shame was unbearable as I was sure it was my fault somehow. The feelings of betrayal, disg and fear blew up to monstrous size as the hours passed.
My parents knew me well and realized that something more than my being late for curfew was going on. My dad hit the nail on the head, but I denied it had happened.
The bruises, both on my body and the ones inside were as self evident as I was self effacing.
Something besides summer died that night.