Warning: The following section contains material which may be disturbing to some readers. Sexual assault content will follow. Please skip this section if it will trigger an emotional response that will be too overwhelming for you.

If you are a survivor of an assault, and you would like help, I will post a link to RAINN, an organization dedicated to fighting crimes such as these and to helping survivors, at the end of this section.

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Jenny

I'm getting ready to leave the VA rehab center for the evening. I hadn't planned on staying this late, but Griffin, one of the other pet therapists I make visits with, had a lot of patients to see. Griffin is an Army veteran and he tries to spend as much time as he can giving back to his fellow servicemen. Time just got away from us tonight. Working with the animals always calms me. I welcome the volunteer hours. They help mellow out the anxiety I feel from my own speech therapy work.

Earlier today, when Uncle Artair and I were in session, I felt like I just couldn't make progress. I'm trying to improve my reading skills, but it's been difficult. I can get through simple sentences, but when they start to get too complex, my mind loses focus. Reading is different from speaking. I can sometimes use my own handwriting to drag words out of my mind, but reading what other people have typed doesn't come as easy. Sometimes it doesn't want to come at all.

I'm so tired.

As I head out the back door, I hear a noise near the dumpsters. I stop and listen but I don't hear it again. Maybe it's a raccoon. I shudder just thinking about it. They've been known to jump into our trash and make a real mess. Not to mention how I'd feel if one jumped out at me. I love animals but wild scavengers give me the heebie-jeebies. I don't know if raccoons bite, but I'm not interested in finding out. I hurry up towards the bus stop, hoping they'll stay in the dumpster and leave me alone.

As I walk, a feeling of unease comes over me. I look over my shoulder to see if anything is behind me, but I don't see any raccoons. Taking a deep breath of thanks, I turn around and let out a sigh of relief.

It's short-lived, however, as a hand wraps around my neck and I feel the sharp sting of what I assume to be a knife press against my throat.

My mind goes blank and fear washes over me. I feel like I'm going to hyperventilate. With his hand covering my mouth, I can't get in enough air. Black spots swim before my eyes and I want to cry. I struggle against this attacker, but his arms are wrapped around me too tightly. I stumble and it's just the advantage the guy needs to pull me off my feet and into the direction of the bushes and dumpsters behind us.

Oh, no. No! My mind screams. Please no. Not this. No. Please!

Flashbacks of the night of my parents' accident, when I was left alone in the hospital that night, flood my mind. Suddenly, I'm a little girl again. I start to cry. I can't help it. My nose is getting stuffy from my tears and the man's hand across my mouth is making it harder and harder to breath.

Suddenly, the man throws me to the ground, and he's on top of me. Pure panic takes over. I bite his hand and he grabs it. For once I'm able scream with everything I've got and I shout, "He He Help! Help me!"

It must be the fear in me, because my words come out strong and LOUD.

The man is not happy. He backhands me across the face, knocking my head into the pavement, effectively shutting me up. I feel a cut at the edge of my eye and it stings. The fight going out of me as his belt buckle comes undone. I'm squirming as much as I can to buck him off, but he's too strong.

"Oh, yeah, baby. That's it," he sneers. "Move those hips for me, dollface. I love it when they try to fight back. It's so much more fun this way," he laughs, ripping at my clothes.

Suddenly, the man's weight is moved off of me and I can breathe again. I look up and now it's the man on the ground underneath someone. I try to focus, and see my friend, Griffin, pounding on the guy. I start to shake and get up on my knees to crawl over to them. I can see the mugger is out cold and I'm afraid of the fury I see in Griffin's eyes.

I have to stop him. Griffin is going to kill this guy. While I would appreciate the gesture, (I want to kill the mugger myself), I can't let Griffin do this. He has enough of his own issues with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I pull on Griffin's arm and try to stop him. Griffin looks up at me as if he is in a trance. It takes a few seconds but his vision clears and finally he sees me. I'm covered in tears and snot, and my shirt is torn down the middle.

Griffin looks down at the guy underneath of him. He looks back up at me, and then moves off the mugger, forcibly pushing the guy back towards the ground. I hear the mugger's skull hit the pavement with a sickening thud.

Then Griffin is holding me up in his arms and asking me if I'm ok. He's checking me over for wounds. He asks me if the mugger hurt me...if he...I can't think about it. "Don't say it, Griffin." I tell him quickly. "Please don't."

Don't think about it, Jenny, I tell myself. Just blow it away. Let it go. Just let it go, I repeat to myself again and again. It's over. He didn't get to...Griffin got here in time...but what about if he hadn't? My mind invades.

SHUT UP! I yell at myself.

I'm shaking. I hold onto Griffin and cry.

Eventually Griffin gets us both back inside the VA rehab center and he helps me clean my face. He finds an extra work apron in the back of someone's linen closet and gives it to me to wear across my shirt. It's big and doesn't fit perfect, but it's better than having anyone see my torn and dirty clothes.

Griffin calls the police and my Uncle Artair. It's not long before he's racing into the center, followed by Aunt Ciara. When I see her, I run to her and wrap my arms around her, letting the tears loose all over again.

"Shhh. Shhh. It's ok, Jenny. You're safe. You're safe, Jenny." She coos over me like I'm four years old. "You're ok, Jenny. We'll get through this."

Uncle Artair speaks with Griffin and the cops, and I promise to come down to the station to make a formal statement the next morning. After a long night, we fold into Uncle Artair's truck, me climbing into the back seat to lay down across it. I roll up one of Uncle Artair's jackets as a pillow. It must be the emotions of the night because I fall asleep almost instantly. It's not until we're back home that I realize how tired when my cousin Deaglán comes out to carry me into my bedroom. Aunt Ciara tucks me in like I'm a small child. Grateful, I give them both hugs before passing out until morning.

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If you or someone you love suffers from the trauma of a sexual assault, here is one on-line resource I found that I hope is helpful: https://www.rainn.org/about-rainn.