I thought he was cute, I thought he was sweet--a rare gentleman in these hedonistic times. He invited me to the after-party, I couldn't believe it! My heart jumped in my throat and my stomach tingled with excitement and anticipation. He was my white knight, but what if he thought I was weird? Or awkward? I couldn't let that happen! I had to keep his attention. I just needed a drink to loosen up.
I couldn't remember what happened after my third beer. The room spun as he carried me to the bedroom, whispering sweet nothings in my ear; I felt safe. I wrapped my arms around his neck. I kissed him gently on his chin as he set me on the bed.
The pictures told the rest of the story. The other girls called me a whore; hushed whispers and malicious snickering followed me in halls and classrooms. I was too guilty and too terrified to look at my texts, Facebook, or Twitter. The taunts were ceaseless: total strangers reached out across cyberspace to call me whore, slut, and bitch. I found the noose swaying at the end of my rope, the loop fit perfectly.
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