It’s a feeling, like the pit in your stomach when you’re sent to the principal’s office or caught for stealing. The staccato nerves of an inclining rollercoaster that will never fall, punching your throat and keeping you quiet. I can’t remember the first time I felt it, nor can I remember a time when it wasn’t there, pulling my uvula down like the string of cheap blinds. It’s the fear and hopelessness that follows victims who know they’ll never get justice because no one will believe them.

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