I felt my extremities starting to go numb and that feeling worked it's way into the core of my body until it reached my heart. I thought about my own experience. I thought about all those I met that have been through it. About how every time I heard, "I was�", another bullet was lodged in my struggling red organ. Not you too� I wanted to scream, "ENOUGH! Can't we talk about something else now?" My eyes welled up as I started to feel his dirty hands sliding down my thighs.

It's important to talk about, to stop, but can't you see what it's doing to me? I went through it!! This isn't just a discussion for me. It's a revival!! But I don't speak because I don't know how to say what I want in a sane manner.

The girl sitting in front of me is a friend from childhood. We have not been very close since the 5th grade for no reason in particular. She says she is a Rape Response Team member and talks a little about what she's heard. After class I put my arm around her and say, "Thank you for doing what you do. I could never do something like that."

She in turn, puts her arm around me, "Sure. I like helping people. Not a good class, huh?"

"That lecture fucked with my head," I say, still fighting back tears. We exit the building into the night.

"Well, you know 1 in 3�" my old friend trails off.

"Yeah," I croak.

"You know, the Crisis Center sponsors a rape survivor's group called Women Who've Been There."

"Thanks, but I'm not interested," I say. After getting home, I call her on her cell phone. "Just do me a favor. Don't tell anybody. The family doesn't know and you know how the neighborhood likes to talk."

"First off, you didn't tell me anything. Second off, Why would I tell?" she asks.

"Exactly," I say. I hesitate, but have to ask, "You too?"

"Me too," comes the response I dreaded.

Another bullet in my poor heart.

"Those bastards."