Dear Jerkface,

I’ve gotten over it; at least I think I have. It’s taken a really long time and numerous failed relationships to understand what happened. I think you should know that I wish I had called the police. I was scared, so you got lucky.

But here’s the kicker—I still think about you. I think about what it could have been like if you hadn’t done that. I think about it but then I laugh.

Because even afterwards, when I’d see you in the neighborhood, it seems you didn’t really notice, that it never fazed you. I wonder sometimes whether you did that to anyone else; I wonder how many. Did you wait until they were passed out, too, or did you become more daring with your escapades? Did it really matter that we’d been dating? Would you have tried and succeeded without the fabulous dinner beforehand or was that just an appetizer?

So, I guess the things I would have said are: You suck. You’re a rapist. And go to hell.