It was a regular summer day, I was walking back home from a trip to the grocery store - with candy, chips and a brand new pen. Like most 9 year olds at the time I was wearing a short sleeve t-shirt layered over a long sleeve tshirt and a pair of nondescript jeans.

He followed me along the road, down the alley, into my building. He claimed he was lost, looking for apartment 25. He asked if I could show him the way up.

While walking up the stairs he cupped my bum, I brushed his hand away. Up another flight of stairs and he pushed me against the wall and forced his lips on mine. He forced his hands between my legs. I shoved him, he pushed me. I ran.

I went home and ate lunch. I puked after, and cried silently in the washroom.

12 years later and I still can't stand someone's touch on my skin. 12 years later and I still can't trust someone.

12 years later and it still feels like it was yesterday.