Drip. Drip. Drip. Water cascades down from the shower head above me, and I feel every drop as its own as they disintegrate into my bare shoulders. Drip. One lands right where he touched me, right where his hands were placed on my body. Plop. Another, right on top of my head this time. I begin to remember.

Violation. His hands caressed my body, right in the middle of gym. My stomach turned, to scared to say anything, to speak up. “Are you wearing a bra?” he said. “Because I can feel it.” Anger. My mind seemed to swell up, mad that this was happening to me, furious that this was happening at all. I felt my stomach flip again, as if it were bouncing on a trampoline. His hands began to move, still on my shoulders.

“Stop,” I finally choked out as I pushed myself away from him. Stop. Stop. Stop, I thought. The word repeated in my head, and I could think of nothing else. Stop.

Pain. It shoots through my entire body, causing goosebumps to bloom. I open my eyes, which are clouded with tears. I turn the handle down, and the rush of water stops. I step onto the cold floor, wrap myself in a towel, and look in the mirror. I see my red face, streaked with signs of hurt. My breath shakes. It happened over a year ago, but I still feel the pain he left as soon as his skin touched mine.