“I want to make sure you get home safe,” my rapist said, as he walked me to my car. It was after 2 a.m., the Sunday before Christmas, and snow was falling. In some ways, in the very visceral, physical, rape way, it was all over. In more important ways, it was just beginning.
I was raped by my boss at work when I was still in college. I was a waitress at a diner, and one night, the manager announced that someone on staff had stolen a $50 gift card. He made all the front-of-house employees stay after closing, taking us each into the back office individually for questioning. I had closed with this manager many times before. He was a few years older than I was, and nice enough. We had always gotten along.