Today, I've decided to give up. I quit. They've finally gotten to me. So I won't fight it anymore. Perhaps it's true, what they write in the letter - maybe I wanted to do it. Maybe it's all a big misunderstanding. Maybe I am that "kind of girl", because of the clothes I wore that night or the way I look. Or the fact that I had in fact kissed the guy on an earlier occassion. I don't know. I simply don't know. All I do know is that they don't believe me. And now, I'm not even sure I believe me. But it hurts. Badly. More than he ever hurt me, more than I thought possible. It's been 18 months now, and since then I haven't let myself get affected by it. Well, not for the past 17 months at least. That first month was a blur, with interrogations in spanish - which I was far from fluent in, hospital visits, meetings with my school (I was only 17 when it happened, doing a yr abroad in Spain). Meetings with his lawyer (awful human being), an attorney. My school forcing me to tell my father - which I still wish I'd never done. But despite of all that, I forced myself out of bed every morning, to finish high school with good grades- not letting myself get affected by him. I didn't want him to have more power over me than he already had. I had been drinking when it happened. He was a friend of a friend and I trusted him, I never thought he'd ever do that to me. He was such a nice guy! Someone I felt I could trust. I thought he was joking, when he forced himself into the bathroom stall- just trying to give me a bit of a scare, s'all. I never cried for help, that's partly why say they say they don't believe me, I just told him to quit it. So no one heard me cry for help, since I didn't realize I needed it. Stop kidding around, quit it! That's the sort of things I said, trying to push him off me. But obviously, he didn't listen to me. Or he simply didn't care. Someone started banging on the door, and with the banging distracting him, I managed to get pass him and escape. I ran straight to my friends, crying hysterically, telling them what had happened and leaving the club. At first, all I wanted was an apology from him. I never thought of the police. I hadn't been dragged into an alley by a stranger, like I'd always imagined was how it would happen. I hadn't cried for help nor been threatened by a knife. He just held me tight- tight enough for me not to be able to resist. At first, I thouht it must have been some sort of misunderstanding, maybe it was something I said, I thought. I remember taking a long shower that night, when I got home. Feeling dead inside. I stood there until there was no more hot water- until I was shaking and as numb on the outside as on the inside. That's kind of how I feel right now, only worse. This time it's not only him hurting me, this time there's a whole group of people who's decided that I was up for it, and that my clothes didn't need to be analyzed for his DNA nor for my friends to be interrogated, but for him and his friends, who also worked at the club, to be. The staff say it seemed like I was up for it, they write in the letter. The staff - who happened to be his two friends, and former collegues. His words over mine. Male over female. I didn't even get a trial. That's how much they think I'm worth. Nothing. And now, after more than a year long re-opened investigation, I agree. How can I not, when that's how I'm being treated? //Linda P.S. Sorry about the grammar spelling etc, English isn't my native language.