And far too many women have been.

Fuck this guy. Image © Warner Bros.

I was the cat when my best friend’s older brother ran his hands under my shirt over and over. I was eight. He was eighteen.

I was the cat when I genuinely began fearing for my life on a cab ride home from a night out, as the driver took the longest possible route to get there so he could insist repeatedly that I go out with him. He would not take no for an answer, even when I…

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