Read Online The Last Good Girl by Allison Leotta - Free Book Online

with fury. Anna thought her own family was messed up—but whatever her own mother’s limitations, she’d always known that her mother had her best interests at heart. There were perfectly good reasons to report the rape—Anna would have encouraged Emily to do it. But Emily clearly thought her mother was motivated by revenge.
    Anna said, “This happened six months ago, last September. Did Emily end up filing a complaint against Dylan with the university?”
    â€œI think so,” said Beatrice, “but she stopped talking to me about it. Her father would know, it’s his university. Barney?”
    â€œI’m so sorry.” Barney shook his head. “But I can’t talk about that. Any complaints made through the Disciplinary Committee are strictly confidential. I’m not at liberty to disclose them.”
    â€œI understand that would normally be the case,” Anna said. “But . . . a girl is missing. Your daughter.”
    â€œIn some sense, that makes it even more important for me to follow standard procedure. I can’t give a case special treatment just because my family member is involved.”
    A shriek rang out as a streak of tasteful beige flew across the room. Beatrice Shapiro grabbed the crystal vase from the coffee table, raised it above her head, and brought it down on her husband’s skull.

VLOG
RECORDED 9.4.14
    I can’t believe I’m the statistic.
    One in five.
    It’s like—we all knew it. It’s in half the videos they make you watch online before school starts. They say it over and over in orientation. One in five girls will be raped in college.
    We joked about it as we were getting ready, putting on lipstick, trying on outfits, giggling. Which one of us will it be? Ha ha ha! Hilarious.
    And here I am. A few days ago, I was raped. Oh my God, did I just say that? It’s insane. I can’t get used to the words.
    I was raped?
    I’m a rape victim?
    This is not who I want to be.
    And I kind of wonder if I can not be it by just . . . not being it. If a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it, does it make a sound? If a girl is raped but no one knows, is she really a victim?
    I could just pretend it never happened.
    I’m sorry, wait, did I just say that? Ugh. I rolled my eyes at those girls in the video, the ones who didn’t report for months after being assaulted. Because they were “torn” or “ashamed” or thought it was their fault. Get it together. If you’re mugged, you don’t worry about whether you were “asking for” a mugging. Report it, be strong, move on.
    But here I am.
    Not sure I can bring charges.
    Not sure I can pretend it didn’t happen either.
    Because I keep thinking about it. Flashing back to that moment. Waking up, with Dylan on top of me. Freaking out—and not being able to do anything about it. Trying to get up—and slipping back down into darkness. It’s like that nightmare where you’re running and running from some monster, but your feet don’t move. I knew I needed to get out of there, and I just passed out again. Thinking about it makes my heart pound, makes my stomach clench. But I can’t stop thinking about it.
    In class, I’m supposed to be taking notes, but I’m feeling Dylan’s weight on my hips. I’m choking on his tongue. I’m seeing those sharks, circling. I’m smelling his beer breath.
    I can’t even imagine going to a party. I can’t imagine taking a drink from a boy, ever again. The idea of it makes me sick. This is supposed to be the best time of my life, and all I’m doing is trying not to throw up.
    Mom wants me to go to the police. Not because it’ll help me. Because it’ll hurt Dad. His college is so messed up, CNN will say, the president can’t even protect his own daughter. She’d watch all the cable news shows, cackling.
    I can’t trust