I watched her being beaten. I watched her fighting him off. I watched him rip her clothes, force her down and, ultimately, force himself upon her.
I watched it
and I did nothing
in my own house.
I can't even remember her fucking name.
The saddest part is that, somewhere, in the back of my mind, I STILL thought that we might "go together". That he really did like me and he just didn't want his friends to know. That, somehow we were connected, I literally believed there was still a chance, I just hadn't done something right and I needed to try harder.