Suddenly, it seemed as though I were out of my body. I watched from the ceiling as a man in a business suit molested my young teenage body. I stared in horror as I did as I was told. It all seemed very familiar, but entirely strange and frightening. The corner office with windows for 2 of the walls. The ficus tree. The bookshelves and desk, even the phone. Looking out I could see the escalator. I have been here before! What is this place? I remember the smell of the carpet, the vending machine down the hall, the drink that she gave me in the red plastic cup. Oh my God…

She did. She told me to wait there. I sat in that chair, drinking that red punch from the red cup. She gave it to me down by the receptionist area. I remember the marble look of the off-while floor tiles. The receptionist was young with brown hair. Pulled back. Kind of giggly. I waited near her desk while my stepmother got me something to drink. She went somewhere down the hall, past the young brown-haired giggly receptionist.

It was all coming at me so fast, I could literally feel my head spinning. My suspicions were true. I have wondered for the past few years if I was drugged – why I could only remember bits and pieces of things – why I felt as though maybe these things hadn’t really happened to me – maybe I was making up these memories. I remember things in a crooked sort of manner – actually tilted and askew. I remember dark. Tattoo. Smell of beer and urine. Looking up. Listening to the shower run. Afraid to open my eyes. Terrified to close them. Feeling someone sit on my bed as I slept. The bathtub. Pain. Indifference. Haze. Numb. Far away. Floating above my body. Hating myself.

Several weeks ago, I was watching a show in bed. Toward the end of the show, there was a woman – a bit on the trashy side, drunk, glazed eyes, cleavage hanging out of her polyester negligee. Watching her, I had this pit in my stomach; disgust that I had not felt in years. The show was over, I shut off my computer, and lay down to sleep. As soon as my head hit the pillow, all of these tormenting memories came to me at lightning speed. I really could feel my head spinning, as I tried so hard to stop them from invading.

I had remembered the office since I was 13. In my mind, I thought it was her office. I had wondered why I had only been there one time. I couldn’t remember where she would have worked that she had such a nice office. For years, that office has been in the back of my mind, bringing up questions that I really didn’t care about, or put much more thought into.

But it wasn’t her office. She took me there. She gave me something to drink. She left me in there. I sat in that chair and waited – and drank. And waited. The man in the business suit did horrible things to me, and I sat on the carpeted floor. I remember the smell of the carpeted floor. Kind of musty and dusty. And it wasn’t soft living room carpet. It was rough to the touch. Rough on my arms. He was wearing a business suit. The few incidents I have remembered have been in a small, dirty, white-trash house, with a heavyset woman with stringy long hair and gross teeth. A shirtless man with a tattoo on his bicep and beer on his breath. This man is in a business suit, and we are in an upscale office…