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even a bad party. There wasn't any alcohol or anything. But, Brett...Well, I knew he was bad news to begin with. He was always with a different girl and, well...he'd been making crude comments toward me for months, I just tried to ignore him but...at the party...I guess, when I put my Sprite down, he saw his chance. I'm not a hundred percent positive that he slipped drugs in my soda, but...knowing what happened, how much I remember and don't remember...well, it's really the only explanation. I wasn't drunk, I wasn't high and there's a chunk of my memory that's just...gone. Cecil said that I was acting weird for awhile. Anyway, all I know is that, when I woke up, I was in a strange room with Brett, alone and...I guess I'm glad I don't remember the rest.

Brett acted like he cared about me, like he wanted to make sure I was okay and that's why he stayed in the room while I lay there, unconscious. Yeah, I'm sure that was the reason. I heard my cell phone ring and had to find my jeans to get it. They were on the floor . I was too groggy to put anything together at that moment. As soon as I answered and talked to Cecil, Brett slipped out of the room.

Cecil was really worried about me because she hadn't seen me for awhile. She had been searching for me for half an hour. I told her I was okay. I still hadn't fully realized why Brett had been in the room with me. I told Cecil that I'd meet her at her car in a few minutes. It wasn't until I was pulling my shirt on after hanging up the phone that I understood what had happened.

It was everything I could do to not vomit and scream at the top of my lungs at the same time.

I don't really remember much of what happened after that, either. I was kind of numb. Cecil drove me home and I took a shower for an hour, I think. I just felt so dirty, so used. I scrubbed my skin til it was red and even then I didn't feel clean.

I didn't really know what to do after that. Everyone always says to tell someone, but who could I tell? This was Brett Parker, here. He was a clean kid, or he was supposed to be. There was no way anyone would even believe me and, even if they did, what would they think of me? Everyone would think differently of me. They'd probably see me as dirty, as used, just how I felt. Plus, I just couldn't imagine how horrible it would feel to describe everything to someone. I just couldn't. I didn't even want to talk to God about it.

So, I didn't. I just kept quiet. Instead of telling Mom and Dad or anyone else, I just decided

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