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Time is the greatest distance.

Some things that happened before Byron & I got together, we don't talk about. At all. He knows they happened, because he helped pick up the pieces afterwards, but I just haven't been able to tell the stories, and it's hard for him to hear them.

I'm getting better, though. I finally told him, last night, on the way home from Lawrence, that there's a house on Hwy 24, where I was raped almost 13 years ago. The boy who did it (that's what he was, then, my prom date) still lives in the area I think; his parents still live in that house. I think about it every time we pass the house. I knew it was close to where we live now, before we bought our home, but I just couldn't say anything.

Actually, By wasn't the only one I told last night. We'd been talking with our friend, T, & By was telling her that someone had made him promise to "make sure there were no witnesses" if he ever decided someone needed to not exist. (Long story there.) By also said he had a list, and that he's almost gotten one person on the list a few years back. And I found myself telling both of them that the individual in question was still in the area, and told By I'd point out the house on the way past. He seemed surprised. I was too--I was able to discuss it fairly calmly, without the shakes, or nightmares last night. Just a distant anger, and the beginnings of the urge to break things, but I'm good at squashing that now.

Funny what you can get used to--fear and panic atacks and bad dreams....If I'd refused that invitation, what would I be now?
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