Chapter 2Blamed for Speaking Up

I only remember the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. They were blindingly bright, burning my eyes so badly that the tears just kept flowing.

My cheek was pressed against the freezing surface of the wooden desk. Tears slid down my face, pooling into a small puddle on the polished wood.

When it was over, he stood up, walked over to the water cooler, and poured himself a paper cup of water. He chugged it in three loud gulps before turning back to look at me.

I lay on the desk, my entire body shaking violently. My lab coat was completely ripped off. Two buttons were missing from my undershirt. I tried to sit up, but when I put weight on my arms, my elbows completely gave out.

He walked over and reached out to help me up.

I violently shrank back. "Do not touch me!"

He pulled his hand back and let out a heavy sigh.

"Nora, listen to me," he said, crouching down to look me in the eye. His tone was infuriatingly gentle, like he was answering a simple question during office hours.

"I really care about you. I have had my eye on you since you joined the lab as a first-year. I lost control for a second, but my feelings for you are genuine."

"Do not breathe a word of this to anyone. It would ruin both of us. I will save that PhD fellowship spot for you, and I will put you as a co-first author on the next major paper. If you are open to it, we can..."

Before he could finish his sentence, I grabbed the heavy glass mug from his desk and smashed it directly into his face.

I slid off the desk. My legs were so weak that my knees crashed hard onto the floorboards. I scrambled up, grabbed the brass door handle, ripped the door open, and sprinted down the hallway like a madwoman.

His voice echoed down the corridor behind me. "Nora! Calm down!"

I practically dove into the women's restroom and locked the door behind me.

My heartbeat hammered against my eardrums in heavy, agonizing thuds.

I pulled out my phone. My fingers were shaking so badly I could barely hit the right numbers. I dialed 911.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"I need the police. I was just raped. I am hiding in the restroom on the fourth floor of the biology building."

The dispatcher was a rock of absolute calm. She asked for my exact address and whether the attacker was still nearby. I gave her all the details. She told me patrol cars were on the way and to keep my phone on.

I hung up and crouched on the cold tile floor, completely frozen. The exhaust fan hummed steadily. A fluorescent tube above me flickered.

Footsteps echoed outside the crack under the door. It was not the police. It was him.

He was making a phone call in the hallway. His voice was low, but I could hear every single syllable.

"Where are you? Get over here right now! Yes, Nora. She called the cops. I do not give a damn about your application right now, get your ass up here!"

I stared down at my phone screen, watching a little red waveform pulse silently in the corner.

The hallway went dead silent for a few seconds. Then came the sound of sneakers slamming aggressively against the floor tiles. It was fast, urgent, and definitely more than one person.

I was praying for the sound of police sirens.

Instead, a deafening crash shook the bathroom stall as someone kicked the heavy wooden door.

A girl in a white hoodie stood in the doorway, her chest heaving heavily. Her fingers were white-knuckling a clear plastic document folder.

It was Sarah, my junior lab mate. She was Dr. Lawson's absolute favorite, the golden child who had just snagged a co-first authorship in a top-tier science journal last year.

Two people stood right behind her. One was Mark, a senior PhD candidate in our lab. The other was Diane, the department's administrative coordinator. Mark was casually holding a flathead screwdriver. He was the one who had popped the lock.

I did not even have time to stand up. Sarah lunged across the tiles, grabbed me by the collar of my torn shirt, and hauled me upward. She slammed my spine against the edge of the porcelain sink. The pain was so sharp my vision blacked out for a second.

"It was you?"

Her voice was as shrill as nails dragging across glass.

She shoved the plastic folder right into my face, practically poking my eye out. "Do you see what this is?"

"I am submitting my PhD applications to Harvard next week! Dr. Lawson is my primary recommender. He is at the top of the list! If he gets arrested, what the hell happens to my application?"

She swung the heavy folder like a weapon and smashed it into my face. The sharp plastic edge sliced across the bridge of my nose, leaving a burning trail of pain. The documents spilled out and scattered across the wet floor. Official transcripts, GRE score reports, cover letters, meticulously crafted personal statements.

Smack. She backhanded me across the cheek.