I was 16. I was the token good girl. 4.0 GPA, tons of AP classes, extracurriculars, the works. I’d never gotten drunk or high before, never been to a high school party, never snuck out of the house. It was junior year, I was crazy stressed, and my best friend knew it. He offered me a chance to get high with him, and let my stress go, even if just for a little while. I was stressed; I was vulnerable. So I agreed. He was my best friend and we shared everything. I trusted him to take care of me. I trusted him with my life. We took his car up to Country View, a popular stoner spot in the Bay Area. My first hit was awful. My throat burned and my eyes stung, but once the coughing was over, I began to feel it. That beautiful bliss. My stress, my anxiety, all my problems, just gone. So I took another hit. And another. And another. It was like I was in heaven. Everything was slow motion, I could barely talk, but I felt light and care-free. The next thing I knew, we were in the backseat, and his hands were down my pants. I was too high and too weak to stop him. He took something from me that day. He took my innocence, my confidence, my dignity. I barely even remember the sex – I was so fucked up. But I know it happened. I know I said no. I know I didn’t want it. But it wasn’t my choice. The next few weeks were the darkest of my life. I did not fall pregnant, and I’m not sure what I would have done if I had. Now, I’m scared to go anywhere alone with a guy. I don’t know who I can trust. Not even my best friends know. He took everything from me that day. And I trusted him. Now I’m not sure if I’ll trust anyone again.