When I was in my sophomore year of college, I was being stalked by my English professor. In class, he would stand directly behind my chair with the crotch of his pants pressed just close enough to the back of my head that I could feel his erection. I wanted to turn around and bite it. But I didn’t. Wherever I went on campus, he would just happen to turn up. he asked me out for drinks. I never went. I was terrified. I would start to shake each day that I had to walk into his classroom. I tried to talk to my parents about it (it was a local university, and I was still living with them). My father asked me what I expected with “that long, blonde mane.” I knew I was on my own, and probably always had been.

I dropped out of school. I got two jobs. I moved out of the house into an apartment. I made enough money to move to another city and enroll in another university. A better one. And I never fucking went back until my father was dying 4 years ago.

Is living well the best revenge? I don’t know, but it’s by far the better choice.