The Ceiling

The morning after I was raped, I stared at the ceiling.

I let my eyes follow the cracks from the center to the edges and back again to the center. I was always on the top bunk in college. It’s what I would’ve wanted when I was little so I volunteered as an adult. Even though some mornings I’d find new bruises on my body from when I’d tried to climb up the ladder drunk the night before.

That morning as I lie there, I feel the bruises before I see them. I feel the long line of…

Brooke Hofer

Women’s health nonprofit worker, Dog mom, and freelance writer.

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