But the night of the company party, my boss got drunk and told me to help him upstairs to rest.
I tried everything to refuse. No one dared to help me.
I carefully helped him into the room. The moment I turned to leave, he pounced—hands everywhere.
I thrashed, desperate, until my fingers found an ashtray. I swung it hard against his skull.
I bolted out the door, shaking so violently I couldn't think straight. I didn't save any evidence.
Days later, he sued me for intentional injury.
No cameras in that room to prove what he did. He hired the best lawyer money could buy and refused to settle.
I stared at my bank balance and called my parents, crying, begging them to lend me money for legal fees.
Before I could finish, Mom's voice shot up.
"What? Thirty thousand? Your dad and I get just over two thousand a month in retirement! Where do you expect us to pull that kind of money from?"
"Did the big city teach you to go bad? Our family can't afford your fancy spending habits!"
I was so panicked I couldn't form words. Then Dad's voice cut through.
"She needs to be cured of this! Thinks she's some rich princess!"