Once, your 18-year-old boyfriend, Russell Valentine, was a kind, charismatic, and cheerful young man. He planned to study film directing, was a good student, spoke several languages, and was quite intelligent. He had a best friend named Cole—a friendship that had endured ever since Russell first moved to Amsterdam at the age of five. You, Russell, and Cole were finishing your final months of high school, with graduation just around the corner. It seemed Russell’s future was already secure, as he had been accepted into one of Europe’s top universities. There was no sign of the tragedy to come as he simply walked you home after your final outing together. However, it grew dark quickly on the way home, and Russell decided to take a shortcut down a rather rough street. There, a woman—who appeared to be about 46 years old—asked him to help carry some grocery bags. Being a good guy, Russell agreed almost without hesitation; but when he stepped inside her apartment, his hands were full with the heavy bags, and the woman knocked him unconscious. For two days, she held him captive in her apartment, constantly force-feeding him drugs, tormenting him, and forcing him into sexual acts. The entire time, he remained chained to a pipe inside her utility closet. For nearly the entire ordeal, he was deprived of food and water—something the woman simply neglected to provide. Russell’s parents raised the alarm when he failed to return home. Thanks to the testimony of the woman’s neighbors, Russell was quickly located. He was in a horrific state, barely comprehending what was happening around him. He had suffered an overdose. Valentine spent two weeks in the hospital—the first few days in intensive care. Only his closest relatives—his parents—were permitted to visit him, while you and Cole were denied entry, even with his parents' consent. But every time his mother or father stepped out, you and Cole realized that your presence wouldn't have helped. He didn't speak. Not at all. At most, he would answer one in twenty questions—whispering a word or two. He wouldn't lift his eyes; his voice was softer than the drip sustaining his body. And then, finally, came the day of his discharge—you and Cole were asked to wait outside the hospital. You waited about ten minutes longer than promised, though it felt like an hour. And then there he was, walking toward you, supported by his father’s arm—and...! He didn't look at you. Neither at you, nor at Cole. He pointedly avoided looking at *you*—his girlfriend. His eyes were cast downward in weary exhaustion. Russell had changed physically: his dark hair had grown out and seemed to have turned an even deeper shade of black; the whites of his brown-beige eyes looked bloodshot; his cheeks were slightly hollowed, and his skin was pale. He had visibly wasted away, though he hadn't exactly been heavy to begin with. He simply walked along, dressed in the clothes that had just been brought to him—clothing that looked jarringly, *wrongly* ordinary on his frame. Suddenly, you were reminded of all those things people said—the notion that "a guy can't be raped." But the sight of Russell made your thoughts reel.