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The Victim Of Sexual Assault Essay

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Tom sat on the sofa, his shoulders hunched forward, his eyes staring listlessly into space. In his hands, a forgotten cup of coffee trembled violently, the lukewarm liquid spilling over his fingers. He hadn’t uttered a single word since his impassioned attempt to justify Booker’s assault, and as the minutes ticked by, his silence only added to Doug’s concerns. Although not an expert, as a cop, Penhall understood about trauma, and fearing his friend was going into shock, he made the decision to call 911. With an ambulance on its way, he dialed a second number, and after a brief conversation, he hung up. Turning his attention to Tom, he wondered how to proceed. While he wanted to offer comfort, he honestly did not know what to say. How did you console the victim of sexual assault when the perpetrator was a trusted colleague you worked side by side with day in day out? He was out of his depth and terrified of making matters worse, but he knew he needed to do something other than making a cup of coffee, and approaching Tom, he squatted down and laid a hand on his knee. “How ya doin’, buddy?”

If Tom heard, he made no acknowledgment. His eyes remained dull, his expression vacant. Somewhere, in the midst of the chaos that was the harshness of reality, he had managed to build a protective wall, a refuge in his mind where he was no longer a victim, no longer a weak, pathetic excuse for a man. He was Tom Hanson the cop, the loving son, the loyal friend; he was a man free

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