I tried to stand, but my knees gave way and I hit the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Pulling myself up on the handle of the back door of the café, I gingerly edged my jeans up my legs, repositioning my knickers that were almost torn in two. Legs damp with urine but not obvious on the dark denim. My striped shirt, dirty and torn at the shoulder. A couple of buttons had come undone and my fingers fumbled to do them up, covering my bra. I felt bruised and sore, the denim crotch grating my skin with each step. Everything moved in slow motion as I made my way around the side of the café to find my bag on the ground untouched. I gathered my purse, phone and other items, stuffing them inside before stumbling back across the field, the way I’d come no more than ten minutes before. My attacker nowhere to be seen. The park empty, the only noise the squawking of the crows still devouring their breakfast.

It was surreal, like I’d had too much to drink. In my head I wanted to run as fast as I could, get away, but my limbs wouldn’t respond. They moved sluggishly across the field and back to the road. I drifted out onto the residential street. A couple of cars drove past and a woman across the road trotted along, she looked as though she’d been to the petrol station for milk. Her blue carrier bag swinging at her side. I stopped and stared at her. Hoping she would notice me, see the tears streaming down my cheeks, blurring my vision but she didn’t even turn. Over my left shoulder, I caught a man with springer spaniel slipping into the park. He passed without so much as a second glance. I wanted to scream ‘where the fuck were you when I needed you?’ The injustice of it burned in the pit of my stomach. It was all so normal out here. I’d been violated, just feet away, and the world hadn’t stopped. Everyone just carried on.

Clinging to a lamp post, I vomited bile on the kerb. I couldn’t think straight. Where could I go? What should I do?

I stumbled towards home in a daze. The ten minute journey seemed to take forever, and no one stopped to ask if I was all right. I unlocked the door to my flat and fell across the threshold. The relief overwhelming. Pulling myself up to double-lock the door, I was finally safe. Across the hall was the bedroom of my lodger, Ben. I knocked on it. When he didn’t answer straight away, I banged until the door flew open. He stood there in tattered football shorts, yawning.