I was raped when I was four years old, and I lost contact with my abuser a year ago when he was arrested for an unrelated crime. He was twenty-five when I first met him, a camp counselor who horrifyingly worked with children at a YMCA center in the Rockies. He promised me I was the only one, that he’d never touch another, that I was perfect for him because I was so pretty with my pale brunette hair and freckles. He’d dress me up, buy me clothes, finish off my braids with ribbons, then take explicit photos of me and him and sell them to creeps online and his friends. He and his friends did so, so much more, for the fifteen years I knew him, but the most haunting part wasn’t the anguish, but the most haunting aspect is predators like him likely still have those photos and are indulging in them. No matter how much I reject the past, the memories of those videos and photos linger permanently, both on my mind and the internet.