< Translator’s note: The original formatting of the stories has been preserved. The translations aim to remain as close as possible to each author's original wording and expression.

 

I was 17, in grade 11. Even then I already had some struggles with my mental health: bulimia, depression. My classmate from a dysfunctional family came to school drunk. He hit me on my chest and buttocks. Everyone just watched. I was walking home and crying. Never told anyone.

 

The next day, we decided to skip the last class and sit at a cafe. He was also there. Drunk again. I sat further away, but he started reaching for me and started touching my thighs, and tried putting his hand into my underwear. There were other classmates around — they were silent, again. I hit his hands, pleaded to stop.
“Do you want to give me a blow job for 20 uah? You, slut!”

 

When I told my parents, they, of course, protected me and did everything for that bastard to be punished. I was shocked at the indifference from my classmates and teachers. One teacher said it was okay — the boy was just flirting. I told him “no” many times.

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Anonymous author; story shared in 2024 as part of the campaign “16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence.”