When I was sexually assaulted, I was wearing jeans, a cropped cardigan and a top that was literally safety pinned to my bra. The top was flowy and had a habit of twisting around, so I had taken precautions. (“I had taken precautions,” I write. Like I understood what to be afraid of. Like I could protect myself from it.) My bra was pink. I don’t remember what underwear I was wearing. But I do...