I spent the weekend at LawyerBoy’s house. I only showed up two days late for Christmas dinner. We talked a lot, mainly about this situation. He was remarkably good to me this weekend. He is trying so hard to help me.
There was a lot of talking and me reading out loud—blog posts, texts, emails, government documents, and everything else. He, as an attorney, asked a lot of questions. Some of it didn’t make sense to him in the slightest, but that was mainly what the hell the police and prosecutors were doing.
I cried a lot. I couldn’t actually get through reading certain blog posts and texts without my voice breaking or just bursting into tears—always seemingly at the most defiant points I was making.
I tried to show him Video 4. I had just read him the posts A Dog and a Whore and A Dog and a Whore II. Those are posts about Reba the bulldog—a dog who had been left to die in a plastic container by a dumpster, on video, in July 2024, the same time I had reported the rape. In December 2024, they caught the owner. He was charged, cut a plea deal with Steve Wolfson, and is now serving a prison term for felony animal abuse. The State of Nevada has since passed new laws—Reba’s Law—with stricter penalties. My personal state rep was the one who created the bill.
I agree with all of this. Good job, Nevada. You did the right thing.
However, this timeline of events has parallels with my case. The people involved in Reba’s case are involved in mine. I have a little issue with the fact that they called me a whore and didn’t charge him—or even investigate him. The state rep has ignored every email I have sent. All you would hear about on the news was Reba. I can’t even get my story on a small local news outlet. I just think it’s a little fucked up that we care about a dog more than we care about what happened to a woman. But again, no one really gives a fuck about me.
Reading these posts triggered a memory of something on Video 4. {M} had his dog—a maybe 10–15 lb mix—at the hotel that night. At the beginning of Video 4, the dog jumps up on the bed, and he tosses her off. She did a little yelp. It wasn’t like throwing her or anything—just harder than generally acceptable.
The video shows me giving him a look, and {D}—fucking {D}—pauses what he is doing to me to give {M} a look too. Like, your dog getting pushed off the bed resulted in more pause and more judgment in the room than, you know, me screaming and begging. A dog mattered more that night too.
So I decided we should watch the video. I pulled it up because it’s on my fucking phone—because, you know, evidence. I have to keep it there, and I see it every time I go through my photos because I need the original with all the metadata if I am ever going to get this prosecuted. So I see it often. Like a reminder.
We started watching, and the first part of that video was something I had agreed to. I wasn’t in physical pain because no one was shoving their hand into my body. So I was okay. It’s around the 17-minute mark when I start asking them to stop. I tried to skip ahead, but it was buffering strangely and got stuck around the 22-minute mark, and I was screaming at that point in the video. I didn’t remember the screaming.
I made it through maybe less than five seconds before I turned it off. It was just overwhelming to me.
LawyerBoy and I went to bed. I fell asleep. I woke up this morning, and LawyerBoy hadn’t really slept at all. Apparently, I had a rough night. I was screaming {D}’s name a couple of times. I was clawing at him. I was curling up into a fetal position with my arms defending my head. I apparently freaked out a little because he had to reach over me to get his phone from the nightstand, and I got into a defensive position.
I’ve been wondering for a while now why I wake up still exhausted. I fight in my sleep all night.
LawyerBoy had a plan for me when I woke up.
Next weekend I am spending the weekend there again—but no phone, no website analytics, no discussion of the rape or anything related to it. We are going to watch movies, play video games, and he may have promised to do for me what every man his age does: serenade me naked in his kitchen while playing “Creep” by Radiohead.
It’s a running joke, because you get any man who owns a guitar of a certain age, and at some point they will always play “Creep” naked in their kitchen. This is a law of nature. It’s happened to me at least a dozen times, from {S} to the Bee Gees impersonator I dated.
That was some awesomely meaningful shit to say to me, just FYI. No one else would get it.
I am so lucky to have that man in my life and on my side. He also agreed to edit the book for the prosecutors and let me put his name, with the Esq., on the front cover. That makes the perceived value of the information inside so much more. This might not actually be overlooked or be a waste of my time and money.
He’s going to help me do it.
I am not doing this alone anymore.
I can’t tell you what that means to me.
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