97%.

I’m six. I’m allowed to go to my aunt’s house by myself for the third time ever. All I have to do is turn left and take the lift four floors down and she’ll be right there waiting. I step inside the lift- I see a man. I turn to press the button. He puts his hand on a place that mum had warned me about. I get out. I tell my aunt. She cries. You’ll be so pretty when you’re older.

I’m eight. I walk into my best friend’s house and find her mum crying on the sofa. I turn to my best friend. She looks down and tells me that her parents are getting a divorce. I don’t know what that means. Next day. School. She gets her lunch stolen and her hair pulled. She cries. If he teases you, that means he likes you.

I’m thirteen. He’s seventeen. That’s like, what, four years? Pfft, mum, that’s nothing, Dad is five years older than you and you’re fine. He’ll keep me safe. He’ll protect me. I’ll protect you.

Thirteen and a half. He didn’t protect me. I’m no longer allowed to see him. I walk into class with my head pointing towards my feet and my earphones as deep in my ears as they can go. I look up. Group of boys. Sexual assault joke. I better laugh. Don’t be a fucking snowflake.

Sixteen. I post a picture of myself on the internet. I smile. I feel good about it. I read a book. My phone beeps. I look at a comment. I cry.

Last week. I’m on the bus home when a man approaches me and sits right next to me. I scoot over. Several minutes into the ride he asks me if I would like to come home with him. I politely decline and glue my eyes to my phone until I can get off at the next stop. I open Instagram. But it’s not even all men.