Hey Ryan, Love Cairn.

If you have been sexually assaulted or abused,
here are some resources for you:

RAINN (nationwide 24/7 free helpline and chat)
Telephone: 800.656.HOPE (4673)
Online chat: online.rainn.org
https://rainn.org/

Crisis Services (Buffalo based Crisis Management and Advocate Programs)
24 hour Hotline: 716.834.3131
https://crisisservices.org/

Buffalo PD SVU
716.851.4494

If you have been the perpetrator of sexual assault or abuse,
here are some resources for you:

Forensic Mental Health Services (Buffalo/New York State)
(specialized services working with sexual and criminal offenders,
check your region)
Telephone: 718.871.4593
https://absbehavioralhealth.com/

Support Group: One Standard of Justice
(this group offers support for individuals accused or convicted of sexual offenses and their families)
https://tinyurl.com/2m8a6zh3

Hey Ryan, Why Did You Put Your Hand In My Pants While I Was Sleeping?

'Fit for confronting my assailant. Not shown is the addition of #YouToo scrawled around the t shirt and
"Of course I loved you" on the front of each pantleg. On the back of each pantleg "Claire, are you okay?"

Emotional and spiritual healing is not linear. I think we all know that. In fact, it can look radically different for each of us. For me, it comes in spurts following periods of gestation.

It took 652 days for me to confront my sexual assailant about his actions for the second time. The first time was less than 12 hours after the assault had taken place, over text, where he first raged at me for not letting him sex on me. I then replied “What you did was sexual assault.” At which point - I kid you not - he said “Can you stop. I’m busy.” Then he ghosted.

It took me 7 days after the assault to tell someone. Over a short period of time I told a handful of people, all men. Every single one of them texted or messaged Ryan some version of “It is not nice to put your hand down sleeping ladies’ pants.You should apologize.” He blocked all of them without response. At some point I think he changed his number.

The second confrontation was face to face.

On Thursday, May 1, 2025 after teaching a yoga class on empowerment, something aligned. I decided to scroll my socials for a few minutes, an activity I rarely engage in these days. The very first thing I saw was a post shared by a friend advertising Happy Hour Music at a local Buffalo Bar. It just so happened to be the very first bar in Buffalo that I ever stepped foot in at the tender age of 19. It is still one of my very favorites.It was an immediate realization - ”Tonight is the night.”

Poor Mr. Hitchy, my partner, had been sick in bed all week, so he happened to be home. (It took 335 days for me to tell him what had happened. That is 1 more day than it took for me to finally reach out to Crisis Services and my doctor.) I entered his room and said “Hey, it’s happening tonight.”

There was a minor conversation before I left the room and immediately started to prepare myself. Warrior Power, activate! In the form of YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE. There was a lot of consolidating my energy and doing prep work in the ethers. And, of course, there was preparing the ‘fit. I remember thinking to myself “You wanted to create with me? You wanted to play with me, perform with me? You wanted me to write about you? You’ve got it, Babycakes. Here I come.” I’ve been a performance artist for a long time. My favorite forms can blur the line between audience and performer in some slight way. This wasn’t going to be my first round of Guerilla Theater as protest. I didn’t know exactly how it would go down, how could I? But I WAS ready.

At some point I wandered back into Mr. Hitchy’s room and he asked me if it was going to be a late show. “No,” I replied “Happy Hour. It’s perfect.” I wandered back out of the room to continue the prep. I wandered in and out a couple more times before he asked what time we needed to leave.

“You’re coming?!” The shock in my voice was evident. He replied, giving me that special look he reserves for when he thinks I am being an exceptional goofball,“You didn’t expect me to?!” Honestly it hadn’t even occurred to me that he would, maybe because he had been so sick all week or maybe because it was simply a trauma response to be ready to go alone, I don’t know. I did contest a few times but he wouldn’t hear it. He also shared that he too, wanted to look Ryan in the eye to make sure that Ryan knew he knew.

It was time to head out. We drove past the bar. Ryan was smoking a cigarette outside. Mr. Hitchy and I parked around the corner. Mr. Hitchy asked me if I wanted him to go in first. I told him I had been planning to ask him to. Hie did. Later he told me there had been a bit of banter during which he asked Ryan “Do you know who I am?” Ryan said no and Mr. Hitchy replied “You will.”

At approximately 6:45pm I entered the establishment. Mr. Hitchy was sitting at the bar, the players were playing up front. There was a small crowd there, approximately 8 including the players. I was the only woman in the place. I collected the beverage Mr. Hitchy had obtained for me, then went to casually lean myself against a beam the way I might at any gig I attend.

I was approximately six feet away from Ryan, directly in his eyeline. His head was down, his eyes may have been closed. I remember thinking I couldn’t hear him at all but the other two guys on stage were really talented.

At some point between songs, Ryan looked up. At first he had a little grin on his face. I don’t know if he knew it was me or just saw a girl. His face immediately began to change as he read my shirt and pants. His initial comment was “What the fuck is this?” “What the fuck IS this, Ryan?,” I challenged him calmly. As Ryan was pushing himself up from the keyboard and backing away I heard the bartender ask what was happening. I could hear Mr. Hitchy reply. “This guy assaulted my wife. She needs to confront him. It won’t get violent and it won’t take long.” The boys on stage bowed their heads and took a step back. For a quarter of a second I kinda felt half bad this had to happen during their show.

Ryan repeated himself. “What the FUCK is this?”

That’s when the whole pantheon flooded in. I just kept repeating myself over and over, left fist held behind my back and barely sipped drink in the other hand. “WHY. DID. YOU. PUT. YOUR HAND. IN MY PANTS. WHILE. I. WAS. SLEEPING.” He stuttered and stumbled, not able to form words or sentences until he managed “This is harassment.” Leave it to the abuser to try to play the victim. TEXTBOOK. Classic. Good one!

“Admit what you did, Ryan, and I will leave.”

He uh, er, um and, ah’d a little bit more before I said “Are you going to tell me this never happened?!” In one of the most belligerent things that has happened in front of my actual face, the little punk actually said “Yes. It never happened.”

I charged onward. “So you didn't call me when your dog died and ask me to meet you downtown, right? That never happened? And I didn’t show up TO HELP YOU WHILE YOU WERE IN DISTRESS, right? That never happened? And you didn't get extremely drunk that night and have a psychotic breakdown, right? That never happened? And you didn't eventually pass out on the floor, right? That didn't happen? And I didn't finally go to bed and later wake up to find you with your hand in my pants, right? That never happened?”

It was during that lambasting that he finally began to admit what he had done by saying “Okay, okay, I did it, I did it.” While he DID admit it, he did not offer any remorse. He could not look at me at all as I glared at him for a few more seconds.

I could hear Mr. Hitchy behind me whispering “Okay, Honey. It’s time to go.” I put my drink down for a second. As I took off my shirt and tossed it toward the keys I told Ryan I would be filing a police report and that if he ever touches another woman, I will be there. I picked up my drink, glared for a few more seconds and then turned to the bartender, apologized for interrupting his evening and thanked him for allowing my protest.

As I was walking out into the rain in my bra, the most romantic trope-y thing that has ever happened to me happened. Mr. Hitchy put his jacket around my shoulders and took my hand. Apparently his last jab at Ryan was “Keys need to go up in the mix.” I roared when he told me that.

To the credit of the men in the bar that night, none of them said a word. None of them got in my way. None of them tried to stop me. None of them rushed to Ryan’s defense. Still, I can’t help but wonder what happened after I left. Did they just go back to playing without skipping a beat? Was I called a crazy bitch? Did the men tell Ryan it is uncool to sexually assault women? Sidenote: Honestly that is what NEEDS to happen more than anything else if anything is ever going to change; men need to hold other men accountable, ESPECIALLY when they are your friends or family members. Especially when you love them. I know nobody wants to believe that someone in their inner circle could do such things.Trust me, I didn’t want to believe it either.This isn’t about cancel culture. It is about accountability, healing our communities and improving the human condition. One night, decades ago, when I lived in the EV, our neighbors were having a party. It was summer. All the windows were open. I was lying in bed and I could hear the conversation happening on the neighbors’ porch. One guy (let’s call him Scumbag) was telling another guy (let’s call him Mr.Valor) about the time he got a girl so drunk she passed out and he decided to “have some fun with her.” The braggartly way he was telling his tale was stomach turning. Then Scumbag asked Mr.Valor if that didn’t sound like a good time. Mr.Valor said “No. It sounds like rape.” Be like Mr Valor.

It could have gone differently. Ryan might not have said a word and I might have silently glared the whole time he played, watching him squirm. It would have been fun to see how he might have tried to figure out if he could snake away from me. Spoiler alert: he wouldn’t have been able to. In fact, it’s quite possible he chose to address me from stage because he actually felt safer that way. Maybe he was.

Band Together: No Predators On Stage!

I have to thank all my musician friends that reached out to make sure Ryan wasn’t someone they had played with, and to make sure he isn’t someone they would play with in the future. Thanks to everyone who reached out to make sure he wasn’t on your friends’ list, but thanks especially to my musician friends.

One of his bands confronted him and fired him immediately, though I didn't know it for the first week after it happened. I can't thank them enough for their swift action and support. This is what Banding Together looks like. This is how consequences are experienced and communities heal. Thank you. They are absolute heroes and I hope more bands follow suit when confronted with a predator in their ranks.

I need to reach out to are a couple of other bands and people he's know to play with and I can only hope the same kind of action is taken instead of enabling Ryan to go on refusing to take accountability.

Again, I can't help wonder if anybody else confronted him about it, especially the boys on stage that night. If so, did he try to walk his confession back, because I legit want to know who in their right mind would ever admit to such acts in public if they never happened? Moreso, who in their right mind would swallow a walk back like that?

A local business owner who has sponsored various local musical events in the past flat out wanted to know what bands would want Ryan in them and what venues would want to book him. Good questions, I say!

I have to ask all my musician friends, if this happened at one of your shows what would you do? And to my show going friends? And my venue managing friends? What if the assailant was someone you admired, whose music moved you? What if you thought of him as a friend, someone you've shared laughs and late nights with? Would your sense of justice remain so clear? What happens when the lines blur? This is your scene, your people. Do you owe him protection or do do you owe your friends, fans and potential female band mates protection from him?

Imagine Ryan is your band mate and you've never seen the woman who spoke up before. You guys have been through it all, right? Dodgy gigs, triumphant sets. He's family, in a weird, musical way. Now, this accusation hangs in the air. Your gut reaction might be, "Nah, not Ryan." And BAM! There it is, cognitive dissonance dancing with denial. Sticky little wicket, innit? That loyalty, that shared history - it creates a kind of blindness. It’s like your empathy has built walls around your crew, and anyone outside that circle - their story just doesn’t land with the same weight. It’s called parochial empathy (which can operate in a similar manner to relative morality) and it is something that needs to be acknowledged and challenged for justice to completely be served. It's like our hearts have these little hometown borders, and it’s easier to feel for the folks inside, but what about the people outside those lines? Justice has nothing to do with who we like or dislike.

Now flip it. You've never seen the band before but the woman who spoke up that night is someone you have a shared history with, whether it's simply from seeing each other at events or something deeper. Maybe she is a friend, possibly another musician or artist you respect. Suddenly, the story hits a little differently. You feel that knot in your stomach, that immediate surge of protectiveness.

What if Ryan just joined the band a few weeks ago. You know the band, you love their music, but this new guy? He’s just there so far. You don't know the woman who spoke up either in this case. Maybe it feels easier to stay neutral, to wait and see what happens next, but is neutrality really an option when someone has been hurt? Does our lack of personal connection excuse our inaction?

What if this situation happened in the tightest of tight-knit scenes? You've all been making music and going to each other's shows for decades. You've seen each other through breakups and breakdowns, celebrated births and mourned losses. You know both the survivor and the assailant. They're both part of your extended family. This is where it gets truly complicated. Cognitive dissonance might hit even harder making action feel impossible.That desire to keep the peace, to not rock the boat in your little world can be a powerful force. It whispers things like "It's between the two of them. It'll blow over. Maybe it's a misunderstanding. I'm afraid of picking the wrong side." This is parochial empathy again, coming at you from a different angle.

That desire for harmony not only comes at a terrible cost to the person who was harmed, it can destroy the whole scene. The silence becomes deafening because it allows predators to continue their attacks without ever having to answer for their actions. True empathy doesn't care who you know or how long you've known them. True empathy sees the fundamental value and suffering of every human being without considering their social status. Parochial empathy, on the other hand, is like a club membership – you only feel it for the people who have the right card and it is rife in the world of music and fandom, not only in small local scenes but all the way up. That club mentality? It's a breeding ground for injustice, just a tiny bit cultish, no? It lets the people we know and the people we like off the hook a little too easily. It makes it harder to hold them accountable, even when the evidence is staring us in the face. It is exactly that lack of accountability that allows predatory behavior to fester. When there are no consequences within the community, when silence and loyalty trump truth and justice, what message does that send? It tells survivors they won't be believed, that their pain doesn't matter as much as the comfort of the group. And it tells perpetrators that they can get away with it, that their friends will protect them, even if it means turning a blind eye to the harm they've caused.

It took me 2 days after the second confrontation to tell Esteemed Son - the last person I told, and finally post on my socials. I knew I couldn’t start posting until I told him. The last thing I would want is for him to find out online.

Why was Esteemed Son the last person I told, you might wonder. Why did it take me so long to tell Mr. HItchy? It’s because I knew the news would devastate them. Sexual assault doesn’t just affect the victim. In order to get the support and justice they need, the whole family is affected. There is a healing process everyone in the family has to go through. I had to get to a certain place in my own processing before I could share. I had to have a plan of action before I could tell Mr. Hitchy because I thought it would help him accept it. Poor Son is sorting through it all now, and he is processing in many of the ways I did in the beginning. Both my guys are supportive of me seeking justice in the way that is most restorative for me, despite both of them expressing their preferred forms of justice.

What happened on the 334th day after the attack that finally leveled me up in the healing process? A friend of mine sent me a 20 minute video of a Buffalo Band’s Music is Art performance because she thought I would really like them and she wanted me to go to an upcoming show with her. I DID really like the band and was totally psyched to go see them live when suddenly, at the end of their set, Ryan walked in front of the camera and I immediately threw up. Many things clicked in that moment, including the fact I was still prioritizing his mental health over mine, but there he was, clearly living his best life while I was having trouble sleeping, eating, working and socializing. I had spent so much time knowing I had to take actions toward holding him accountable, and worrying about how to do it without him potentially self-harming in an unrecoverable way and I was done being hostaged by his manufactured exigencies. I called crisis services and my doctor that very day and told Mr. Hitchy the next. The truth is, up until that moment all I really wanted was for the jackhat to acknowledge what he had done, apologize for it and tell me he had gotten help. Blah! Never happened.

This isn’t just about my experience with Ryan. It’s about the rampant predatory behavior present in the music scene. When you look at the numbers, even the lowball figures suggest that out of a hundred guys in the music scene - say, twenty bands of five - you're probably looking at ten who've sexually assaulted someone in some way. And if you go with the higher estimates, that number jumps to a staggering twenty-five. That's a yuck number of creeps, and honestly, in this industry, chances are those numbers are even higher. Let's be real, the whole "sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll" thing? It's not just a cliché. "Sex" is right up front for a reason. That kind of environment, where boundaries can get blurred and access is often easy, can unfortunately create fertile ground for predatory behavior. That's where the whole concept of "grooming" and "groupies" ( if you want to use that loaded term) gets tangled up. You've got often young, impressionable fans who idolize these performers. Seeing them play feels magical. There's an inherent power imbalance. The performer is up on a stage, literally elevated, bathed in light, creating this emotional connection with the audience. For a fan that can feel like a deep, almost personal connection.

The artists are put on pedestals, granted a level of trust because of this seemingly personal connection and the vulnerability in their music. Of course the relationship is parasocial and it can tragically be exploited. Grooming, in this context, can look like a performer singling out a fan, offering special attention, making them feel seen and valued - all while subtly manipulating the dynamic for their own predatory ends. Grooming can also look like offering opportunities or mentorship to aspiring artists. It is the pattern of behavior that reveals the danger. That initial admiration and trust, that feeling of being special, can be insidious tools in a predator's playbook, making it even harder for a victim to recognize the danger they're in, and even harder to speak out later. It's a messed-up cycle, and those numbers we were just talking about? They're a stark reminder of how deeply ingrained this can be.

Mr. Hitchy had a band with a predator in it once. In the end it destroyed the band due to their division about whether or not to confront the predator. The predator was accused of multiple things, including, you guessed it, touching sleeping ladies. What the actual duck is wrong with you guys???? The predator was witnessed doing and saying MANY womanizing things. Every once in a while a man fan or friend would confirm to me they had witnessed or heard the abusive behavior, but they never confronted him. Every once in a while a lady fan would admit they felt so uncomfortable around the predator they couldn't be around the band anymore, but they never confronted him. It was so gross, I don’t know how it went on for so long. Some of that is happening in some of your bands right now.

* It is important to note here that while there has been a lot of cis normative language in this writing, it is in no way, shape or form meant to diminish the reality that sexual assault and rape are both experienced and perpetrated by all genders, though to be super, duper, extra fair, cis males do seem to be at top of the perpetrator list by a large percentage.

** The above has been edited for clarity.

Will He Or Won't He?

My worries about Ryan’s potential suiciding didn’t come from out of the blue.

About 9 months before the assault, I was supposed to bring my keyboard to his place on a Saturday and spend the day just seeing if we could play together. Up until this point, before the ‘ship wrecked, it was focused on music and art. We had listened to each other’s work and shared our art with each other. We had sent many songs back and forth, each of us having a wide range of musical tastes. I knew Ryan was going through something very intense and having extreme anxiety and I thought I had a grasp on the gist of what was triggering it, so I was probably more lax in my boundaries than is typically my habit. At that point in time, notwithstanding certain oddities I probably should have focused on more, I believed the connection was legit and I was attempting to make space for what he was struggling with.

The Saturday we were supposed to meet up, I couldn’t get hold of him. It wasn’t the first time he had ditched a meet up plan without telling me. I was extremely pissed and sent a message saying so.

Sunday morning he contacted me to let me know his sister had called the authorities because of his threats of self-harm. He had spent Friday night and Saturday under surveillance at ECMC. We talked for quite a while before he was ready to hang up, at which point I asked him if I really had to worry about him hurting himself in a permanent way and his response was he was either going to kill himself or me. After that conversation, he of course, ghosted.

What this video is actually capturing is me realizing I have become a limerent object in real time. It shows me pondering whether or not I am in true danger. Though it has been edited it may still be very upsetting to watch. It is raw. The language is RAW. It was recorded within a few days of the post ECMC conversation. I thought I was going to post it at the time. I obviously didn’t. It feels necessary to include here now. I recorded it after returning home from a training session with my dog.

Limmerance video.mp4

It may be worth noting that a few days after I recorded the above video, I did show up at his house. You may have noticed a pattern by now.

He had his stepfather lie for him and tell me he wasn't home. I made a mental note, "Oh. He weaponizes his mental health against his family too. They enable him." I did text him to let him know I knew he was home. I left. I began to lean toward his murderous outburst being hyperbole. It is still within the realm of possibility that what I should have done was pass a message along through the stepdad "Okay. Just let him know I stopped by to check in about whether or not he's still thinking about murdering me. Enjoy your day!" It's all very David at the Dentist, ya know?

About 6 weeks after the post ECMC conversation he texted to let me know he had been sober 30 days. I congratulated him. There were a few follow up texts, without acknowledgement of the threats he had made, and then - nothing.

About a month after that a (different) friend asked me to meet her at the same local bar the second confrontation went down in. All she said was there were a bunch of bands on the bill, a couple of which she liked and did I want to go. I was up for it. As the laws of tragicomedy would have it, when I got there I discovered one of Ryan’s bands was on the bill. When he saw me he immediately got all squirrely and with every cell in his body, he tried to avoid me. At some point I stepped directly into his path and asked if he was actually pretending not to notice me. Then all kinds of lame spilled out of his stupid mouth. When he finished with his mumbo jumbo, he asked me why I was there. I looked him dead in the eye and told him I’d been going to that bar since he was 7.

His band went on stage a few minutes later and after watching him stumble around like an idiot for a few minutes while the rest of the band looked utterly confused I texted my friend and told her we needed to meet somewhere else. Then I left.

That was our last interaction until the night of the attack, which I have written about elsewhere. Something about what a ridiculous little manbaby he had been must have helped push any last notion I was in danger of anything more than temper tantrums right out of my head . One thing had most assuredly been proven by that point: there is nothing in the world he is more afraid of than confrontation, and I am the Queen. Of. It.

Open Letter

Dear Ryan,
YOU PICKED THE RIGHT ONE! You asked why the police haven’t been to visit you. What a bizarre thing to wonder in the face of what was happening. Let me be clear, THEY CAN COME TO VISIT ANYTIME YOU WANT THEM TO. Hey, if YOU want them to investigate these charges, please, feel free to contact them yourself! I'm ready. Make it easy for me. Please. If you need the report number, just let me know. You absolutely know what you did.

For the record, when a victim reports an assault (at least in Buffalo) they have a choice of whether they simply file a report or press charges. AND THEY CAN UPGRADE THE REPORT TO PRESSING CHARGES ANYTIME AFTER IT’S FILED. I filed a preliminary report with Crisis Services about a year ago. I was giving you grace by filing a report with Crisis Services before the BPD SVU, but since our encounter on May Day, I HAVE filed my official police report (officially a public record) and it is very detailed, starting with the night of the assault, including your previous murderous threat, up to and through my protest in the bar.The names of several people there that witnessed your admission of guilt are listed. Your brother’s name is also included in my report for both his role in confirming your violent past with women, and introducing us. If you force me to press charges you will have a public arrest record for sexual assault regardless of what happens after that.

You should know, the reason you were at the party that night was because your brother’s child is afraid to be in the same house as you. Bro had to invite you so Young One would feel safe at your parents’ house. You should know the reason I was at the party that night was because your brother sent out a message guaranteeing “only the kindest love love love” people would be there. Vomit. You should tell your brother I’m not done with him yet either, for multiple reasons, not the least of which is knowingly putting me in your path.

Now, despite my choice not to have you arrested at this time, if the police should happen to find any other reports have been filed on you about violence against women, they will come find you on their own, and if any woman files a complaint against you in the future, they will come find you on their own. Not only will my report help anyone who comes forward in the future, but I will be there to testify about my experience if you are ever put on trial.

You should consider this an intervention, Ryan. YOU NEED HELP. If I had my choice between seeing you in jail and seeing you clean up your act and get the help you need, I’d choose the latter. I say this because I care about you. Kid yourself not, I’m PISSED, and I’m not backing down. You are not going to weaponize your mental health against me for one second longer. It just ain’t happenin’. Whether or not I care about you has nary a bearing on the fact you are a predator. What's love got to do with you being a sexual offender? Whether it is due to your addiction or your mental health, I dunno, but you better figure it out and fix it. Don't you think it is way past time for you to start adulting and taking some responsibility for your life and its circumstances?

I KNOW you know what consent is because you get wormier than anyone I've ever met whenever you think someone might be anywhere near infringing on your real or perceived domains. A perceived domain might be something like you believing I don't have a right to go see a band you might be in, or hang out at a bar you might be at, or to confront you and hold you accountable for abusing me - for a couple of easy examples.

The lack of remorse you have shown on every level is TERRIFYING. I owe it to every woman I have ever taught, loved, mentored, inspired or been inspired by to have filed a report on you. I owe it to all your past victims, regardless of the degree to which you abused them and I owe it to any potential future victims. I owe it to Young One. I owe it to you, and MOST OF ALL, I ABSOLUTELY owe it to me.

The inability to show remorse along with predatory behavior? GET HELP. You may be suffering from Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD), Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) or Psychopathy in addition to your addiction, anxiety, trauma and potential comorbidities. Talking to a doctor or mental health professional can help you figure it out. Get. Help.

I will be continuing this intervention in my own way. I gently nudge anyone who sees this and loves you, or cares about you in any capacity, to get in on the intervention. YOU NEED TO BE INTERVENED ON!!!

Now, one last thing, my wee one. I WILL GO ANYWHERE IN THIS CITY I WANT WHENEVER I WANT. Get used to it. I’m not going to worry about what bands I see or whether or not you might be in them. I hate that you weaponized music against me in addition to everything else, but TADA!!! Donezo. Put on your big boy pants and buck up! If YOU don’t want to see ME out in public at some event you might be at, YOU get off stage. YOU quit your bands. YOU stop going out to see music. If you want, get out of town, change your name and start all over.

Don’t get it twisted, I never need to speak to you again UNTIL *YOU ARE READY TO APOLOGIZE, but I WILL show up wherever the duck I want, totally unbothered. Deal with it.

If by some chance I am wrong, and you actually DO feel guilt and shame about your assault on me, all you have to do is reach out and let me know. Also, get help.

Love,

Cairn

* The clock may be ticking on this, I mean I've already given you almost two years to show any kind of remorse in the least. You did nothing. If you cannot take accountability for your actions willingly, accountability will be thrust upon you by that arrest you are so eagerly awaiting. You do not get to get away with this. Not on my watch.

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