It was already dark when I boarded the train home. I was 19 and making the half-hour journey back from drama school one evening, travelling on my own.
At first, I was completely alone in the carriage – until an older man hopped on. He could have had any seat on the train but chose the one next to me. I was in the window seat and he slumped uncomfortably close to me in the aisle seat, blocking my exit. Completely focused on me, he told me he loved my hair, admired my clothes, asked me where I was from and then started to rub his hand up and down my thigh. Scared, I tried to stand up, but he pushed his hand down hard on my leg to stop me, his other hand moving to my shoulder. As absolute panic began to wash over me, I saw a young man walking down the aisle.
