*Trigger Warning. These pieces are accounts of sexual assault, be aware they may trigger a severe emotional response.
I remember we were in a tent.
The world was spinning.
It was hot.
Everything went black.
When I woke up you were there.
I was there.
My clothes were not.
You were sleeping. I tried to remember. I looked around.
Everyone was sleeping.
I couldn’t remember.
I couldn’t think.
I felt sick.
Your sour breath was hot on my neck.
Your stubble bit my cheek.
Your eyes were closed, ignorantly blissful to what you had done.
My eyes started to water.
What you had done to me…
What was it?
I couldn’t remember.
I can’t remember.
I’ll never remember.
It’s funny how when two women share their stories of sexual assault the conversation slowly drifts to reminiscing about childhood.
Maybe we’re all just longing for a simpler time.
When hands were held and not pushed down pants.
When all we drank was lemonade on a hot summer day.
When boys were nice and mysterious and we didn’t know all their dirty little secrets.
It took me a month to realize what you had done to me.
It took you one week.
Now we both have to live with this forever.
When I close my eyes I feel your hands slipping over me. Into me.
I feel your hot mouth that tastes like whiskey breathing on my hair.
I feel your hands pushing and prodding me.
I feel my lungs collapsing and my mind screaming ‘no’.
Then I wake up.
In my bed.
You’re not here.
But you never leave.
How?
How did I let this happen?
How did I lose control?
How can I forget?
How can I forgive you?
Why?
Why did you keep handing me drinks?
Why did you think it was okay?
Why did you betray me like that?
Why didn’t you pay for it?
How dare you lay your hands on me.
©2019