*TW: Rape*

“Your Body, My Choice.” The anthem that young men are already splattering all over womens’ online content – a mere 2 days after the election. The fear burning inside me is the same fear I felt the first time I was sexually assaulted, nearly 10 years ago. I write to cope, and the narrative below serves as a sort of emotional bloodletting. Please do not read further if you feel that this content will be harmful to you at this time, and know that extend my deepest compassion and support. I see you, I feel for you, my heart breaks alongside you. There is no happy ending or silver lining to this story.

Me: “Okay fine, I’ll come over. But JUST to watch a movie. Promise nothing else will happen.”

Him: “Of course not, cutie!”

His house is nice; well-kept. The couch is made of that fake, cheap leather. Sleek, but not the type for watching movies on. I’m wearing my favorite Victoria’s Secret PINK jacket with a black bra underneath and yoga pants. He guides me to the couch and offers me a drink. Crown Royal Green Apple and 7-up. Not my first choice, but beggars can’t be choosers. In 6 months, I’ll be old enough to enter the holy temple of the State Liquor Store and select my own libations. He pads to the kitchen to fix me a cocktail while I browse the DVDs shelved on his entertainment system.

He wants to watch Transformers. Again, not my first choice, but maybe the buzz from my drink will help me enjoy it more. I sip.

My head is spinning. I shakily set my empty glass on the side table. My arm is heavy and stiff as a brick. I lay my head in his lap and vigorously fight my heavy eyelids. I lose.

Some time later, he hoists me over his shoulder in a fireman carry. I am jolted awake, my head hanging low. I notice I’ve been drooling. I mumble something.

He has a creaky metal bed frame. He tosses me on the mattress like I’m weightless. Rips the zipper of my jacket down. Exposes my bra. I whimper.

My vision is blurry. He violently peels my yoga pants off of me. His thumbnails scratch my hips. I can’t breathe.

He sticks his head between my virgin thighs and my heart stops beating. Why am I not fighting? Flying? What’s the 3rd option again? Freeze?

I freeze.

He’s on his feet now. He cracks open the door and a sliver of light slips in. I feel my eyes widen.

The crinkling of a wrapper. He slides himself into a condom and slides that into me. I yelp. A tear rolls down my temple. I wonder how much longer this will take.

He grunts and moans in my ear, and then pushes himself off and out of me. “It broke,” he gasps.

My brows furrow. What. broke.

Now he’s the one with panic in his eyes. He disappears again. Bathroom, I presume.

It takes all of my strength and focus to pull my yoga pants back up over my hips. He left them around my ankles.

He lays down next to me and slings his arm around my waist. He kisses me on the cheek. I hate spooning.

My eyes defy me once more. Hours pass.

It’s 5:02 AM, according to the harsh, green light emitting from his alarm clock across the room. I’m alert – clear, even.

I delicately slide out from under his arm, which is still slung heavily around my waist. He’s snoring. I pinch my jacket off the floor and slide my arms into it and then close the door so gently the door knob barely clicks.

I zip up my jacket and frantically search the dark living room for my phone and purse. One last door knob to safety. I grip it.

“Don’t you want to stay for breakfast?” My cheeks turn red hot.

He pulls me in by the waist and rests his chin on my shoulder.

-M.