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Monday, August 9, 2010

Rapist

I miss him.

It's been two weeks since I last had any kind of contact with him. He's not putting up any kind of a fight. In this condition I'm sure so much as a facebook comment in my direction would have me crawling back.

It's good that he hasn't called.

I was kind of doing okay until it got to within a week of my menstrual. My hormones mess with my feelings like no man can. However, when they're on the man's side.... urgh.

I feel like my first sex meant nothing. And it did. And that's awful. I should never have let it happen. I have nightmares about it. About that night. When it wasn't really my decision. I so clearly remember him saying, "I'm gonna rape you."

I guess he wasn't really lying. I know, I let it happen, and I was dumb enough to get drunk with him. So of course I'm certainly not going after him for it. But it's always gonna be terrifying to remember. I'm always going to hurt when I remember the things he said and how rough he was with me. It hurt so much.

And it meant nothing.

I'm always going to remember most clearly that point where I thought he was finally asleep and it was safe to come back to bed. But when I got close he grabbed me, got on top of me. He wrapped his arms around me and started thrusting into me at a painful angle.

I begged him to stop, I tried to push him off of me, I cried. He told me to shut up. He called me a bitch. Nothing I did stopped him. I was either not strong enough or too drunk to push him off, though it felt like I was pushing with all my strength. So I just laid back and tried not to move. I looked away, up towards the corner of the room and pretended not to feel the pain. Pretended it was somebody else being hurt. I hoped that my not responding would make him stop. It didn't.

I just waited and waited, until he finally pulled out to readjust himself. Then I closed my legs as tight as I could. He pushed at my legs a little but he was drunk, so he just collapsed on the bed and let me be for a little while.

I relive this at least once a week in my nightmares.

I wish I could look at all this and hate him. I guess I feel like he owes it to me now, to be decent to me, to love me. But he owes me nothing. He just stole what was mine. And I didn't stop him.

I will never let myself be that drunk again.

I feel like I'll never love again.

I made love with him the next morning and a few days later because I just wanted to know that it could be something other than painful. And the way he looked at me when we were making love that morning was breath-taking.

"You're not a virgin anymore," he said, and he smiled at me. And it was sweet, and he held me like I was precious, and he touched me like I was unique and perfect.

It was all a lie.

His true self was the drunken monster that raped me the night before.

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