It feels like your cheek being sanded away against the asphalt when you fall off your bike for the first time.
It feels like your fingers in a blender as you turn it on high, waiting for the blades to whisk away your identity as they rip the flesh from your bone.
It feels like your parents not believing you when you tell them what happened.
It feels like your sister telling your grandmother that you were asking for it.
It feels like everything you ever believed was a lie – that your friendship was a lie, your family is a lie, your agency is a LIE.
It feels like a hang nail, like a stubbed toe, like sex without foreplay.
It feels like no. Like absolute, 100%, definite and resolute no. Like explicit and implicit and silent and deafening echoes of no. Like screaming and tearing. Like begging and crying. It smells like the iron in my blood, like the tweed of a hand-me-down couch, like the metal of my bed frame, like the fragrance of your cologne. It smells like the alcohol we shared just moments before. It sounds like the movie we were just watching. It sounds like the the table clattering as you stumble back into it and behold what you’ve done. It feels like my family turning away from me and cowering into the lies they’d rather believe.
It hurts because you were my friend and I trusted you. I did. I fucking trusted you. I valued you. I thought our friendship more than just vagina deep. I thought my no meant there would be no barbaric thrusting. I thought my limp body was worth more than a the sack of potatoes like which I fell to the floor. I thought that my tears might mean you were done.
I thought when I went to the next room and closed the door after pretending to go to the bathroom meant that I had had enough. I thought that my prayers would save me. I thought the the next morning, when you apologized for what you had done, you would mean it.
I knew that when you said, “I’m sorry Steph; this isn’t me”, it was the biggest lie you ever told.
I thought that, when your work ignored me after I told them what happened, I was worthless. When you denied it after I confronted you, I thought I was mistaken. When I realized that you were entirely capable of doing it to my sister, or my best friend, I thought you needed to be stopped. I still do. I think you need to be imprisoned. You need to be registered. You need to be punished. YOU need to be raped. You need to know what it feels like to have your sanity, your willpower, your virtue, your humanity taken against your will. You need to feel alone, disgusting, and embarrassed. You need to be left swollen and raw in a dark room. You need your family to blame you. You need your s/o to call you broken. YOU need to be a statistic.