I Remember

You.

You said you loved me well over a thousand times in the year and a half together we had.

You must’ve meant it. I hear you bring it up to faces I’ve never seen even now.

Do you remember the first day you thrusted your love upon me?

And into my quivering, weeping body?

As I laid on my side, a shaking, broken mess

Wondering why?

I loved you.

You told me that if I didn’t let you do what you did, that I didn’t really mean it.

So I wept and choked on my tears

And you.

Remember?

Remember the days

You dismembered all the ways

I found happiness until it was just you left?

The times you hit me, light enough to not leave a mark or bruise?

But oh the ways you abused my mind.

And everyone thought you were so kind

Hell, so did I.

You.

You listened to the stories of him two days after that battle finally ended

And you reprimanded his actions

How could anyone treat somebody like me that way?

How did somebody do that for so long and get away with it?

Remember when I asked for a friend in you, and nothing more?

Remember the moment we clarified that we would only be friends who adored one another?

When we discussed our current crushes excitedly?

And two days later you invited me over

Cause we had to finish all the beer to get you in the clear when your parents returned.

A National Treasure drinking game finished us quickly.

I remember thinking this would be a fond memory in our friendship.

We exchanged poetry and stories of our mental health.

You told me you were diagnosed with manic depression.

That a word as simple as no

Would throw you into a fit that could last days.

That it was hard to find ways out

That police, doctors, and your parents all had to find you in those cases and even then couldn’t help.

And then you asked for a kiss.

I was repulsed

I was hurt

I was mad

And I was terrified of my reply and what it would do to you.

I tried to change the subject

To object, politely

Then you asked again and reluctantly I let out a yes.

And oh boy

Do you remember how you did try to shove your hands down my pants?

When I ran to your fridge for a glass of water

I didn’t stop drinking as you watched and waited like a shark

Standing over me explaining how I tasted in the dark

And invited me to your room.

I suddenly got an emergency text from my sister who absolutely needed me home

And I drunk drove.

I’m really not proud of that.

I sobbed.

I didn’t stop crying the whole way home,

Nor once I was in bed.

I just had the moments on replay in my head.

Can you answer you’re earlier question?

How could anyone treat somebody like me that way?

You.

Do you remember asking me for help?

Telling me all your friends left you and you were trying to better yourself to get them back and prove yourself to not be the monster they believed.

I offered a haircut.

During which, you were horrified to hear some of your friends had not been so friendly to me

That I was the “bitch who kissed Paul and thought she was too ‘good’ for him.”

It was a bummer, he seemed like such a nice dude, a tortured soul and a beautiful poet.

As the night went on, our conversations turned to dawn.

And you asked if we could just cuddle, as friends who had both bared their hardships and needed to be held

To hold

And nothing more.

I said yes.

Then when you pressed your dick into my back

You asked if I could feel that

If I knew what it was

You giggled and told me it was for me and you grabbed my ass

I laid frozen

Mind numb

I couldn’t process what you had just said or done

Until you put your lips on mine

Then my mind snapped out of its trance and I ran.

You still don’t understand why I was scared.

I guess Paul was right.

I was that bitch.

You.

Do you remember?

Because I don’t.

What I do, was a night of debauchery with my three guy friends

In my last night that would never end

Running from a crazed person who chased us to our car

Taking celebratory shots once in the “safety” of home

And then I woke up to strange fingers inside of me

The smell of alcohol and cigarettes emanating from between your teeth as you shoved your tongue into my mouth.

When I finally realized what was happening, that the situation was lacking a yes from me, I turned.

I tried to get up but I was too drunk to do that.

So I laid there and cried with the arms that brought the tears around my waste and caressing my face.

You.

Fuck you.

I didn’t know what to do when I woke up next to someone I never knew

Lying in a pile of my own menstrual blood.

I tried so hard to convince myself that I must’ve wanted the “fun”.

Even though you didn’t wear a condom and I would’ve made you had I been aware

Even though I knew I hadn’t wanted to before I was drunk and that I definitely wasn’t there

Even though you were sixteen at the time, and I eighteen, and that would be considered statutory rape on my end.

I tried.

I lied and played the part of a sexy play thing who knew exactly what she was doing when I really didn’t.

That scar I wear to this day

Reminds me of the way I chugged vodka the next night to silence my thoughts of “what the fuck?” and “why?”

You.

Remember the day you told me you didn’t want to hear about my past traumas?

You explained that you couldn’t handle hearing that people hurt me like that and there was nothing you could do about it now, that you’d see red and if any of my past had been close by they could be dead

That you wouldn’t be able to hold back

That that feeling would be too dangerous.

So, how’s it looking in the mirror nowadays?

You.

You were “young” and “dumb” and your parents never explained that fucking an unconscious person wasn’t sex.

How were you supposed to know better?

I stood out in freezing weather

I asked if you knew that you raped me

“Well, nobody’s put it so blatantly.

How was I supposed to be sure

When it’s happened so many times before?”

I didn’t fight back, I couldn’t

I felt bad for you

That somebody grew up in such a sheltered world

That rape was just a word they only heard in scary stories about some big strange man forcing her hand.

I told you it was wrong

But I wouldn’t sing the song that’d end up with a record for you, instead I’d set the record straight.

It wouldn’t happen again, that’s all that mattered to me.

Not my sanity

I was concerned for other girls and your safety

And I hear you did it again.

What a fucking fantastic friend.

Back to you in that mirror

Remember the terror you felt when I called to tell you something bad had happened?

When you rushed to me and held me as I wept about the boy who didn’t know?

You said you’d throw yourself between me and that bus

That it wouldn’t be just me dealing with it, it’d be us.

And when the ptsd began

When I shut up like a clam

You went fishing.

Remember when I spent the night?

We were trying to make things right, to quiet my nightmares of him, of you and her

And then I had to wake up to the strange feeling of being invaded uninvited again.

And when I tried to talk

You screamed until I was convinced I was at fault

And then it was dropped.

Just like when I dropped the frustrated hit you gave me

Or the time you kissed my forehead after grabbing her tit and proclaimed your love.

You.

You put drinks in my hand until I didn’t understand where I was or where I was going.

Fuck, I couldn’t recite my own memorized poetry or stand up straight without help.

I woke up to new bruises on my body

To a scene with no backstory.

You knew I was a “kinky whore”

From the bruises I had from someone before, an event with two party consent, so you left more.

I have some flashes of things from that night.

Telling you to stop

You thinking that was hot

And crying as I stared at the door, willing it to open, for me to wake up from this bad dream, to no avail.

I didn’t want to know the trail I had drunkenly traversed to end up cursed on your hotel floor

But I shook and stared at the marks on my legs as I asked for your recount of the night.

I don’t know why

I try to take control of something that’s already over

Why after every rape I try to repeat the event when I’m sober

As if that’ll somehow give me control of a situation where I had none

As if that’ll give me some sort of consolation

Because it’s really not fun

Being able to remember every detail of it

Falling back into a pit and watching as you replay your rape.

It’s like I have a tape that at any moment, could play.

It rewinds over and over

And over

And over

And over again.

Still hasn’t reached the end.

And the common factor of each movie happens to be me.

I play the starring role of the girl with no control.

I’m the villain, the one to blame

Not the men, who rape

But the girl who takes too many shots, who wore the dress asking for this, or the sexy sweats.

The one who over-shares and trusts too easily.

I remember.

I remember every morning after

The awkward laughter as I tried to piece the puzzle together, to process it, as I pretended to be fine

Every time I was told

That I was the fool

That I could’ve prevented it instead of just letting it happen.

So, no. That wasn’t the first time, and even if you can’t believe, you might, given the opportunity.

And it terrifies me when I say that it might not be the last time

It’s a crime, but it’s not taken seriously

And even though most people believe me, I’ve been told I’m over reacting to something that seems to happen quite often to me.

That there’s something I’m doing wrong.

It’s not the first time, but do you understand why I don’t tell everyone every time?

Why most rapes go unreported due to the retorts from the people that are trusted, let alone the ones who don’t trust the girl who cried wolf?

Even when the wolves have been under her bed this whole time?