after the memorial, part two

Trigger warning. For real, this time.
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Saturday, October 29, 2016 After the Memorial part two.

I thanked my friend and told her I’d be in touch. I hadn’t been in touch. I had communicated with her only a handful of times in the past couple of years. We had been really close. But I don’t know if I can do it now. I am triggered by all things St. Pete.

Probably an hour later, I return to old lover/not current lover anymore’s house and took my position back on the couch (we sat on different couches). I don’t remember saying much. I believe he asked me what was wrong, to which I probably replied, nothing. I stared at the tv while he played games — which is exactly what I had done at his house almost 7 days before that (while Love was in the hospital dying, unbeknownst to me. so yeah, i feel really shitty about that), and which is exactly what I had done 14 days before that (during which another “sexual experience” occurred, that Love and I talked extensively about on the last day I saw him, Saturday, October 15, 2016. He was very upset with me — insisting that I was trying to undo the “work” that we had done…).

We left his house to go run an errand and get food. I told him I couldn’t eat. He drove me around a couple places pointing out my different food choices. I told him I wasn’t interested. This was significant because the last two times I had been to his house, I had become very ill with a headache. VERY ill, especially the first time. I had told him it was because I had waited too long to eat. This time, I really couldn’t eat. I told him I hadn’t eaten in days…since Tuesday, when he texted me that Love was dead. Did he get it? Didn’t he get it now?

We got back to the house and I took my spot on the couch. He put on something for me to watch and told me he would be in and out of the room because he was watching football in the back. He asked me if he could ruin my lipstick, or something like that. I didn’t understand at first. I figured it out.

(A few years ago, I was wearing lipstick and was at his house, waiting for the sex. He told me, “I’m not touching you with that red stuff on your lips.” I told him to wipe it off. He told me to wipe it off myself. How sexy. So, I got up, went to the bathroom and did just that. I didn’t know lipstick was that serious.)

He approached me and kissed me so hard. I would say passionately, but I’m not sure if passion would be accurate. It was hard…it was…abrasive. He kissed and kissed and kissed me. I was kissing him back. It was so rough. I kinda liked it. It felt like it went on forever. Then he stopped and backed away. He went to wipe the lipstick off himself, noting the color and smiling. I went back to my blank, dead stare.

He disappeared. He came back and kissed me the same way. Hard. I kissed him back. He was like climbing me. I couldn’t tell if he wanted sex (but I should’ve known better, Love and I had just talked about this 2 week prior). He started shoving his hand between my legs. Oh, okay, maybe he did want the sex. He was rough. Still kissing. He tried to rub me through my pants. He was rough. He got to where my clit was and he rubbed so hard. It wasn’t arousing. It hurt. I pulled his hand away. He put it back. This wasn’t a game for me. It didn’t feel right. I was trying to stop it. He tried again. It hurt. He is so heavy handed. No tact. Just…almost brutal. I grabbed his hand and squeezed it down, to get him to stop. I felt like I did this several times. Stop means keep going, I guess. He stopped. He left.

He came back again and I was thinking, what now. This…motherfucka…I looked up at him. He unbuttoned/unzipped his pants and dropped them. I was like, WTF. My head was spinning. He hadn’t really done this before (not like this). But I had been in this position before in my past and had been traumatized by it. He doesn’t know. He didn’t even care about head though. He always told me that. But out came his dick and into my mouth it went.

He was rough about it. Like we were in a porn. And he always told me he didn’t watch porn; he didn’t see the point. But this was a porn. In, out, in, out, in out. I never opened my eyes once but I participated in this fuckery like I was a star. I participated in this like I was getting paid. I participated in this because I could feel (disgust, anger, fear), where I had felt dead on and off for days. I kept going and going and he was going and going even as it went from brick hard, to in between, to why the fuck are you even continuing with this don’t you feel the difference. I felt myself wipe the hot tears that had spilled down without my permission. He couldn’t see it from his position. It finally ended. Not with the “grand finale.” He just stopped. Pulled up his pants. Disappeared. I felt nothing again.

I texted a family member to tell them I probably wasn’t returning. They told me to stay…not to drive at night. Don’t worry. Just come back in the morning when it was light. Don’t rush. (They have been terrified of driving since Love died.)

Tears and more tears but I was by myself. I watched the movie. A good movie. I watched some tv but then it went off. He always puts things on a timer. I went to the back with intentions of getting in the bed. Turned the door handle. It was locked. Wait. Was it? I jiggled it. Turned it. It was locked. I made enough noise hoping he would hear.

I went back to my spot on the couch in the darkness, removed some pillows off the couch. Grabbed more crumpled tissues from my purse. Caught all my tears while I tried to make myself comfortable for the night. Oh yeah, I couldn’t leave because there is an alarm on the door. So, I spent the night with myself and my thoughts in what was the loneliest, longest night of my life. I tossed and turned. I thought of how upset Love would be with me. He was upset with me about something similar only two weeks before.

I let old lover pull an alpha move on me. He marked me. He was a dog. I was a tree. No, I was a bitch. He knew exactly how I was feeling and why I was feeling like that. I didn’t have to tell him any details. We had known each other for years and had spent plenty of time together. I know he had assumed things about me…randomly, he would bring Bo up. I never knew why. (This story is much more interesting when I go back and talk about why I ever approached Bo in the first place.) There were times when Bo would call and I would be with him, so I would ignore the call. He didn’t know THAT. There were times I would be with Bo and he would call/text and I would text him back. And this was how I celebrated Love’s death. This was my post memorial commemoration. What a piece of shit I am. No doesn’t mean no. This is what death feels like.