Higher Creative Folio
When I saw the look in your eyes — I knew. It was just a flash, but I saw the regret. I don’t think you ever meant hurt me like you did. I used to try and to convince myself that it was my fault, that I led you on, that maybe I actually enjoyed it. But for some reason I cannot forgive what you did to me.
We’ve all heard the stories and seen the ads, but it never sinks in. It’s always a lonely girl on a bench and the “evil” guy who can’t keep his hands away. They never tell you to suspect it might be someone you know — someone charming — or someone you really trust.
Me and you were always talked about — the couple that were meant to be. We were always close but I never wanted to take it any further. I don’t know why, but it just felt weird. You were always like a sibling to me and I just couldn’t see past it. We kept such a close bond that even in the teenage years — I just wanted to be friends.
It was meant to just be a movie night with some friends, stick on something mindless and talk. We talked as normal but someone decided to bring a few drinks. It wasn’t the first time and they didn’t bring a lot, but there were enough to make us all bolder. You placed your arm around my shoulder and we passed the drinks between us.
Before we watched half of the movie people were already leaving. I wish one of them could’ve stayed. Maybe they could’ve helped me; Maybe they could’ve heard my silent screams.
To feel your hand upon my own. To feel it move closer and closer to my chest. I glanced across to your smirk — what were you up to? I whispered in your ear, but you just shrugged and laughed. I inched away pretending I didn’t see what you did, it’s just the drink right? Right? I didn’t want to be rude and push you away, but it wasn’t long before your hand resumed it’s standoff with my body.
Your clammy hand slipped under my shirt. I was speechless, I didn’t realise you were this drunk. I tried to push your determined hands away but you were grasping at me now. You turned to face me and I saw the look in your eyes — you weren’t drunk, you were determined.
I just wanted to disappear, but you kept reminding me of this hell. You shattered my world when you dragged my jeans down. I would’ve given anything to escape, but I couldn’t. I felt frozen in place by your complete dominance. I tried to make a sound but my vocal cords were cut.
I thought there could be anything worse than what happened that night. There is. The denial of what you did makes the wounds deepen — not just from you, but from everyone. See, no one believes a sweet girl like you could ever overpower a man like me. “Surely you must’ve led her on, you probably enjoyed it!” they mock. They don’t think that any guy could refuse you. You are their daydream, but you are my waking nightmare. My scars are bared to the world anew each time I am reminded. I am your perfectly created disaster.
[I would be a monster if the tables were turned.] If it were me who’d taken your innocence, I would hear my name in hushed spiteful voices. My reputation would follow like a mongrel. But your gender acts as your shield, you can hide from all the scornful stares. You cannot be hurt, but I am cut by the daggers in your smiles
Whenever I try to make myself feel good, I can’t stop from being reminded of you. I can’t experience pleasure now that you have robbed me of my sexuality. I feel so guilty that I let you take advantage of me and I’m constantly playing it over and over, what if I just pushed you away. I don’t even have you to speak to anymore. None of my friends understand, Stop pitying yourself, I’m sure worst things have happened. I just wish it would all stop, that it would just go away. Every time I am reminded of you I remember that all I was to you was a moment of pleasure.
If I pretended I was blind to what you did — could we be happy again? Would it be worth it?
