February 16, 2011

What I remember the most is hoping it would be over soon. Waiting for him to finish so that I could get out of there. He disgusted me. I kept telling him it hurt. That I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to do this. He didn’t listen to me. He didn’t care about me. He only cared about himself. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I didn’t understand why this was happening. I was grown up. Living on my own. Making my own decisions. So why had I made such a bad one? I thought he was cute. I thought he was nice. I never expected him to act like this.

When it was finally over I got up and put my clothes on. He tried to kiss me goodbye and said “I’ll call you.” I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I needed to be anywhere but there. A week later he did call me. I told him I never wanted to see him again. He seemed truly puzzled. That made me angry. Seriously? You don’t know why I think you’re a despicable human being. Months later I saw him out in a club. He came up to me. “Hey sexy,” he said, “long time no see.” I told him to get away. Again, he appeared truly puzzled. What’s with this guy, I thought? How can he not understand. As I was thinking about all this, he touched my arm. “GET OFF ME”, I screamed. He jumped back. ‘Hey, chill out,’ he said. “Don’t be such a bitch.” There it was. I was a bitch. Emotional. Angry. Overwrought. Bitter. And he was just a nice guy trying to make a girl’s day. Fuck you, you rapist.