Don't interrupt.
Don't be rude.
Don't be loud.
Don't be pushy.
All the don'ts and the do's, the instructions and the guidance we were presented as little kids with hopes to become responsible adults one day. Truth is, it didn't matter. No matter how hard our parents tried to force down these laws on 'how to teach children respect' by enforcing behaviour, by punishments and verbal abuse.
No one told us how to protect ourselves, no one told us who we should and shouldn't respect as adults, no one set boundaries and told us when someone crossed the line. We were always on the opposing side, the victims of the harsh words.
I wish that someone would've told me.
That people like this existed.
That people like him, in this world, walk freely.
I couldn't decipher what I was feeling when he laid me down. It was startling and at the same time, everything froze like I was moving in slow motion while everyone moved on. It was a continuous loop of pain, like picking at a birthmark, you aren't getting anywhere and the best thing one could do is to stop.
Stop picking.
Stop fighting.
Just... stop.
As much as it hurt, as much as I wanted to push him off, I couldn't. His knees pinned me down and a cloth stuffed my mouth from the incoherent noises I made, the salty tears dried out plumping my skin. I just stare ahead, he groans and grumbles above me, his sensual comments just kept running like he was a broken machine.
"Oh fuck, you're so tight,"
"Damn it! I'm so hard for you, love,"
"Mmm... I bet you like that,"
I didn't.
How could I enjoy this torture my body is put through?
How could I sit here staring at the ceiling trying to go to my 'happy place' which is usually the farthest corner of my room so he could take longer to get to me?
How?
When he finally pushes off, my first instinct is to grab my clothes scattered across the floor and run to hide for the night. He didn't let that happen. He never did.
"Ooh... calm down baby girl, where are you going?" he coaxes, pulling my arm back, I stumble backwards landing on his hairy lap which hardened as soon as I did.
"I see you're trying to get it on again, huh?" he snorts, his hot breath hitting the nape of my neck right before he grasps a chunk of my hair pulling it backwards making me yelp nearly choking on the clothing but I follow nonetheless.
His tongue flicked past my collarbone sucking my bare skin till bruised, his other hand cups my naked breast massaging it with his rough stubby hands. Being in his hold felt so disgusting, it made breathing a challenge. My body rigid, my muscles tense, my soul wanting to leave my pained body, like it had been a cage with no key. The tears stuck to my face still dry, none threatening to erupt. And once again, he climbs on top of me, his knees under my hips, all 200Ibs of him holding me down while he rips a new condom open.
"I bet your mother would be so happy you're entertaining me," he says in a low tone before plunging into me.
It's a loop.