I felt good when he touched me.
"I didn't!"
"I didn't!"
"I didn't like it!"
"I hate it! I hate you!"
I continued to cry as I felt extreme dislike and revulsion for myself to find this disgusting intimacy pleasurable.
"I didn't like it.." I said as I leaned on the door, letting the tears fall down.
I looked down and after a few seconds, I began to scratch where he touched me. I let out loud sobs of dejection.
"I didn't like it."
"I didn't like it."
"I didn't like it."
I repeated those words like a mantra so that they could give consolation to me but to no avail as I began to lacerate my shoulders and arms so that the feeling of being touched by him would be obliterated.
“I don’t need your softness!” I continued to scratch until red marks were formed all over in my left shoulder and arm.
The bruise stings a lot but I bear it and stand up.
