as you try to piece together the series of feelings that brought you to this moment, you realize that those feelings just don’t equate the sense of shame, self-hate, and resentment you feel. by then, it’s too late to stop—you’ve already reached the moment. the moment when you’re looking at your body being used by another; the moment you’ve detached yourself from the act; the moment where you’re feeling yourself being penetrated; the moment where the friction between your legs just stopped being enjoyable; the moment you realize, it was never meant to be. you were never meant to act this way, but you’ve choreographed the play that brought you to this bed. you’ve conversed, you’ve agreed, you’ve given consent.
yes, this was not a story of rape. no, this is your fault.
pinned in this moment, you let him finish. meanwhile, your mind mind replays the previous moments where you could’ve stopped yourself from getting here. on repeat, you let out a calculated moan to convince yourself yourself that this is what you need. you curse your reason for not falling for it knowing damn well that somewhere during the night you lost your ability to reason. yet now you know. it came to you like a distant memory. in and out, then out again and in deeper...into your consciousness until you clearly remembered, in this moment, that you did not lose your ability to reason tonight. reason was ignored; tonight, you really needed to suppress what was raging inside your heart in any way you could. you caught the wrong feelings and those started weeks/months ago and tonight, despite your efforts, the man inside you was the wrong man at the right place, because the right man was at a girl’s place. the shame, the self-hate, the resentment...the friction, this is all your fault, but the pity, the only feeling that brought you to this moment, that was him.
no, i never grew up.