I suppose that someday I'll forget the ick that covers my skin. The layer of film that seems to rest on all I see and touch. But I will never forget the fear.
We were pressed together in the back of his brother's cramped car- his lips desperately pressing against mine, sloppy and unpleasant. I didn't like kissing him, it made me feel nauseous and dirty. Like I was rolling in mud on a too-hot day. I didn't kiss him back, but I didn't pull away, either. I just let him press himself into me, searching for something he never found.
When kissing wasn't enough his hands slid up my shirt, cold on my warm skin, raising goosebumps that made me shudder. But still I did nothing. His hands ventured further, and clothes began to disappear. Finally, I came to my senses, no longer paralyzed by the fear of being alone. I begged him to stop, I pushed his hands away, turned my face away from his.
Angry, one hand gripped my chin, jerked it back into position, so I could see the fury etched onto his face. "Stop it," he said, "don't be a fucking tease." I whimpered, but held still as his lips pressed into my collarbone.
As his hands once again began to roam, I pushed away again, and again he looked at me with that loathing I so often seemed to see anymore. "You asked for it, Sam," he growled. "I'm just giving you what you want."
I choked on my pleas. What I asked for? Had I been asking for this? I didn't think I had, but maybe... Maybe he was right.
He kissed me again, and slowly I relented, kissing him back. Then, with a resolve I didn't think I had, I kneed him, then rolled his groaning body off of me. As I scrambled to grab my clothes and put them back on, he grabbed me again, pinning me to the seat, his breath hot in my ear. "Quit being a bitch."
I elbowed his nose, struck out blindly, squirmed until he was off of me, moaning into the crook of his arm. I yanked open the car door and ran, not stopping until I was far enough away that I couldn't hear him yelling anymore. Cold, I pulled my clothes back on, wandered until I found a familiar street, and familiar house, and knocked on the door.
A week later, I found myself at the park again, tucked into his side because he didn't mean it, he was just drunk (even though he hadn't touched his glass all night), it'll never happen again. I watched him flirt with other girls, listened to him tell me to stop being a jealous bitch, he wasn't mine, he wasn't property. I watched them walk into the shadows, watched them come back, looking like a secret. Watched his smug smile as he kissed her in front of me. Felt his slap after I talked to one of his friends, heard his don't talk to them, you're mine, you're mine, you're mine, you'll never find anyone better, no one else will ever love you.
But it did happen again, as some part of me knew it would. And I squirmed and fought and tried, tried, tried. Over and over. Until the sound of his voice made me vomit. Until his name made me shiver.
Until he asked a friend to help hold me down.
I sobbed and begged them to stop, and his friend got scared, then confused, then angry. "She doesn't want this, man, stop!" He yelled. He kicked him, broke his nose. Left him lying in the grass, reeking of alcohol and blood. "Go home," he told me. "And don't come back around here. You deserve a lot better than that asshat." I don't even remember his name, but he saved me.