An aching realization, defeat. A terrible destruction: to fight and not win. To struggle for control over your own body and realize that you are not strong enough to win the fight. I had dreams where I punched him with all the strength in my body and it was enough to make the heavens rumble and leave him dying on the ground. My rings sliced across his face. Left him bleeding and dying on the ground. Neck broken, face bashed in, body destroyed by my fury. I had dreams where I won but this was not one of those dreams. This was my bed, my body fighting and losing against someone I considered my equal.
My legs were hammers on an anvil, my arms vines with thorns to tear. My teeth were the teeth of wolves and my hands fiercer than bullets in their pounding. and yet with every blow he pushed harder inside of me until the whimpers began to escape my mouth like runaway children. "no" is a word that is supposed to have meaning but when it just spurs your rapist on into harsher acts of cruelty it becomes useless, it becomes the word that actually brings you pain instead of stopping it. This person will always be a part of me, there is no use in denying it. My rapist was my boyfriend, my lover. The man who gave me pleasure when I asked for it. The man beside whom I laid at night and told my secrets to. Who better than to betray me with his lust for power? When no becomes a talisman for pain your world will never be the same.
The first time: she saw nothing, eyes open. saw nothing except the fear coming off of her body in great billows of red flames. Flames to reach around them and consume the bed on which they struggled. her bed had become a battleground, colored red with lost blood and strangled dreams. blood to roll and drip down into a viscous pool in which he bathed, holding her down as she fought. fighting only made it hurt worse but still she struggled and he pumped deeper inside. deeper and harder every time she pushed against him. "no" becomes an aphrodisiac and fighting the key to open the door to more pain.
The second time: she was staring at the ceiling, she was staring at his shoulder over her. she closed her eyes and stared at nothing but her own defeat. her own defeat that screamed in rage as her body was ripped open and a wound was given that would never truly heal. It took nearly all of her concentration to keep those muscles relaxed. for to tense them, to struggle would only cause more pain. the pain a live, writhing thing with all its teeth locked into her soul. she did not struggle this time but let herself drift away, eyes open so that the pain was a heavy weight on her body rather than the searing, all consuming fire that had taken her before.
