Noviembre

I don't actually recall the day. I didn't knew how it happened. I was sad, I had already lost a lot. A grown man jumped over me and I had to say no, and I felt low. I needed to be caressed. I needed to feel desired.

So I went there, expecting something else. I was hungry, very hungry. We didn't eat, he offered me a glass with vodka. I really don't think that's the only thing that was there, but it could have been just vodka and energy drink. I am soft, so I fell.

I was barely conscious when he kissed me, and when he started taking my clothes off I was already lost. Everything hurt. But I only remember the white ceiling. My knees against the floor. The splash of my vomit and the fire in my throat. How he picked me up and threw me into the shower. I laughed. It felt horrible. I said "no" a couple of times, I told him I was barely alive.

He was dead serious, asking me to stay quiet or his sister would hear us.

He finished fast, most of the damage I did it myself, trying to get off the bed.

After he was done, he fell asleep over me, I remember asking him to at least pleasure me a little bit, so I wouldn't feel so... used.

That's how I felt: used. Like the condom he put on his flesh. After he was satisfied he then threw me away. And we never spoke about it again or even spoke at all. Our friendship broke. If he knew it was broken, I sense he also knew what he did.

And the only memories of it were the bruises and scars, the pain in my stomach.

My body got sick: it was all on my head, the doctors said.

A year hiding it behind sores and headaches.

And now I am conscious of it. I know what happened. I said it out loud.

But I still blame myself for all the horrible choices I've made. Even if he was the one who ripped my underwear while I was trying to explain to him that I was too drunk to open my legs.