So I had two fairly strong margaritas but I made my way to Kensington in one piece, somehow. He lived in a tiny red brick rowhome that had cockroaches on the sidewalk in front of it, but it was nice in the inside. That's generally how it works. There's cockroaches on my sidewalk too, but they know they're not welcome in our home.
He hands me a beer. He hands me a second before the first was done. Whatever. I have to pee. He gives me a tour of the house. His tour ends in his bedroom, whatever. I look at his books, his movies. I'm drunk.
I'm on the floor, I turn my head.. the door is closed. Initial thought, "Shit."
I felt pressured. I let him get on top of me. I let him kiss me. I hardly kissed back. I wasn't sure what I wanted. His friend interrupted us for a second. I was happy he did. I remember hoping that it was the end of it. It wasn't. He began kissing me like we never stopped.
He got me up onto his bed. Great. I don't know what to do. Do I like this? Don't I? Maybe means no, right? I don't think I like this, but what do I have to lose? I'm single, I'm miserable, I'm drunk, I'm lost, I have little self worth. Is this fun? Isn't it? I don't know, I can't tell. I think it's supposed to be.
It continues, he kisses my neck. It feels okay for a second, and I like the fact that it was keeping him from my lips. I didn't want to kiss him. I didn't like kissing him. What do I do?? What do I always do when this happens?
Make it hurt. I like it when it hurts, it removes me from the situation. It removes any emotion. I tell him to choke me, pull my hair, smack my ass, bite my neck. And he does. So hard, in fact, that it leaves bruises. So now I am thinking, "Oh my god I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do. He wants me to touch him. I don't want to touch him. I don't like to touch boys that I don't have feelings for." At this point, his friends are in Fishtown and I don't have an escape plan. He's disappointed in me, he can tell that I'm trying to get away. He looks at me and says, "You're not ready for this, are you?"
And in my head I'm thinking, "I would never be ready for this with you. Never. I just didn't know what to do. I had no idea in my mind what I could do or say." I could have said no, but I felt pressured. So half his fault, half mine, right? Is that how it works? No, I don't think so. Mostly his fault, for being a dickbag asshole who corners girls in his room when they're intoxicated and vulnerable. He knew I was emotionally vulnerable. He knows I'm a mess who can't seem to grip onto life these days.
But maybe I gave off the wrong signals? Maybe it was a communication error? Back to half my fault, half his.
I don't know, but as I'm lying there it dawns on me, my things are outside. He says "stay right here and I'll go get them." I say "no I'm coming!" And he says "no stay right there." I don't listen to him. I take this as an opportunity to pull my pants back up (he pulled them down over my ass so he could spank me) and throw my shirt back on (so fast that as I was running down the steps, I was still fixing it). He already has my stuff, he's moving fast. He wanted to corner me again. I feel safer in the living room.
But he pushes me against the wall (softly) and says "Let's pick up where we left off." I said no. Just flat out no. I have to go. I have to go home now. I start apologizing. The "I know I'm broken" thing. It didn't occur to me until the next day that I had nothing to be sorry for. Nothing. He says a few more things that make me feel guilty and then we stand outside on the cockroach infested sidewalk. I'm sad. I tell him that I'm even further in the clouds now than I was to begin with. Poor Alex. He knows about Alex.
I leave and I'm happy to have left. In the morning I wake up with big blue bruises on me. A reminder of how stupid I am for having put myself in that situation. I'm such an idiot. I hate myself. My soul, not my body.
Last night, in the jungle of the situation at some point we peeped our heads through the trees. He said, "Nicole your body is perfect." Men say this to me all of the time. I get it often. I don't respond to him. He says "But you know that already, don't you?" Yes I do, but I don't care. I say to him,
"Yes, but I worry about my soul."
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