And She Was Strong.

She was crying. He was pushing and pushing her over the edge and she couldn’t do a thing about it. She just kept crying. She wanted to scream, but her voice was caught in her throat. Her voice was trapped before she even had time to think as his hand was shoved across her mouth.

Violation. It was an intimidating way of putting things to scare her, to trap her into wanting to escape. And when that desire to leave him crept beneath the doorway and sank into everything, he noticed. It was then, when he felt that will to remove herself from everything he had ever given her, or had promised that he would, that he did these horrible things. He was the one who would violate. She had never been as afraid as she was when he pushed and pushed.

“Shut up!” He shouted at her tears as they poured out. And, in her defense, she whimpered. What else could she do? As he pushed in deeper, nothing came to mind that would rid her of this tremendous pain that once felt like pleasure. But that pleasure was only anguish in disguise.

He huffed. “Almost,” he murmured. He was talking to himself again, because he knew that she wouldn’t listen, now. All of this, what he was putting her through, was only for his benefit. He didn’t think that by doing this, by huffing and heaving and putting this on her.

“Please,” she whispered, barely audible. “Don’t-”

“I said, ‘shut up!’”

He drew in a deep breath, then, ceasing all movements, he let out a shaky breath. His body was convulsing. She, despite the disgust, couldn’t help what her own body mocked.

“You seemed to like that.” He laughed a little. “Guess all of that telling me to stop was just foreplay, wasn’t it?”

She shook her head, but he didn’t see.

He pulled out. Finally. All of the pushing was wearing on her. Her face was red and tear-streaked. That must have been foreplay, too.

All that she did was lay there. That was the only thing she could do. She wanted to curl up into a ball, crawl up into the covers of her bed and shelter herself from his prying eyes. He’d seen her, all of her, and he’d taken it. He took what wasn’t his, and he took it gladly.

“See you later, Lily,” he said after the sound of zippers and clothes being put on came to a stop. “Night.”

As soon as the door closed, Lily closed her eyes and, in her loneliness, she sobbed. Her heart was breaking with ease, as she found it effortless after every time. She bit down on her lip. It didn’t hurt, and it didn’t help stop the aching. It was everywhere: in her head, in her chest, between her legs. And that aching didn’t stop in his absence.

Finally, she could curl up and hope that he would never come back. She did it each time, as soon as he left. She couldn’t help herself but try and find consolation in the darkness in which he left her. It was the only way she could be safe. And that made her even more distraught, because he’d always come back. He would never just stay.

For a moment, the thought crossed her mind that someday he might forget about her. Maybe, someday, he’d find someone else and leave her all alone. She could find someone new, too- or, perhaps, someone entirely comfortable that she’d known her whole life.

She wished that things could be that way, that she could have her way just once. While she was at it, dreaming a perfect world, she made it so. Jeremy left. He never returned. And, in his place, Matthew was there. He had always been there, but in a perfect world, he lovedher. He loved her like she’d loved her entire life.

Her sobs engulfed the silence. A perfect world didn’t exist.

Lily’s parents were out for the night, and it was likely they wouldn’t get back until the morning. Every Friday night, they went to their friends’ house for a few beers. They often would get so completely drunk that they didn’t return until they were certain they could be trusted on the roads.

Jeremy planned his visits around Lily’s parents’ schedule. He would make sure that they wouldn’t be there when he stopped by. He would make sure that Lily couldn’t be heard.

She wondered why he did this to her. She wondered so profusely what she had ever done to make him like this. In the beginning, he wasn’t like that; he was gentle with her, treating her almost as if she could break at any moment. He was careful, and he was kind. Jeremy used to be her everything. Now, he was her tormentor.

He would threaten her if she refused. Once, she was so insistent on refusal, that Jeremy had actually smacked her around. It had gotten to the point where she would be beaten if she didn’t comply.

Those tears wouldn’t stop. She had nowhere to turn, no place to run. The world was turned on her, and she couldn’t escape. Everything would always be this way, and she would always be forced to take this. She could not deny him.

I can’t tell anyone, she thought in silence. If I tell, no one will listen. No one will care.

She got up from her place on the floor and looked down at herself in the pale moonlight. Her skin was hot to the touch, and white as snow. She felt so raw.

She looked away. She didn’t want to feel this way anymore.

“I can’t believe myself,” she whispered, pulling on a big t-shirt and a clean pair of underwear.

The clothes were clean. She was not.

In her bedroom mirror, she stared. She cringed at her reflection. I’m such a slut.In truth, she hadn’t done anything wrong. But, in her eyes, it was her fault that she had let this happen. And it was her fault that she couldn’t do a thing about it. If she would allow this to continue, then she must be a slut. In her eyes. And she hated it. She hated everything.

Filthy slut.

Those words couldn’t stop once they’d started. They just kept spewing: slut, insect, whore. She continued. She kept crying. Eventually, she was convinced that her heart had been torn so discreetly that no one would ever know. And it was true; she’d never tell. She couldn’t tell. Ever. It was her burden to bear.

The loneliness is killing me.