Warning: The following contains scenes that some readers may find disturbing, including graphic depictions of rape and sexual assault. Please read at your own discretion.
Sitting on my couch alone, staring blanking across the room, the television white noise in the background. Tears fall from my eyes, trailing down my cheeks, leaving a line of mascara behind. I shake my head and wipe my eyes and cheeks. Get over it, I tell myself, he’s just another guy in the long list of men who played you, who didn’t want you.
I stand up and walk over to the kitchen, pulling down the almost empty bottle of whiskey from the top of the refrigerator. I pour myself a shot and throw it back, downing it in one gulp. I’ve lost count of how many I have already taken.
In the living room, my phone begins playing the theme song to my favorite television show, informing me of an incoming call. I stumble over to my phone and pick it up off the coffee table, noticing Jack, a guy I occasionally see, is calling.
“Hey babe,” he replies in his silky, smooth voice, “How’ve you been?”
“I’m drunk,” I say, “so not good.”
“You’re drunk? Aw. Well I’m in town playing at The Brews, and was thinking of stopping by after my gig.”
“I’m drunk,” I repeat. “I’m not really in a good place to have any company right now,” I say, choking on the tears I am trying to hold back.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. I give him the short version of the story, that another guy doesn’t want me.
“I’m sorry, babe,” he says with very little sincerity. “Well let me come over. We can cuddle, and I’ll help make you feel better.”
“I don’t know,” I reply, knowing full well how he wants to make me feel better.
I eventually relent and say okay to him coming over. As soon as we hang up, I remember earlier that day and how I had gotten my lip re-pierced as a way to mask my emotional pain. I decide to text Jack and tell him not to come over. We couldn’t have any of his “fun” really with my lip healing from my impulsivity.
I hear the door unlock downstairs, my roommate Arden bounding up the steps a few moments later. “Hey,” he says dryly before heading straight to the bathroom and jumping in the shower. I get up and head to the kitchen again, finding the bottle of whiskey right where I left it. I go to pour myself another shot, but decide instead to just chug what was left from the bottle, another shot and a half or so.
In a drunken haze, I make my way back to the couch. Arden comes out of the bathroom then and asks, “What’s up? Wanna smoke a bowl?” I nod drunkenly, knowing that smoking some pot will enhance my intoxication, making me completely numb to the hurt I feel inside. He packs the bowl, and I take one hit, then another, feeling the drug’s affect instantly.
“So, what’s up?” he asks again, “Why so mopey?”
He knows why I am upset, but I humor him.
“Because of Ryan. He won’t return my calls or texts. I don’t know what I did wrong, why this keeps happening to me,” I say.
Arden takes a hit from the bowl and inhales, holding it in before blowing out a big cloud of smoke. “So what, Jess? What’s the big deal?” he guffaws.
His nasty laugh surprises me. I look at him. Then, crudely he shouts, “HE DOESN’T WANT YOU!”
I sit stunned for a moment for his lack of empathy before getting up, walking, surprisingly well given my inebriated state, to my room, where I slam the door and lock it behind me. Turning towards my bed in my dark, messy room, I take a few unstable steps and fall facedown, starfished on my bed and pass out.
I don’t know how much time passes before I hear pounding on my door. It’s Arden.
“Go away!” I yell, “I’m sleeping!”
Half awake, I check my phone and see a text from Jack saying he just wants to cuddle, a response from my earlier text saying we couldn’t have any “fun.” I respond typing, “I’m osdmmming out.” Unfortunately, autocorrect wasn’t sure what I was saying, and sent the text as is. I slowly typed “passing” into a new text and hit send before falling asleep again immediately.
Seconds, minutes, maybe hours go by when I hear knocking on my door again.
“Go away, Arden!” I snap.
“Oh,” I say. I get up from my bed, stagger to the door and unlock it, letting Jack in.
“Hi,” I slur, “I’m drunk.”
“I see that,” Jack replies. I turn toward my bed again, and fall onto it, crawling to the far side of it, and laying on my right side with my back facing Jack.
I quickly begin to doze off when I sense Jack climb into bed next to me and wrap his arm around me. When he begins rubbing my arms and stomach, I let out a little moan. Feeling him next to me, with his arms around me made me feel wanted, and I fell into a deeper state of relaxation, barely conscious of what began to happen.
In my still drunken and now sleepy stupor, I feel Jack’s hands on my breasts, massaging them gently before slowly sliding down to rub my butt. I feel my boxer shorts being pulled down, then a finger inside me. I’m confused with what is happening, considering I am half asleep, and not returning any affections. I hear his pants zipper and something rip, and then feel his penis thrust into my vagina. As I feel one thrust, then two, I become more conscious, tears beginning to sting my eyes as I realize what is going on. He is fucking raping me.
~ JC Lynn (Copyright 2017)
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