It’ll be two years in January, but the nightmares make it feel like last night. We were basically dating without the title for quite some time. You knew I was scared to be touched because I had been touched all through middle school. It was almost like you didn’t care. You did as you pleased and I just took what I could get because bad attention is better than none, right? I used to think I bruised easily but I’ll be honest, I barely ever get a bruise. I would go to school with sweatshirts or long sleeves daily because my wrists would be purple from where you would hold me down just to show you were stronger and could dominate me. To prove I had no power, no say, no anything. Drinking made you the most violent and it was petrifying. You choked me until I blacked out. I had to put makeup on my neck and wear a turtleneck to hide the handprint from anyone. Yet after all of this, I still let you in my house, my room. One night, as sober as they come, we were making out. You got a bit handsy and I would push your hands away, but yet you continued. I was on top of you only kissing you and you pulled my pants down. I pulled them back up, but you did it again and you forced your way in. I moved off and onto my side in an effort to get away. Again you pulled my pants down and forced yourself in me. I laid there unable to move, to talk, or anything. I blame myself because it was me who turned you on. I blame myself because I wasn’t able to say no. I blame myself because you had proven you were no good and I let you in over and over again, I couldn’t help it.