Touched

What happened?

The thoughts racing through your head are like a million knives being stabbed into your throat.

Where did he touch you?

You don't know what to say, so instead you point.

You point to the place where he grabbed you and pinned you down onto the bed.

You point to the place which betrayed you.

The place where you realised your body was independent of your mind.

Are you okay?

The lump in your throat says no.

The lump in your throat screams at the top of your voice.

The tears running down your cheeks summarise how you're really feeling.

But you ignore it.

You force a smile, open your eyes wide.

I'm fine.

But you're not fine.

You're upset, feeling like death, you're pissed off!

How could your body betray you like this?

How could your body allow such a thing to happen?

When did you become so fucking meek and feeble?

It isn't your fault, you know?

But it is my fault.

It may not be the fault of my mind,

But my body knew what was happening.

My body didn't fight back.

My body responded positively when my mind screamed "get the hell off me."

My body allowed itself to be touched.

To be used.

To be gained pleasure from.

You can tell me it isn't my fault.

You can tell me it was his fault and that I could report it.

But that won't change a thing.

It won't change how abandoned I feel by my body.

How I feel I can never trust my own body.