What's the Harm?

Fine crown and jewelry need to be thrown away because it is July and the cowboy boots come out, with the matching cowboy hats. A party. A social gathering of sorts, the description was not clear. Dancing, I love to dance more than anything in the world. I love it more than crafts and swimming. I was wrong, I was very wrong. Waiting and seeing him, greeted him with a happy hello, he did not feel the same. Maybe I should just leave? maybe I should call it off? asked my stomach to my brain. No. Maybe it will get better? the train arrives the doors slide open. We get on. No conversation? how can there be no conversation, there must be something we can talk about, we have done it at work. Have we I am sure we have. The first train station stop. I want to run and get off and leave him there and run away says my gut to my mind, but my body is stiff. That's stupid no one is that insensitive, maybe it's just nerves and the fact that everyone is glued to their phones and the silence is weird. Conversations can be heard. Getting off the train looking for a bus, found a bus, we get on and carry on. This is going to be fun, my stomach and my brain both agree. Arriving at the party and already regretting the situation. I know no one, the people he knows seem okay, I thought that they would be okay, we eat and the food did not go well with me, my stomach feels upset, but I say nothing and go to the bar and order a drink. I drink it quickly hoping it will fill that weird sensation that something is wrong. Feeling slightly happy and intoxicated I enter an easy-going conversation with some of his co-workers. Why am I having more fun with his co-workers than him? leaning over shoulders to watch weird YouTube videos. round of drink was ordered, we drink. Why is that guy getting us another round? Well, you don't want to be a downer right? Right. Drink again. What a horrible tasting shot. Maybe a little more will help third shot down. I can barely sit in my stool and I am laughing about nothing, wow what a great feeling to be alive. I take another shot, that one was good something with raspberry. Mmm, maybe another won't kill me? I take it. That same guy orders us a whole two other rounds I bang the table with my glass. I stand up and I can't stand, what a weird feeling, what a horrible weird feeling. I should stop, I really should stop. That's gross.

C'mere, have another drink? I can't, but I take it anyway. He's ordering a beer and in worse condition than me. I playfully take it from him and try and pour it on the ground on purpose. I pretend to drink from the beer, but I pour it and accidentally drop it as I am grasping to a beam for support. the girls get me two other shots and I did not want to look like I can't hold my alcohol, we had just started going out. We were keeping it on the down low. Be cool, and I take two more. I don't know what is going on, he takes my hand I think, finally some dancing, we make our way through the crowd. I can barely walk. Wait. This is not the dance floor. This is a porta potty. Why are we going in here? I want to go out there. He starts kissing me and I don't like it, so I push him away, his kisses were like a dog licking me, it's wrong. I try to get out, but the latch is tricky, my hand keeps missing. I am then being pushed. I forgot that he was here. He pushes me against the wall. I am back facing him, what is going on. I can hear his pants unbuckling with one hand. He grazes the inside of my leg. Stop! I say. Stop. What are you doing? screwing you he says. I want to screw you hard. No, I say. No this is not right. His pants are already at the ground. He is pulling on my underwear, they come down. I turn towards him and he grasps my wrists. I break free and I say stop wait this is not right. Stop it! I pull my underwear back on and then I pull his pants back on. He falls and collapses. You're no fun, he moans. Are you okay? Yes. Yes, I am fine. I am fine nothing happened. Are you okay? And he throws up on my beautiful expensive shoes. Eww. It got on me, the place wreaks. Are you okay? Comes the voice again. Yes, I am fine. I am okay. I open the door by accident and fall out. His supervisor or someone at his company is standing there. I want to leave. I want to go. I want to go. I should have got off the train when I was screaming that I wanted to. I should have not texted him back. It is my fault, it is all my fault. That's what it feels like, that guilt. Then, after much consideration, you don't tell anyone, because nothing happened, right?