I Don't Need a Metaphor - COMPLETED

two

Trigger warning: mentions of sexual abuse

"I only had sex in a bed once until I got with you."

Only two people know what I'm about to admit to any and every stranger to happen upon this. Only two people have sat before me to hear me spill one of the darkest secrets I've ever held in. Only two people have seen me choke on my words for one of the only few times they'll ever see. Only two people have seen me stop trying to be the strong one in the relationship just to pour out the pain I've held in like blood from a butchered animal's throat.

When I was 15, I lost my conceptual virginity. I only say conceptual because that's all I believe it is, but, at the time, it still meant enough to leave me scared for the infamous "first time". I had been with this guy for a month or two. By this time, we had already started saying we loved each other. I believed it.

He was the first to bring up having sex. I had only one condition: it had to be safe. It had to be safe, or it wasn't going to happen. He agreed, but, later on, he wanted it so bad. He told me he couldn't get any condoms, so I gave in and discarded my one condition and slept with him. It was in his backyard against his sister's truck tailgait in the middle of the day.

I was terrified and not okay with it. Did I stop him? No. Should I have? Absolutely.

Little did I know, it would only continue in a way something like this for a grand total of 11 months.

We were both on the same teams in high school. He had a car, so he would bring me home everyday just because he wanted to. So, every afternoon, he would ask if we could have sex before he took me home. I would say no multiple times, countless times. I was not okay with having car sex in someone's hidden driveway. He would shove his hand down my workout shorts or just grab me there. I pushed him away so many times. I said no so many times. He kept going. He kept trying. He kept asking. Then, at some point, I felt like I had to give in or else he was just going to take it from me.

I live roughly 20 minutes from my school right off the county's main busy highway. At 16, there was no way I could walk even halfway home without possibly getting ran over. In my mind, it was "give in, possibly end up dead on the side of the road, or keep rejecting him until he forces me."

Everyday, I ended up letting him fuck me in the backseat of his car in the same driveway. I feel disgusting just thinking about it. And, yet, that wasn't even the end of it.

We would be sitting at the lunch table together at school. He would put his hand on my thigh, and, before I knew it, he was grabbing me there again and rubbing me with our friends right around us. I tried to push his hand away. I didn't want to make a scene. It would have been too embarrassing, I thought. I should have made a scene. I should have yelled at him, slapped him, gone the whole mile. But, he never stopped.

He would do that when we were even in the same room as his family. They wouldn't even notice, and I couldn't do anything to stop him.

He made me suck his dick in the backseat of his mom's car with his whole family there one night.

At one point, he would ask me every night to send him nudes. After a while of saying no and then feeling guilty and forced to give in, I just started ignoring him instead.

Sometimes, I would fall asleep by him. I would wake up not to him sweetly running his finger through my hair or anything of the like but to his hands on me, in me, violating me. I was too scared to do anything, so I pretended to be asleep and hope it would end soon.

At 10 months, I tried to break up with him. By then, I still loved him but knew it was not okay to stay with him. Other than the unspoken sexual abuse, he was controlling and toxic. That night, he drove over to my house and had me sneak out just so he could convince me to have sex with him in order to stay. He wanted me to stay with him for at least 2 more months, so we would end up together for a year.

Roughly a month later, I finally did it. I ended it and blocked him from contacting me in any form or fashion. He then tried to call me and text me with his mom's phone and made three new Facebook accounts to get me to talk to him. I couldn't escape him at school.

I kept telling him to leave me alone and to stop harassing me. He didn't. One day, I was walking outside with my friends on the way to school when he was behind us trying to joke around and talk to me. I lost it. I started screaming and yelling at him to leave me alone in front of the whole school. Everyone saw it. He just stood there and laughed at me, so I reported him to the principal. I was one step away from a restraining order.

I should have done it. I should have left a lasting impression to hurt him like the stain he's left on me.

When I was first learning to drive after leaving him, I was passing that one driveway and couldn't stop staring at it. I wanted to look away, crash, something, but I couldn't stop. I didn't realize I was veering off the road until my mother yelled at me, snapping me out of the painful haze I was in at the time.

I can still feel his disgusting hands on me. I threw away all the ripped/old underwear I had worn while being with him. There are expensive dresses I can't stand to look at in my closet. There are shorts I stopped wearing for months. Avoiding my own clothes didn't help me get rid of those memories, and now, I have to live with them until I die. I don't think I could afford such a thing.