This is the part where the Prince Charming comes in. Where the main male with devilishly good looks, comes the fuck out of nowhere, saying "get the fuck away from her, you son of a bitch," and then grabbing a motherfucker by the collar of his neck and tossing him to the ground.
This is the part that scares the main character, this is the part that makes her stronger, this is the part where she looks at her savior and her love for him starts to grow. This is what people want to read? They want a damsel in distress to be scarred and traumatized, and for a handsome man to gallop in and save her.
This is also the part that takes place in the middle of a story. Either that, or its the part that people leave out of a story. Why? Truth hurts.
This is how it happens. . .
You push their hand away, you tell them to stop. You use the excuse of being on your period to try and sway them away from the idea of having sex with you. But your pants come down anyway.
Didn't this guy say he cared about me? Didn't he spend weeks trying to convince me to give him a chance? To be with him?
Yes. But think back to your first impression of him, what was it? That he was a scumbag.
And why is he even in your house right now? Because he manipulated you when you were at your lowest. You've hit rock bottom here.
Stop trying girl, you're not getting anywhere.
So you let yourself be flipped over onto your stomach, ass in the air, and then pain. . . sharp shooting pain. Not because its your first time and he not so gently shoved it up your vagina. No. He put it elsewhere.
So you scream.
And your hands flail backwards to hit him.
By some miracle, he's not so monstrous that he continues. No. He takes his dick out of you.
He lets you curl into a fetal position and cry. For all of two minutes.
"I'm sorry baby."
Why? You didn't think it would fucking hurt?
Stop touching me! Stop trying to unravel me from this position.
The word stop might escape your mouth, but honestly you can't remember. Why couldn't you block the whole thing out? Why only pieces? What was said is the only thing you can manage to block from your memory? Its the only thing you can manage to forget? But the act? Oh, you remember that perfectly.
You can't remember if you were on your back or on your stomach, but you know that your legs somehow got open and he slipped inside of you.
No condom.
No protection.
Your fault really, you let him in your home.
When he's done, he's done and you thank the heavens and the stars and whatever deity is listing that you take birth control.
Then what happens? He holds you. Cuddles you. Like your a happy couple that just had sex or made love for the first time.
You let him. You let this continue for months.
You let this person infiltrate your life. Your home. Your mind. Your body.
And you sit here, still wondering why. Where you really that fucked up in your head that you became someones doll?
Yea, you were.
You don't have anyone to blame but yourself.
That's how the story goes.
There's no Prince Charming. No Savior. Just you and a monster that you invited in. There's no coming back. There's just years of being ashamed and wondering why and asking a billion 'what if' questions.
Years later you'll get triggered by something you feel is so minuscule; and it'll happen more than once; and you'll be reminded and tormented by something you want to forget. Something you want to block out. Something you wish you were strong enough to avoid.
Sex is sex now. It means nothing. It just something that happens. Whether you want it to or not.
That's how it is for you years later, when the monster is physically gone, but still lurking in your closet, underneath your bead and in the darkest places in your mind.
Why would it be anything else? You spent months, lying there, with no will to live, and no will to fight. Months keeping your mouth shut.
Now you think you have a right to be triggered by this? To be affected by this?
People go through that shit for years and your pussy ass lasted six months? And you got out.
So don't talk about it. Don't talk about it to your friends. Your family. Your peers. And don't you dare bring it to counselling.
Keep hold of your anger and bring it here.
Danielle closed her journal, tapping her pen on her chin. Where do you go from here, Danny?
Sighing she placed the book and pen down beside her and sat up from her bed. The ginger cat napping at the foot of the bed, raised his head to look at her, making a little "merp" sound in the back of his throat.
"Hey baby boy." Danielle lifted her hand and smoothed the cats fur, being comforted by the loud purring emitting from her cat. "Think mama's gonna head out for a bit."
A/N - Can someone give me any advice on how to go from here? I'm surprised I even managed to write this.
