It's been three years, and I can't understand why the memories of what you did still haunt me, still gnaw at my conscious until its raw with unwanted recollections. I can close my eyes and still feel your hands on my chest, my stomach, my hips. I can stand perfectly still and remember being pushed up against the wall in my bedroom, your breath warm and intoxicating my nose as you whispered those words to me.
To this day, I have never been able to figure out what clicked in my brain when your fingers expertly slid underneath the elastic of my sweatpants to give me the will to push you off of me. I spent endless months replaying that horrid scene over and over in my head, trying to decipher what went wrong, how I could have possibly led you on to make you believe that was what I wanted. For a while I let the numerous therapists I talked to convince me that I was, in no possible way, at fault, but now I'm not so sure.
I wish, so badly, that I could see you again so I could tell you what this has really done to me, to let you in on the secrets that I don't share with anyone else. I want to tell you how angry I am that I can't be alone in my house without constantly looking over my shoulder, terrified that someone will be there. I want to tell you how pathetic I feel that I freak out every time someone touches me, because I'm worried that there will be another person that will go too far. And I want to tell you how disappointed I am in you for claiming to have never heard my name when a mutual friend had asked for your side of the story. That hurt the worst. I can't stand a person who can't claim responsibility for the actions they take.
He tells me he's going to prove that not all guys are the same. He says I need to relax, to let him help me get over this. He wants me to let him in, says he won't hurt me. But at this point, I've put up a barrier that I have no clue how to break down. My gut is telling me that he may have the ambition to crumble the walls I've built around myself, and it scares the hell out of me.
But it doesn't scare me nearly as bad as the fact that I want him to.