She would always drink on the patio.
With music playing loud enough for the neighbors to complain,
she would sit in a chair with cigarettes and beer
I would hide in the bedroom,
TV on loud enough to drown out her music and complaints.
(Usually it was Game of Thrones,
because it was easier to lose myself in fantasy
than accept my reality.)
I’d fall asleep eventually, or pretend to.
Over the rumble of dragons, I would always hear the patio door slide closed,
her heavy footsteps down the hall,
her raspy voice slurring my name.
I knew what was going to happen, but I did nothing.
Fear can paralyze you, and
I knew if I fought, I would lose.
“Babe, wake up. I want to fuck you.”
The covers were ripped off of me, but I was shaking long before that.
And then a woman twice my size was on top of me, and there was nothing I could do but say, “No.”
I don’t want this.
Please just let me sleep.
My tears held no value. Sometimes they were mocked,
but usually they were ignored.
So I would disappear
into my head, into a world
with a mother of dragons
and people who were strong enough to fight for what they believed in.
A girl has no name.
This can’t be me, can it?
I would count down the minutes until she would pass out.
But I would always say no–
it was the only power I had.
And when it was finally over,
I always felt so small.
But I could close my eyes and dream of the day
I would find my strength,
and become a Khaleesi.
This is something I wrote, inspired by the “me too” movement, about a horribly abusive relationship I was in. A relationship with a woman who repeatedly took advantage of me and showed no remorse. It’s still rape, even if you’re dating, and sexual assault within the LGBTQ community is real, too.