But You Didn't Say No

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I had been dating a boy for two years, seven months, and twenty eight days when he raped me.

We had been left home alone together since he was a "good kid" and my mother could trust us.

I wore a long black skirt, a pink undershirt, and a t-shirt from my Halloween costume.

I cuddled next to him like usual when he began to kiss me.

And when he kissed me, he used his weight to to pin me down.

He shifted my underwear away, c a r e l e s s l y, without asking.

He stuck his fingers inside me and left them there for a few minutes

While he kissed my neck and groped my breasts from inside my bra.

I curled up and cried afterwards and he simply said "I'm sorry."

I'm sorry like it could change it.

I'm sorry like it could fix things.

I'm sorry like he wouldn't do it again.

I'm sorry.

I do not believe I'm sorry's anymore.

You see, he would come over every Sunday after church and stay until eight or nine at night.

I'd take a nap and lay on his chest, trying to forget about what he did.

We had been together a long time and had never done anything

It was normal for him to test his boundries.

And I would forgive him until I woke up with his hands in my pants

Panting in my ear like a wild animal.

I stayed with him for two years, nine months, and twenty seven days.

We broke up three days after Christmas.

I had already moved on, and planned on starting a relationship with someone else.

It was his "idea".

He said I needed to become my own person.

He said we should stay friends.

I agreed, although this choice of his came after I told him he bruised my wrists.

So for two years, I talked to my rapist here and there.

One year and one month, and nineteen days after we broke up

I saw him for the last time.

I avoided him.

I wouldn't allow him to touch me.

It took three years to tell him that what he did to me was wrong.

I wrote a poem about it and sent it because I find words hard to say.

He said he was sorry.

I don't believe I'm sorry's anymore.

He said I should've said I didn't want it.

I guess crying after wasn't a no.

I guess moving his hands from my pants wasn't a no.

I guess not screaming was not a no. 

He said all he ever wanted to do was treat me like a princess.

I guess I would be the original Sleeping Beauty

Where the king rapes her in her slumber.

From then on, I reminded him constantly what he did to me.

How ironic is it that my rapist is trying to escape me. 

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