CW: abuse, sexual abuse, sexual assault

It’s been years but I’m back here counting my breaths again. Praying I get to the next one and the next and the next.

Then, I see your face and I no longer have any desire to fight for my next breath. Your touch burns my skin. I feel your fist against my cheekbone.

I want to stay in this moment, here in my room, not in the past with the girl who begged for another chance. When I reach to my cheek there is no cut — not even a bruise to share the pain I feel. Nothing left of my burnt tongue, my bruised hips — nothing left for me to yell help for.

I no longer wake screaming your name, feeling your weight on me. I am no longer scared of sharing your name. I wish people asked about the scars. I wish they had believed me, maybe they would have, if I had shown them the state you’d left me in. I wish the whole world could see what I would’ve done for you, what I did to myself for you, and how my belief in you was greater than my care for my own numbed body.

They see now, when I tell them. They all see — all but you. I was your favourite toy, but boy I have grown into an ocean. Come near me and I will drown you.