The morning after

That whole morning was disjointed. Fragmented. The walk home is seared into me. Nothing made sense. What happened was too immense to feel all at once. I looked like a mess. It looked like I had been messed up - like walking wreckage. You could see it. Everyone could see it.

I stepped outside of his apartment building and met a bright morning flooded with sunlight that burned my eyes. Too much time spent in the darkness of him.

I still remember how jarring it felt, being embraced by a beautiful day while feeling so brutalized and windswept on the inside.

I wanted to retreat and lick my wounds so badly, to hide - to be enclosed in the privacy and safety of my bed. I was pleading for it. The deep need to be alone felt urgent.

I remember walking past a loud group of construction workers with a large, deep maroon wine stain on my pretty beige skirt - my very own scarlet letter. I walked quietly with my head down, messy hair, and swollen bloodshot eyes - it was gutting. Humiliating. It felt like a walk of shame, but I didn't consent to some wild night out and I know that's what played in their minds.

I've never felt so watched in my entire life. Exposed. On display. The vulnerability was crushing.

I was horrified my roommates would see me when I got home. Ask questions. Probe. The idea of them seeing me like that made me feel sick. I was so scared they would. So afraid one of them would be making breakfast as I walked in - a dazed, traumatized wreck.

It was so disorienting. I had just been raped. For hours. Penetrated for the first time in years. My body hurt. I ached everywhere. It was painful to walk. Violated. Nothing felt untouched.

Wandering home in the thick, hazy aftermath left my mind fractured. My head was pounding.

What happened? How did I end up in his room, in his bed, pinned beneath him? The last thing I remember was shying away from a kiss and then sudden, absolute ... darkness. A void. Why is my memory so hazy? Why do I only remember flashes? What did he do to me?

Why does this day feel so far away but so smothering at the same time?

I stumbled home, slowly making my way down the sidewalks of the charming little mountain town I called home - mortified at the thought of someone I knew seeing me in that state.

I was dizzy and unsteady. Confused. Stunned. I couldn't walk straight. Everything was a blur. Faded. I felt so small, but not small enough to go unseen.

I so was close to home. The desperation to be alone was so strong; the sickening dread of anyone seeing me so imminent. It was almost panic, but I was too empty to summon panic.

Finally, I was at my front door. I felt my heart racing. My hands were trembling. Deep breath. No one was there when I quietly stepped inside. It was the one kindness shown to me that morning.

Slow, creeping steps up the spiral stairs - one after another. My body felt so heavy, the gravity of him slowly beginning to descend on me. Hold it together, you have to.

I finally made my way into my room. My cherished sanctuary now marked and claimed by this moment.

I could feel it - something beautiful had left me.

I sat down on my bed and dropped my purse to the floor. I didn't move. I didn't cry. I sat there, completely still, staring into the defeaning silence - drained and numb. Broken. Hollowed out.

I couldn't feel. I couldn't let myself. My soul felt strangely muted. I showered, allowed the stream to pour over me until the water ran cold. I changed into clean, soft clothing, crawled into bed, curled up, and drifted off until the relief of sleep finally found me.