I was 21

He was 29

I met up with him and his friends 

All his age…

Who laughed and jeered at how young I was. 

So I drank. 

Drink for drink with the 6’7 power lineman.

We hopped from bar to bar drinking more and more. 

after that, 

I have pieces. 

A picture from 3 in the morning. 

A room I dont remember sitting in. 

My clothes found in that exact place the next morning.

Pain. 

Unbearable. 

Evidence of that night I couldn’t bring myself to remember.

I didn’t realize then,

But that very next day

on a trip to my hometown,

Vacation awaited.

A tearful phone call to my mother just 30 minutes into the car ride…

My body knowing something was wrong. 

Something happened. 

But I couldn’t fathom what awaited me when I returned. 

For a week,

I laughed. 

I took pictures. 

I had fun. 

Until reality came back. 

And I realized 

This happened.

This affected me. 

This hurt.

While he woke up shameless everyday,

I woke up reliving

Fear. 

Pain. 

Lack of control. 

Embarrassment. 

While he ghosted me,

I was haunted by the ghost of him.

Then someone else came into my life.

He was kind to me.

And I was afraid of him.

Not because of anything he had done.

He didn’t know why I pulled away. 

I didn’t know why either.

We just knew

Something was wrong. 

He knew me as someone who pulled away.
Someone who feared something that 

Should be pleasure. 

Someone who panicked in the prescence of love.

He didn’t know what I was carrying

And it was a long time until I knew too. 

And somewhere between

his patience

and my fear,

we realized

this was bigger than either of us knew.

Almost two years later.

Still fearing a good man that came after him. 

Panic dictating my life. 

Uncontrollable fear of being touched. 

I spent years learning that a man’s touch could be safe, 

not scary.

Therapy.

Trauma.

Tears.

Fear.

of losing someone safe

from the memories of someone selfish. 

I never reported him.

I never spoke out. 

I never even let myself admit that what he did was wrong. 

So he gets to wake up every morning

and live a life untouched by what he did.

No consequences.

No memories he has to carry.

No mornings where his body remembers

before his mind does.

I don’t forgive him.

I don’t think I have to.

Because he took something from me.

He made my life harder.

He left me with fear

where there wasn’t fear before.

I could have let him destroy my life. 

But he didn’t take all of it.

I am still here.

I found love. 

I am loved.

I learned that a man’s hands could be safe again.

He changed my life.

He got to walk away from that night.

I had to carry it home.

And somehow,

I still built a life beyond it.

I am still here.

He can’t take that away from me.