of me, the tiny part of me that hasn’t numbed out completely to keep me safe, is aware, so aware that this is damage. That what he’s doing to me is damage.
Damage damage damage.
Damage.
I’m damaged.
I’m no good and I’m damaged and it hurts so much, but it’s all I deserve. God it hurts. Why isn’t he stopping? I can’t find the words to make him stop. My throat is stitched up. Vocal chords ripped out, screaming silently into the empty hole of my throat. He keeps hurting me. It won’t stop. I just need it to be over. Please be over.
Please
Be
Over.
But it’s not. It seems to go on and on, time as slow as the pain is burning, hurting more and more. My whole body is on fire. Hands on my waist. Pulling me back and forth roughly while I’m as limp as I can go, whimpering. Why can’t I open my mouth? Why can’t I scream? Why can’t I push him out and away and run run run? Why am I frozen?
Just staring.
At the white wall, the white wall, the white wall.
No no no no. Come back, come back, come back. It’s over, it’s over, it’s in the past, the past, it can’t hurt you. My lungs are small, so small. There are tears pricking. Breathing is hard. But come back. Come back. I can’t, I can’t … I’m back there. So scared. So hurt. So helpless. Staring at the wall. No no no. April! Come back! Come. Back.
I take the fingernail of my second finger and bury it into the side of my thumb as hard as I can. Pressing, pressing until I almost draw blood …
Here. In Joshua’s room. The art print of Paris. Joshua is squeezing my hand, slowing it down. ‘Hey?’ he’s saying. ‘Is everything OK?’
His face is concerned. Shit. I lost Gretel. I lost Gretel and I lost me, I’m fucking it up. ‘I’m fine. Why have you stopped?’
‘I just thought. You seemed to zone out there. Is everything all right?’
No no no. He can’t see this bit. The plan won’t work and he won’t fall for me if he sees this bit. Cover it up, make it good for him, power through. Power. Through.
Gretel pulls it together. Gretel reaches out and drags him closer. Gretel makes it clear he’s misread this entirely. ‘Don’t stop,’ she says. ‘Please don’t stop.’
And, it’s not like he needs further convincing. He smiles, relieved, that I am not one of those damaged ones he has heard so much about. No no no, don’t want one of them, do you? They’re not sexy, those damaged ones. Can’t spunk in their faces without feeling mildly guilty about it, and who wants to ruin an orgasm with guilt? Luckily, he doesn’t try anything too risqué but I’m still fighting the trigger and losing. I need to hold it together. I’m not holding it together. I need to distract him to his finish. Gretel ramps it up. She cannot believe how amazing his thrusting his. She asks for him to go deeper, she says how big he is, how big and hard. Predictably, this sends him over the edge very quickly. He lets out a guttural squawk and judders into me. I just need to hold it together, hold it together. Wait wait wait. You can unravel soon, I promise. Just not yet, not yet.
Joshua stays still inside me, his head buried into my neck for some time. I twist my head to one side to let gravity roll the tear off my cheek. I can physically feel his penis deflating inside me, like a helium balloon days after the party. My trauma’s surfacing; it’s boiling in my skin.
Joshua finally lifts his head and looks down and Gretel’s face is tear free and smiling as their eyes meet in a post-coital lock. His face bursts into a grin, and he has the good grace and manners to lean down and plant a kiss on my lips before holding the end of his penis to ensure the condom stays on while he tugs himself out of my body.
‘Hi,’ he whispers, collapsing to my side, giving me another kiss.
‘Hi,’ I reply.
I want to scream so loudly that it would scatter every pigeon living in London.
I watch him attempt to fight sleep for, oh, twenty whole seconds. He reaches out and heavily pats my naked back, all like ‘there there son’. I reach out and rub his back, comforting him into unconsciousness so I can