Try to tell her, "No" but my hips buck against hers.
She's got me pinned by the arms over my head, her fingers trace the cuts she left on my upper thighs, chuckling as I struggle to jerk away. Her leg presses down on my lower thigh, my other leg forcefully drapes over her thigh. Her weight holds me down.
I could kick, but I'm bracing for the next pricks of pain. Expecting it. Craving it.
She assures me I look pretty in that hoodie. She assures me she'll never go after anyone else again.
I know she'll be gone tomorrow, I know it's temporary, I know she'll come back to hurt me again. She can't ruin her perfect image with anyone else, but she's trained me so well. She knows it's not rape if I'm used to it, she knows I won't judge her, I know she can't control it.
She knows I should. We both do. She knows my friends don't like her, but we do this dance every time.
