[Image description: The words “Dear Nobody” written in various fonts and colours 4 times.]
Article submitted anonymously.
Trigger warning: Graphic imagery / sexual assault.
What you did will never be right. It won’t make it okay because I’m a slut. I didn’t tell anyone for a long time because I thought it was my fault. I thought I must have acted like a “yes”. What I wrote the day after it happened was ugly. Everything I write about it turns out ugly, like being sick but trying to make it palatable. Aesthetic even.
I didn’t report. It was fucking selfish of me. Stockholm’s a bitch. I didn’t want to hurt you. You weren’t in a good place. And it was a “near miss”. A “not quite.” I felt fucking bad after. ‘Cos I’d disappointed you. Because you didn’t get what you wanted. I’d lead you on, right?
You blurred the lines of consent the first time and it was exciting but it still felt wrong and I didn’t understand why. The second time it turned bad. But not as bad as it could’ve. I don’t hate you. I think you didn’t know. Or my brain wants you to have not known better.
My jacket smelt of you for months. I didn’t wear the jeans again. I looked nice that day, but more like my mum’s version of nice. I don’t know why that matters but it does. Like how it matters that I kept saying no and trying to leave. Like the condom packet matters. Like the cigarette matters. Like how I nearly “lost” my virginity in the mud behind the tennis courts whilst crying. I never promised you anything. And even if I did, I’m allowed to decide against it at the time. I still thank any God that I found the strength to leave.
It is a very long winter and I can’t remember anyone’s forename let alone their last.
Your fingers clenched up inside me. Cold cold cold.
I need a cigarette. I need to not exist anymore in wavers. I need to stop crying over past shit that should be over with and buried.
Sports cap. Dark park. Your hand clenched up inside me.
“No. I don’t want to do this. Please stop please.”
Salt. Tennis court. You pressed against me in the dusk. Animal,
I haven’t even seen the whole of you yet. This is only the first quarter.
Walk me to my door and smile at my mother. Mirror. Sick that won’t come fast enough. Don’t you ever call me again Stockholm I mean it.
Replay. Darkness. Your hand inside me. Can you