Lonerism

One, Two, Three (R)

A.N. I haven't updated my one shots in ages, so thought I'd drop this little one in. I'm not really sure of it, and it's one I've had in my unpublished library for months now. Idk just tell me if it's true, but I hate that my work might sometimes seem a bit repetitive. I'm only hoping that while the themes are similar, my approach is always different. Anyway, here it is. Enjoy. Xoxo, Clay.

One, Two, Three

I was fifteen, when I lost my virginity. The memory of it made my skin crawl, the images of him grunting, holding me in place, they flashed over my eyes and made me want to gag. His heaving body held me there, and his low exasperated moans banged and prickled into my eardrums. I couldn't fight back, I couldn't even move. At the time, I knew it was wrong. It felt wrong, and painful, but I couldn't stop him. Who was I to stop him?

The way I remembered it, it wasn't rape. It wasn't anything, really. It was a memory, but the way it felt was more like a chapter of a book I'd read years ago. It was like I was looking in on someone else's life, like the creased pages of someone else's story, someone else's worst memory. The boy I saw didn't move, didn't fight, stayed as silent as possible. He was so young, barely even aware of the disgusting world surrounding him.

It was in the shower, at school. I stood under the stream of water, when I felt something. I felt his hands on me, wrapping around my hips. I turned around quickly, surprised, and there he was. Jimmy Carson, a kid three years older than me. His hair was a dark brown, and his eyes an uncaring grey. He was a friend of my older brother, but I never really saw him much, or paid him much attention. I looked up at him as he touched me, his hands grazing lightly over my body.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He didn't answer. His fingers tightened around my waist, pushing me further against the wall. My back hit it, and he flipped me around, pressed my face against the tiles of the shower, and slowly thrust himself inside of me.

My virginity was gone, after that, stolen. Pain stretched through me suddenly, and I let out a long breath of air as it did.

At the time, I didn't say no. I held my breath in, letting it out every time he would thrust. I didn't protest at all. I just kind of stood there and let him. I'd stare at my reflection in the tiles, my face distorted, the whole time thinking about nothing. The pain that sprang up all over my body, the feel of his fingers digging into my skin, my face being pushed against the wall, I'd never felt more empty.

I could remember the sound of his grunts, each time he thrust inside, like he was letting go of all the anger and toxicity in his body, and draining it right into me. He held me there for what seemed like the longest time, each of his movements hitting me, pounding me, and I did nothing.

I'd never really understood what everyone meant about sex, until that moment. The pain of it. Being grabbed and tossed against the wall, held in place. Being taken by a kid I hardly knew, a stranger. In that moment, I felt almost invigorated, his hands tightening on my shoulders as he finally released himself into me. That was probably the worst thing, though - I said nothing, I did nothing, but a part of me liked it. A part of me wanted it. But the rest of it sickened me, the hot and flashy images that stirred in the back of my head made me feel ill.

But a part of me still wanted it, and I couldn't help myself, I couldn't stop myself, and in a way, it only made me feel even worse. I couldn't even call it rape. I couldn't even think of it like that in my mind, because a part of me enjoyed it.

A part of me wanted to say yes but all I was thinking was no.

I don't know if that makes it rape, and if I'm being honest with myself, I don't want to know either. I wanted to forget it ever happened, to keep on living my life like I wasn't forced, and like I didn't enjoy it. But it happened, and even fucking worse, I enjoyed it.