Content Warning: Sex/sexual assault

The two of you are spending a fairly normal afternoon together, cuddled up on the couch of one of their high school teachers, for whom they’re house sitting. You’re watching netflix on the teacher’s account, eating the food that’s in the fridge, relaxing. They take their pants off underneath the blanket, and you put a hand on their thigh. You lean over to kiss their cheek and they turn towards you, deepening the kiss as it lands on their lips and pushing back against you. Your hands find their way up their thigh, brushing against their panties, and you relish the rush of air that escapes their mouth in a soft moan. Their arms encircle your torso, their fingers sliding up and then down your back. 

The two of you, not needing to use words, come to the conclusion just about simultaneously that it’s time to get moving to the bedroom and begin to stand, still intertwined. You fumble at the hem of their shirt, but they gently brush your hands away and say “wait till we’re in the bedroom”. They take your hand and begin to lead you from the living room through the kitchen. You overtake them, seeing the sturdy-looking wooden table as a perfect opportunity, and pick them up by the hips to put them up on it. They squirm a little, but keep kissing you and don’t resist as you slide their panties off. The table ends up being the wrong height for what you intended, but you figure out a way. 

Later on you do make it to the bedroom, and you cuddle with each other as you fall asleep. The next day their teacher comes back, so this is your last night alone in this apartment where you can pretend the two of you are actually, finally living together. You look back on that night fondly and fairly often, a brief respite from both of your parents’ nagging and disapproval of the relationship between the two of you. 

Months later, you’re breaking up- again. You ask them why, and they keep giving you a non-answer. There has to be a reason, something you can fix or change. Then, they say that you forced yourself on them. They say you raped them. But you didn’t! What are they even talking about? You would never do that, you care about them. Of course you haven’t had sex with them when they didn’t want you to, they initiated sex most of the time anyway and there was never a time they said no and you didn’t obey their wishes. They keep insisting, though. You ask them when, and they repeat back the story of that night- a fun, relaxing experience the two of you shared in a space with no one else, something that was so rare at the time. They don’t tell it that way, though. They tell it like they were suffering, like you did something terribly wrong. How could they have had such a different experience? Why didn’t they say anything before now? 

You can’t believe that that’s how they felt. Not the whole time. There’s no way you wouldn’t have known that, and if you’d known you never would have done it. You both had a good time, and they just… changed their mind, or something. You don’t understand why, and you’re hurt. You care about them, you would never hurt them, and they must know that. Do they think you’re a rapist?? That’s ridiculous. You’d never be violent like that. You didn’t hold them down, you didn’t force anything on them. Ever. That’s what rape is. They never said no to you, so how were you even supposed to know? You couldn’t have! You’ve had similar interactions with them before that, and since, and they’ve never said any of those were bad. Plus, they’ve totally pressured you into sex before, when you didn’t really feel like it but they did. So if you’re a rapist, so are they. Fuck this.

Content Warning: Sex/sexual assault

The two of you are spending a normal afternoon together, cuddled up on the couch of one of your high school teachers, for whom you’re house sitting. You’re watching netflix on the teacher’s account, eating the food that’s in the fridge, relaxing. You take your pants off underneath the blanket, and he puts a hand on your thigh. He leans over to kiss your cheek and you turn towards him, deepening the kiss as it lands on your lips and pushing back against him. His hands find their way up your thigh, brushing against your panties, and a rush of air escapes your mouth in a soft moan. Your arms encircle his torso, your fingers sliding up and then down his back. 

The two of you, not needing to use words, come to the conclusion just about simultaneously that it’s time to get moving to the bedroom and begin to stand, still intertwined. He fumbles at the hem of your shirt, but you gently brush his hands away and say “wait till we’re in the bedroom”. You’re not really in the mood to fuck against the wall or whatever he’s got in mind; you like the idea of getting to have sex in a bed that allows for more tenderness and time, especially since it’s a rare occasion where you don’t have any parents around who might interrupt. You take his hand and begin to lead him from the living room through the kitchen. He follows, then overtakes you and grabs you by the hips, trying to lift you up onto the shaky kitchen table. You’re a little uncomfortable, and he’s not exactly the strongest, but you let him try- hoping that he’ll realize it’s not a great spot and then let you continue on to the bedroom. You squirm slightly, feeling the table wobble underneath you, and try to slide off, but he’s got a firm grasp on your hips and you don’t want to push it. He’s still kissing you, and you don’t want to ruin the mood so you keep kissing him back. You sigh and let him take your panties off. The table isn’t even the right height for what he was trying to do, but he fumbles his way through it anyway, and it’s over quickly. 

Later on you do make it to the bedroom, and you cuddle with each other as you fall asleep. The next day your teacher comes back, so this is your last night alone in this apartment where you can pretend the two of you are actually, finally living together. As time goes on, you’re still not sure how you feel about what happened. Looking back on it makes you feel weird and a little uncomfortable, but you don’t exactly have a word for it. It’s not a big deal. 

Months later, you’re trying to break up with him-- again. He won’t stop asking you why, even though you’ve given him as good an answer as you’ve got. Not being happy in the relationship apparently just isn’t enough. You’re angry, and you suddenly remember that time in your teacher’s apartment when he made you uncomfortable and didn’t even notice. Well, he raped you then. You’re uncertain about it, but in the heat of the moment it seems like a good enough reason to leave him, even if you’re not 100% sure that’s the right word for what happened. He reacts violently, though. 

“How fucking dare you accuse me of something like that. Fuck you.” 

You know you shouldn’t have brought it up like this, but when you said it out loud, it felt true. Something was wrong that time, and if you didn’t want to have sex with him but he had sex with you, doesn’t that make it rape? Even if it’s not rape, it’s something, right? His reaction scares you, and it never changes. Eventually you learn not to bring it up, because he gets vicious at the mere suggestion of it. You’re never able to have a productive conversation about what happened that night. 

I’m wandering around somewhere inside. I don’t know where, maybe a kitchen, but it’s not important. What’s important is that I’m texting dad, asking him what happened. He says he can’t come back, and I don’t understand why. I’m texting him, so he has to be somewhere. He doesn’t know either, and he says he can’t explain how he’s talking to me. I don’t want to think too hard about it, but I also can’t stop wondering. I tell him I missed him, and I want him to come back, but I know he won't. I'm happy to talk to him, even though I know he is dead.

Dad is driving me to go meet up with some former coworkers in Boston. I know he’s dead so I’m really impatient to get out of the car and hug him before he goes away again, but he parks the car and then disappears as soon as I get out.

I’m standing in the kitchen, looking at a candle burning on the stove. Dad and mom are in their room, and everyone is happy because dad is back. But we all know it’s only temporary; when you bring someone back like that they only have a little bit of time. We don’t know what’s going to happen but we know he has to die again, and soon. We all try to make the most of the time we have and ignore the cloud that hangs over us, and him.

I’m in the house, and I see dad. I know he’s dead, but I’m glad to see him. I ask him if it’s okay if I take some of his beers, since no one else drinks them, and he says it’s fine.

The whole family is sitting in the living room, and dad is standing in the corner next to the couch. I can’t tell if anyone else can see him, but he is there. He’s acting like everything is normal, and so is everyone else. I start to cry and tell my mom I can see him, he’s right there. She starts to cry too.

My little brother comes to help me move out of my dorm, and dad is with him. I pull my brother aside and ask him what happened, how did he get dad back? He says “No, it’s not dad, I just said it was because I thought it might help.” I looked back at him. “But I see dad. He’s right there” Danny shakes his head. “It’s not him, it’s Carla.” I do a double take, but it’s still my dad smiling at me. I don’t understand.

This time, it’s not dad who’s in trouble. It’s my partner this time, not my mom’s. My whole family is there, and Taylor is overdosing, and I don’t know what to do. I try to call 911 but there’s no one on the other end. I look out the window because I think the ambulances are still parked on the street, but they’re gone. My brother tells me he has less than a half hour to live. Someone else calls 911, but still no one comes. I’m helpless, and I watch him die.