“Her”
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.