It wasn't like we'd planned it or anything. The room was silent save for the musical crescendo that accompanied the movie. Then it happened, and then it was over. There was no dramatic music for my sake, no rising terror or great struggle. It just...happened. In the movies, the heroine always struggles mightily before succumbing to the moment, but I had no such luck. He was stronger, I was drugged.
It's the sort of thing you always imagine happening at a party in the midst of hazy rooms clouded with shouted conversation, blasting music and undertones of sin and sex. A careless girl misplaces her cup, or sets it down to go to the restroom. The greasy villain takes advantage of the moment, slipping the inconspicuous white pill into the liquid before melting into the shadows until his target returns and falls prey to his machinations. He then sweeps her off and does the deed in spite of her muffled cries of protest.
In my case, there was no such thing. Just a friend, closer than a brother, and an evening home alone.
He always made the best chocolate shakes. Thick enough to stick, but smooth enough to feel like a caress when it slid down your throat. Besides, it was tradition. He made the drinks, I made the pizza and in less than fifteen minutes, we were back in front of the tv.
His chocolate shakes were always inexplicably delicious, and one of his most closely guarded secrets. Even I, the best friend and official keeper of his secrets, had been forced to give up on attempting to pry the recipe from his mind. There was an extra kick of tastiness tonight, but I didn't ask for an explanation I knew I wouldn't get. So, I settled down to watch one of the most ridiculous versions of Thumbelina that we'd ever seen. It was a favorite of ours. But when Thumbelina met the prince, the screen wobbled a bit and I felt a certain cloudiness in my brain. I thought the first signs of fatigue were beginning to show, but then I noticed myself sagging to the side. My thoughts started to jumble and swished around in my head like water. I tried to say something, to tell him I was feeling weird but all I could manage was a whining mumble.
Then I was floating. Boneless. His face appeared before me and I thought, at first, that he'd realized there was something wrong. Instead, that's when I realized there was something wrong. The expressions I'd seen on his face so many times were absent. His eyes scraped over my body with a frightening desperation, the path they made burned and I would have recoiled if I'd been able.
His breath shook, even as his hands did. They were gentle when they first touched me. Reverent to a fault, and so clearly afraid. At first, it was just my face, then my arm, but as the time passed, his touches grew bolder and more insistent. Just a finger, then his entire hand slid beneath my shirt pushing the fabric higher and higher. His eyes devoured my exposed flesh, even as it was slowly revealed. He lowered his head, as though in awe, to kiss the skin there.
When he looked up, it was like the bonds of restraint had snapped. His kisses became more insistent, his hands were all over me, his eyes were wild and hungry. I screamed inside, praying it would wake us both up from this nightmare. I saw his eyes change. I heard the catch in his breath, signaling each new discovery. Each new violation. I finally noticed that his lips had transformed from the hard line that had accompanied his concentration, into an endlessly shifting series of shapes. He was talking to me.
He had wanted me for so long. I was so beautiful. He was sorry, but he couldn't help himself. I had to have seen this coming. He would be gentle. I was so hot. He wanted me to feel good. He wanted to feel good. He wanted us both to feel good.
Each sentence fell on stunned ears, just as each piece of our clothing dropped from his unsteady hands onto the floor. Horror battled with a curious numbness within me. Even in my fear, my traitorous mind still whispered insecurities and doubt. He only wanted to get laid, I was just an easy target. He probably wouldn't have done it if he knew what you looked like naked. After this is over, at least you can pretend someone wants you. Treacherous thoughts fell like acid rain, and his unending string of empty words only increased the burn.
A pinch of pain cleared the fog for a moment, but it soon settled back in the crevices of my mind and I could no longer think. I was abandoned to the reality of my experience, only able to feel, to witness my body's reaction, to watch my best friend turn into a demon.
The drugs plucked at my thoughts, trying to drag me deeper and deeper, and I found myself willing to drown. I didn't want to feel the heat of his hands. I didn't want to acknowledge his sloppy, selfish kisses. I wanted to fall so deep that I wouldn't even hear the echo of the harsh grunts that marked his pace. It was too late to make it stop. Too late to take it all back. Too late to uncross the line. My violation was done. And so, I decided not to fight it. I closed my eyes, and let myself sleep.
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