Not like that.

Yes, I decked up that night and yes, I was flirting.

Yes, I thought you were cute, and yes, I would have probably been okay with you kissing me, but not like that. 

Not in a 5 seater car stuffed with 6 people. Not when you were drunk out of your mind. Not when you smashed your lips on mine, behaving like an animal preying on his victim. Not with your hands grabbing my breasts leaving them with bruises. Not when you instantly put your hands down my dress as if you were grabbing something out of a bag after I'd already pushed you away. Not when I stuck to the other side, pushing myself as far as I could from you. Not when you still went ahead and took my hand, placing them between your legs. Not when I had to push you away a few more times until you stopped.  Not when I jumped out of the car as soon as it stopped. Not when I shivered every time you came an inch closer to me as we walked. Not when I feared you so much that I wanted to leave immediately. 

Not when I had to go to a clinic the next and explain the happenings of the awful night in detail. Not when I couldn't focus on once highly important things in my life. Not when I became a 'trauma case'. Not when the touch of a 9-year-old girl in her sleep would remind me of your gruesome touch. Not when your horrific touch reminded me of that of a few more who had touched me in the past. 

Not when I spent hours in an office trying to deal with what you did. Not when it was too much for me to take. Not when I had to be taken to the hospital at 3 in the morning because I had shoved 36 pills down my throat. Not when I spend the first 6 hours puking and the rest with an IV drip attached to my hand. Not when I spend 32 hours there all by myself. Not when I had to explain to everyone from the nurse to the social worker 'why I did what I did'. Not when for days after I was discharged, I feared sleeping by myself, because I had become a threat to myself. 

Just because you were drunk didn't make it okay, just like it never does. The fact that you were drunk didn't change anything for me, during or after. You weren't a drunk version of yourself that night, you were a perpetrator, are a perpetrator, for me, the only version of you I know now. You have scarred me for life, just not my body, but also my soul, and I DON'T GIVE A FUCK IF YOU WERE DRUNK.

Don't blame the alcohol. I don't. 

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