The Sunshine Girl

TW: Sexual Assault

He touched me, I gasped. A gasp absent of pleasure or lust, as I watch him remove his hand from between my legs. I leave his dimmed, quiescent room and he does not follow me, ask me to stay, no goodbye kiss. For him, this was a transaction. My scarred, bruised body for his finite satisfaction. I step inside my room. My pink, glittery room, with fairy lights enchanting the ceiling and butterfly curtains intercepting the last goodbyes of today’s sun. I slump on my bed, cradling my body. And like a small, scared child, I begin to cry. I cry for my body that I yearned would be touched by someone who could show me how to love its cracks. I cry for the little sunshine girl in the pictures on my walls, who danced among the poppy flower fields, finding magic in every heart-shaped rock she would pick up and gift her mother. I cry for my unborn child, I am still a child. He shouldn’t have ignored my clenched body as he pulled down my shorts. He shouldn’t have ignored my cry as he pulled my legs apart. He shouldn’t have told me he loved me. He shouldn’t have told me that I love him. He should have asked.