Wednesday, May 19, 2004

I Invited Violence Into My Apartment

I let him in because I needed to let someone in. The bottle of rum was calling. The rattle of a bottle of painkillers rolling underneath the palm of my hand was soothing and he knew this. He said he came to comfort me. He said he still loved me but still partially blamed his breaking up with me on the symptoms of my insanity.

I let him in because I wanted him to get his shit out of my house. I want to make room for beautiful things and beautiful people.

"You were doing so well," he cooed as I cried into his designer suit. I had forgotten how tall he was and how that height made me feel protected and safe. I had been doing well until now.

He didn't comment on the picture I have taped to my computer of me kissing the misfit on the cheek. I saw him see it though.

He followed me into the bedroom. Or did he push me in there. I can't even remember. I do remember being pushed onto the bed and held down and saying , " No, No " as I pushed his mouth away from my mouth, his hands away from the waistband of my pants, his hands from underneath my shirt. He had at least 4 pair of hands and my own felt as if they had been amputated, useless stumps.
" Is this what it feels like before you are raped? " I asked myself.
Then he stopped.
He asked for his things: his hair gel, shirts, jeans.
He said he'd been thinking about us getting back together because his life was falling into place again.
He left and I was left shaking.

Should I have called the police? A part of me wanted to. But he hadn't actually raped me but I still felt violated. I had no bruises where he held my arms down. Him older white professional man vs. me poor single Puerto Rican mother. The power dynamic is heavy.

Nunca mas....nunca mas. I will not invite violence into my home.

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