Rage dissolves into the bloodstream, surging through veins and capillaries until it's circulated to the tips of fingers and toes. And although you should be boiling over with fury, you blame yourself- tuck the hate in between muscle and bone, and seethe internal. Your self-loathing is text book. You have been on the other side countless times, assuring the teary woman that this is not her fault. And your training and text book knowledge informs you that you are similarly innocent. Yet somehow all you can think is "Where the hell did my voice go?"
There is a part of you that knows that quietly, weakly whispering "No" should be enough. Any half decent guy would immediately back off and check in, make sure that he was still within a respectful space. There is a part of you that knows that that fucker is lucky that he didn't get his god damn testicles removed. But you're mostly just disgusted with yourself and the way that you wilted into a scared little girl. There is no way of knowing what might happen in these extreme situations, but you always imagined yourself responding with strength and pride, and throwing some elbows and fists in for good measure.
It is now apparent that this need to be agreeable and liked is truly problematic, and you are grateful that you've gone this long without having anything like this happen before. In every other instance you've had choice and you've been respected. This is a lesson learned- to be more thoughtful when choosing company, to be a "bitch" if that's what it means to make sure you're safe.
Rage swirls in again, as you hotly ponder why it's your damn job to be safe and thoughtful. When did men suddenly get off the hook for taking care of women? You want to know when it became a woman's job to defend herself in the most intimate of situations. When did some men start to turn?
The cycle repeats. At the end of the day, you want to evaporate and leave this heavy human body behind. You want to scream, tear your hair out, sleep all day, eat everything, eat nothing, run away. You feel alone although you are not. You feel damaged although you are not. You sit still, hot tears streaming, wondering if you will ever stop feeling this feeling.