Matt’s mat at Matt’s

A tongue twister. No. Just a story about rape. Between a woman and her boyfriend and his drug dealer. It started with a mattress on the floor. Doesn’t it always. This one had sheets on it. Bonus. 

I don’t remember much. Lucky me. I remember the vodka lemonade. He knew it was my weakness. He knew I would try to keep up with him. Jokes on him. Now, I could drink his motherfucking ass under the table. 

Crashing. I remember going to his room. Changing into my nighty, which was just a slip. It was blue, with a tint of green. Thin shoulder straps. Lace along the top of my breasts. I didn’t wear panties. Would it have mattered. Nope. 

I fell asleep. Or passed out. Or blacked out. I woke to voices. Laughter. Someone leaning down onto the mattress. The movement of my nighty being lifted up. I remember saying “What are you doing” “Stop” “No”

I passed out as I felt someone lifting and spreading my legs. Blacked out. Or blocked out. Ten years later and I still don’t remember everything. Do I want to. A blessing not to have to. 

I woke up hours later. Sticky. Wet. Sore. I lay there a while. Thinking. That didn’t really happen. Right. Make it small. Put it in a box. Store it in the back by the cobwebs. Retreat. Sink into that bottle. Don’t cry. Don’t make a noise. Or they’ll come back. They’ll know they broke you. 

I stayed with Matt for a month or more after. Let him fuck me as though nothing ever happened. It didn’t. I put it away. I pretended. I forgot.  

I didn’t forget. I survived. I still don’t know if it was the both of them. I believe so. I first thought it was Matt and Matt’s roommate. Other Matt. Duck we called him. I don’t believe that though. The drug dealer. I don’t remember his name. I only talked to him once. At a bar. I remember him trying to talk to me. Telling me I was cute. That Matt was lucky. Fucker. Fuck them both.