Raped Unclean

I am diseased.
I trusted him.
He was nice to me.
He raped me.
Made me dirtier;
Dirtier than I’ve been for a long time.
“Stop it, Russ! Stop!
Please stop! No!”
He never stopped.
Animal grunts.
“Your pussy’s so tight,”
He said.
“Slow down,”
I say at the beginning.
It hurts. I am sore.
He didn’t slow down.
Never took it easy.
He comes on me.
I cry with my arms over my head.
I am dirty.
He wipes his come off my belly with tissues.
I get up slowly and wipe myself
(scrub myself)
with a towel.
He watches me, saying nothing.
I curl into a naked, fetal ball on the cold floor of my room and
Cry into the jizz filled towel.
I feel alone.
Used.
Scared.
“I think I’m living a nightmare,”
I thought as I begged for him to stop and he didn’t.
“Is this the fear I felt with my father?”
I wondered fleetingly.
I trusted;
Was betrayed.
Can barely write it down.
I will never trust again.
I am broken.
Always broken.
Used, abused and broken.
I didn’t tell him to leave (how stupid am I?)
Scrubbed myself in the bathroom with a dirty wash clothe
(Cleaner than me)
Lay back down in bed with him (AM I stupid?)
“I feel sick,” he said.
“Me too,” I said, dazed.
I got up abruptly and went to the bathroom.
Threw up, disgusted, disgusting, dirty, unclean.
Went back to lie down in bed with him. Never touched him.
He slept. (HE SLEPT!?)
His smell made me sick.
Made me sick.
I am sick.
Dirty.
I slept in the spare room.
Tried to.

He gave me an STD.
I am dirty.
I feel dirty.
I regard my vagina with contempt.
A thing.
Nothing more.
I am a thing.
Crushed, broken, used.