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He inclines his heard towards the nightstand next to me. I glance beside me and see a half-filled bottle of water and a couple of Tylenol. I don’t like that the water has been opened, but at the moment, I don’t care. He wouldn’t drug me now, would he? He already has me where he wants me. When I lift my hand to grab the bottle, I see my still broken finger. It’s black and blue and bent unnaturally. The sight of brings back the rush of pain. For a single moment, I had forgotten about that. Now, it’s all I can feel.
Ignoring the pain, I grab the bottle with my good hand and take a few small sips of the water first, before forcing the two pills down my throat. My only regret is that they’re not something stronger. If I had to endure this from the man I love, at least let me be buzzed while I do it.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
I want to rage at him. Ask him the cliché questions. How could you? Why would you do something like this to me. I thought you loved me…
But I don’t. I just stare at him, with eyes full of hurt and anger. I’m not even angry about my finger at the moment. No, I’m angry about the violation of my body. Like a coward, he drops his eyes to my body. To what he’s done to me while I was unconscious from his own hand. He promised he wouldn’t do something like this again.
He promised.
When his eyes lift to mine, they’re blank. He shrugs a shoulder and gives me a smirk. “You’re my girlfriend, River. I own you. I can fuck you whenever I want.”
“Did you have to do it while I was knocked out? After you knocked me out?” I challenge.
Another shrug. “Why not? Your pussy was available, and it turned me on seeing you so vulnerable to me. What’s the big deal?” he asks, his voice growing agitated. He acts as if I’m being unreasonable. As if asking why he would rape me is an absolute preposterous question.
I suck my bottom lip into my teeth. I don’t want to piss him off more.
“Would you have said no to me?” he asks, his voice changing to a softer tone. He sounds a little hurt, and it pulls at me. “I’ve always loved that you’re so open and willing to do anything that makes me happy. I didn’t think having sex with my girlfriend would be so hurtful to you.”
I frown. Having sex with your partner isn’t hurtful, he’s right about that. But that doesn’t make it okay. It feels strange, knowing someone was inside me without me knowing it. Feeling it. Consenting to it. This isn’t the same thing as a boyfriend waking me up to the pleasure of sex—that I’d always be okay with. There was no waking up. No opportunity to say yes or no. A dark feeling coats the inside of my body.
I feel used and dirty. I feel… foreign inside my own body.
“I just… I just wish I could’ve experienced it with you,” I whisper finally. His face softens.
“I’m sorry, baby. I wanted to try something new. I wouldn’t mind if you had sex with me if I was knocked out.”
Tears prick at my eyes. I hate when we fight. I hate when he’s angry at me. Having sex with someone you’re in love with shouldn’t be a crime. I wouldn’t have said no to him if I was awake anyway. Guilt starts to blossom inside my chest. Why am I making him feel bad for something that would’ve been consensual regardless?
“It’s okay,” I say softly. He walks over to me and sits on the bed next to me. Slowly, he swipes loose stands away from my forehead and behind my ear.
“How does your head feel?”
The tears dry quickly. He had pushed me. He hurt me. My finger is broken.
“You hurt me.”
He sighs. “I’m so sorry, River. My anger got the best of me again. I feel like complete shit. Please don’t make me feel worse than I already do.”
I glance down and force myself to stare at my broken finger. Seeing the abnormal sights send a fresh hot wave of pain in my finger. The tears come back with a vengeance. God, it hurts. It hurts that he continues to break me over and over, inside and out.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me again,” I remind him weakly.
“I know, baby, I know. And this time I’m serious when I say I won’t. I promise you. I know that I really need to work on my anger. What can I do to make you see that?” he probes, sincerity coating his voice like candy dipped in chocolate.
I sniffle, snot starting to run down my lip.
“What are you going to do when you get angry next time? How are you going to handle it?” I ask. I try to toughen up my voice, but I still feel… desolate. Like something inside of me is missing. The way he’s acting is relieving and a little soothing. But I’m just having a hard time feeling it right now.
“I’ll walk away until I calm down. Then we can work through the problem together. We’re in this forever, baby. I don’t want to lose you because of my temper.”
More tears well up in eyes until Ryan becomes a blurred image. I nod my head, accepting his apology.
I know I should feel better. Now only if I could actually feel anything at all.
“LUCKILY, YOUR FINGER SNAPPED cleanly. No fragments have been broken off. You’ll be healed up nicely in about four to six weeks,” the nurse says. She’s looks older than me only by a few years. Her pin straight brown hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, and her brown eyes watch me closely as I assess my splinted finger.
