That Word...

 You've heard a lot about it. For a while you feel immune, you're the girl no one notices and so you don't have to worry about being a victim.

They start to prove you wrong....lots of times.

Tobi, dark skinned and funny...a different person the day he pinned your hands on his red bedspread, taking something you weren't giving.

You stop struggling....you tell yourself you won't have to term it "that word" if it's without struggles, never mind the burning in your eyes as the tears slowly trickle out. ..

You remember the peeling walls of Obinna's office, the way you stared at them so long that you memorised each crease, training all your senses on the yellow paint, trying unsuccessfully to block out his grunting sounds.

You remember Matthew's gropings...you remember them all...

When others talk about their experiences, you advise and encourage.....

Yet, the weight of yours follow you around. You still don't call it "that word"...you refuse to acknowledge it.

You will take it to your grave..because that knowledge is the last piece of your vulnerability that hasn't been forcefully yanked off by people you trust.