There are things that have happened,
That we refuse to admit.
Even when we remember the details.
We can never admit they’re true.
It’s just like watching a film,
That you aren’t the protagonist of.
That could never happen to me.
I’m stronger and better than that.
It’s never going to happen to me.

But it’s as if all the small details erupted.
My head hitting the coffee table when he threw me to the ground.
Him taking off my shoes,
And grabbing my feet.
I couldn’t tell if I was crying because my head hurt,
Or from how gross it felt when he grabbed on to my feet.

And the things he said...
“You’re just here to pleasure me,
And pamper me.
That’s it.”
He’d call me,
“The bed servant.”
I remember the time I ran to the kitchen,
To get a knife.
I tried to cut myself.
He pulled it away from me,
And hurt his hand.
I remember the vase in the living room that I broke,
When I tried to tell him to stop the first time.
I remember that day.
It was a Monday.
I was supposed to go to college,
But I went to him instead.
I’m the one who went to him,
Even though he had beaten me two days before.
My fear that he’d tell everyone,
Is what made me go to him again.

He’d had a lot to drink,
And the drugs made him extra aroused, I guess.
He wasn’t aware of what he was doing.
He wanted to torture me.
When I first arrived,
I sat down to talk with him.
He started yelling,
And saying weird things like,
“You slut!
You’re a disgusting human being!
The only way I’m leaving you is over my dead body.”
He lost it after that,
And threw me on to the couch.
I could see my clothes getting torn,
And his pants coming down.
He grabbed my head,
Stuck it to his crotch,
And said,
“Do you see this?
That’s what’s going to fuck you,
You slut!
Suck it.
Suck, suck suck.”
It’s as if I were in a cheap porno.

I remember seeing the swimsuit I had on under my clothes getting torn apart.
I remember when he pulled me by my hair,
From the doorstep to the chair.
He sat down,
And I was sitting under him.
He stopped me from making any sound.
He insisted on silencing me with his penis.
That’s when I started to falter.
He started slapping me across the face,
Threw me on to the ground,
And my head hit the coffee table.
I felt as if I were an animal about to be slaughtered,
When he was dragging me by the legs.
He then got down on the floor,
And wanted to finger me.
Whenever I’d resist,
He’d hit me.

After resisting for a while,
I started to freeze.
I couldn’t move.
He ripped my pants apart,
Got on top of me,
And put it inside me.
He was trying to kiss me while he restrained my head.
“I’m going to keep fucking you,
And I’ll cum inside you so you get pregnant.
That way you’ll be a true whore.”
“I’m going to pee inside you.
Just you wait and see.”
He pinched my breasts,
And kept hitting me.
He slapped me across the face,
And when I screamed, he said,
“I love hearing you scream.
I won’t even put my hand over your mouth.”

It felt like forever,
Before he decided to flip me over on to my stomach,
To do it from behind.
While he was flipping me over,
I had some space to move.
I ran to the kitchen,
Grabbed a knife,
And tried to cut myself.
I hurt myself,
Before he snatched it away from me.
“Have mercy!” I said to him.
“Stop it.
Enough acting,” he replied.

He slung me over his shoulders again,
And took me back to the room,
Closed the door,
And threw me on to the bed.
“Enough!” I yelled.
“You know you like it,” he said.
“You’re a coward!
You’re not a real man!” I kept telling him.
He hit me,
And said that he wouldn’t let me go,
That he would keep me locked up,
So I could pleasure him.
“Will you pleasure me,
Or should I find myself another woman to do so, you whore!”
I hated it when he called me that,
And he said it a lot.

I got up and ran outside.
I called his friend Hassan.
I screamed into the phone,
So he’d come save me.
He arrived after a bit.
He had a key to the house.
I didn’t know where to hide.
I was wearing a bra,
And my breasts were out.
The swimsuit I was wearing underneath my clothes was all ripped up.
My body was almost entirely bruised from all the beating.
He yelled at his friend and told him to leave.
I hid behind a chair.

They got into a fight,
And in the end,
Hassan called someone to bring me clothes.
I don’t really remember what happened after that.
I remember that the girl came,
And brought me clothes.
When she saw me,
She cursed at him,
And he cursed at me in front of her.
Until I finally answered back,
“I hate you!
I never want to see you again!”
He got up to hit me,
But was stopped by his friend and the girl.
She left with me.

The amount of humiliation and disgrace I felt was unbelievable.
He did this before,
But this time was different.
I can’t even remember how many times I was beaten.
I lost count.
That week was terrible.
It started with the day he kicked me on the stairs,
In front of their apartment.
His mother saw me getting kicked in front of their house.
A couple of days later,
He hit me with a belt.
I’m trying to remember the details of all the times he hit me,
But I can only remember a few things.

There was a time when he hit me while we were in the car,
Parked in front of an internet cafe.
He even grabbed me by my hair.
I opened the car door and tried to get out,
He dragged me by my hair,
Opened the door,
And made me go back inside.

I can’t believe how weak I used to be.
And how I let someone humiliate me like that.
All he could say was,
“Pleasure me, you whore.”
Or,
“Sweet-talk me, slut.”
I’m better than this.
But I can’t admit that this actually happened.
I can’t accept the fact that I stayed quiet all this time,
Because I was afraid he’d cut me off or make a scene.