Blythe Tatum expected her freshman year at university to be nerve-wracking, though nothing out of the ordinary. The beginning of her school year starts off as averagely as possible, though Blythe soon finds herself caught up in an unexpected and ine...
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trigger warning: please do not read the following chapter if sexual assault is triggering to you
I wake feeling as if I can't breathe.
A heavy weight bears down on my chest, leaving me struggling to inhale. As my eyes widen in panic, I find that I can't make out my surroundings. It is too dark, which leaves my eyes scrambling to adjust to the lack of light.
It takes a moment for me to gain any semblance of my bearings. Beneath me, I can feel a stiff mattress, which my body feels rather pressed into because of the weight pushing down on my chest. Fear pulsates through my veins, leaving it difficult for me to focus on anything. And yet I am all too aware of the heaviness atop me, and a heat that seems to be spreading throughout my limbs.
I feel movement, and it isn't my own. Then I hear it: Another set of breaths, coming from someone else entirely. I still, forgetting everything that had just been overtaking my mind. I focus only on the body I now know is pressing against my own much too roughly, listening to the person's ragged breathing pattern.
I want to speak, though I seem to be not in control of my own mouth. I can't get a word out; not even a sound. My mind feels as glued shut as my body feels stuck to this mattress.
I try to recall my last few memories. I try to remember where I am and how I got here. I try to think of who this person on top of me may be. And yet I can't seem to come up with anything. My mind moves as if I have drank way too much; my thoughts come slow and I feel stuck in a haze.
The sound of a grunt resonates through the air, forming right by my ear. The hair on my body stands on end as I feel hands suddenly grope at my body, the touch burning and very unwelcome. I want to squirm, to scream, to slap the hands away and run far away from here—wherever here is. And yet I still can't move, can't speak, can't seem to do anything but lay still and accept the unwanted touch.
My eyes drift up to the ceiling, my vision stinging and blurring with oncoming tears. I can feel clothing being shed from my skin, and no one has asked me if it is okay to do so or if it is what I want. The weight pressing into my body doesn't fade as I feel cold air hit my bare legs, burning almost as much as the touch of this stranger's hands.
Then there is pain. Heavy breathing. Louder grunts. And pressure. So much pressure. Heavy weight bearing down on my chest, increasingly harder to withstand. The tears in my eyes finally become too much to hold in, spilling over and trailing down my cheeks.
And I can't do anything but lay here and take it. I can't resist. I can't fight. I can't scream. I can only lay still, accepting this unfortunate fate.
My eyes roam around the area, seemingly the only part of my body I can control. Ceasing their search, my gaze finally settles on a mirror across the room, the gleam of moonlight reflecting on the glass catching my attention. Staring into the mirror, I am forced to watch the body on top of me dance in a never-ending rhythm.
And to the beat he is creating, teardrops fall from my cheeks and hit the mattress.
——— a/n: to any of my readers who have experienced a situation like the one previously described: please know you are so unbelievably strong. you're no victim, you're a survivor. no means no. end of story.
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