Leviticus

There is a draft in here.

it's a chilly and faint breeze, one I've never noticed in my bedroom before. It's not serene, not calming or peaceful either. This draft is icy-- jaded and sharply shocking my senses back into the hell I had briefly evaded.

I'm becoming aware of the adrenaline pumping through my veins. My head is throbbing and ears are deafened by a whooshing sound similar to a tornados cry.

I think my bed is harder today; my lower back feels like its being pulled apart. Damn it, is this film between my legs blood, or are his sins still sticking to my flesh? My swollen face is riding the line between tender and numb; while my head is still too heavy to lift.

Memories of the night before begin resurfacing...

Pause.

I am not in my bed. I am barefoot, unclean, and buried carelessly in some shallow grave. I've been discarded like trash in a remote dumpsite. My neck and thighs can still feel the unholy pressing of his fingers onto my body, my insides lurch threatening to burst free as I remember the rough and animalistic way he made my body bend to his.

This was not my choice, this is not what I want. 400 years of surviving slavery, only to end up back under the weight of some Masters' son. How ludicrous.

His skin, still deep within the crease of my nails like sandpaper against my own. There is dirt in my mouth and nose, but I am acutely aware of the way he smells and tastes.

I need to crawl out of this grave, I need to get to my feet and survive. Bloody revenge can be a powerful motivator.

What will I say? How will I describe this to my grandmother, who prays for my safety more than her health...

This is what happened-- this is my truth.

I'll start at the beginning.

When the red flags start to look a lot more pink under a Hennessy haze. You don't even realize when the party music shifts into your funeral track. The twirling of your hips, becomes the hypnotic mating call of a predator. The raising of your hands in ecstasy become the futile attempt to defend your temple from being ravaged. The polite disregard of his advances, become violent displays of your desire for sanctuary.

He won't stop, he feels entitled to your essence, his illusion allows him to claim you by any means necessary. He is self serving, and you have become a rung on his ladder to righteousness.

I bet he thought he had won, bet he feels powerful after reveling in that lewd act.

I bet he is proud of himself, satisfied and not at all concerned with consequence.

Karma is fickle like that. She and I share a sense of humor.

This filthy despicable thing is about to be brought to his knees, by the same bitch he tried to breed.

My bruises will fade, but my rage is growing and no one he loves is safe.

That is my law.