It was cold. The cool winter air encircled our reluctantly entwined bodies. I couldn't move, frozen by the glare in his empty eyes.
There was a dark abyss looking back at me, lifeless and hollow. His breathe was shallow but calm. The tips of his icy fingers grazed down my trembling arms, leaving goose-bumps in their wake.
His body was warm, but it wasn't comfortable and inviting; it felt more like hell's fire. My intoxication suffocated me and paralysed my limbs, making them heavy and unresponsive.
His fingers in my hair did not leave a loving warmth on my scalp, but then again, this was not love, nor was it lust. It was force.
His fingers were not there as an amorous display of passion and fidelity, but rather an assertion of control. They were like snakes, wrapping themselves around prey.
With one movement, I was no longer looking into his eyes, but rather out of a misted window.
I could vaguely make out the beauty of spring leaves on an adolescent tree, as the sun rose to lead in the dawn. His movements were harsh and angry, but my focus was on the proud tree.
His branches swayed softly in the sweet morning breeze. I could no longer feel the cold air around me, but rather a hot and heavy blanket of shame and surrender.
I closed my eyes tightly, supressing the wet droplets forming on my lashes. They trickled, taking makeup with them, leaving black trails of regret and hatred on my cheeks.
His movements stopped. The movements of the tree stopped. The breeze stopped. In a moment of foolish hope, I thought he would, too.
I mustered the strength to bring the dull weight of my fearful and distant body onto my weakening arms, but it hadn't even begun. A sharp dull pain manifested in my abdomen.
My cries withered into chokes, as I tried to focus on the tree through the misted window.
The pain grew, as the tree watched on in horror, unable to comprehend such an ugly violation in the presence of such beautiful blooming buds and morning dew on the jade leaves. I wasn't there.
It wasn't me in that car. It wasn't me he was hurting. It couldn't be me. My body was there but I wasn't.
For a split second, I smiled.
Imagining myself running up to the tree and sitting beneath the dancing branches, whilst small water droplets splashed down from the waking flowers and onto my sweating brow.
The sky was painted with swirls of colour, and the sun smiled down on its creations below. But then it was over.
My consciousness returned and I was back inside of an ugly black car, thick with the heat of resistance and force. The sounds he made were feral and wild. There was no colour inside of this car.
No blossoming signs of life. No beauty. It was grey. The only droplets I could feel were either flowing from my welling eyes or dripping from my forehead.
How did I get here? Alcohol hung on my lips but not on his. I should have been safe. I should have gone home. I should have tried harder. But he should have known better.
The pain lasted for an eternity. A final roar and it was over. My eyes were black with smeared makeup and my tears left rivers down my face. I could no longer see the tree.
It had left me alone with a monster. The sky was no longer alive with the colours of sunrise.
The grey clouds started to close in around the car and the rain began to fall softly on the roof as I pulled my dress down and took my place in the front seat; even the sky mourned for
my dignity and innocence. I couldn't bear to sit where he had taken me. I didn't want the beautiful tree to see me, ashamed and guilty.
I stared out of the window. I watched as the sun peeked through the looming clouds to try and keep me safe from further harm. But it was too late. My body felt unfamiliar and dirty.
It wasn't mine. It couldn't be mine. I had control over my body. Not this one. The car halted in a quiet area, nowhere near home.
He ordered me out and sped away, content with what he had reaped from his harvest.
People watched me walk shamefully through the streets, searching for a familiar face, desperately using my phone in a search for human kindness.
The old buildings followed me scornfully with a sinister eye. They judged me for what had just happened. Was it my fault? I don't know.
To the people I walked past, my face read 'slut', 'whore', maybe even 'prostitute'. The colour had faded from my eyes. The light within me burned out. I was completely sober.
They may have thought they'd seen a slut, but what they really saw was victim, violated and stripped of her control...