I. The First Lesson

It was just a few blocks home,
but my legs burned like I had run forever.
Bare feet on pavement, breath caught in my throat,
too afraid to scream, too confused to cry.
We were just playing a game.
Worms throwing bombs at each other,
until he turned, and I was the game instead.
Pinned. Trapped. Hands moving where I hadn’t given permission,
lips pressing down while I twisted away.
I didn’t even like boys yet.
Didn’t understand what his body was doing,
why his hands wouldn’t stop,
why my voice—
my small, shaking, pleading voice—
meant nothing.
I ran.
Told.
Waited for justice.
But the world said it was a misunderstanding.
A boy’s future was too heavy a thing
to be ruined by a girl’s fear.
A piece of paper said he had to stay away—
until it expired.
And that was all.
So I learned.
My body was not mine.
My voice did not matter.
I was just a thing
that could be taken, used,
and forgotten.

II. The Betrayal

She remembers laughter.
A room full of us,
bodies draped over hotel beds,
the heat of youth humming in the air.
She says it was fun,
a wild night,
a story to tell.
She had already walked through the fire.
So to her, this was nothing but a spark.
A chance to get it over with—
shed the weight of innocence,
become someone new.
But I still flinched when a boy touched my hand.
Still froze when lips brushed too close.
I did not want to burn.
I was not ready.
Yet somehow, I was beneath him anyway.
A stranger.
A face I can’t recall,
but a weight I still feel.
And I let it happen.
I let myself disappear into it.
I let the world’s lesson ring in my ears—
You are nothing but what they take from you.
And that night, he took everything.
Later, my best friend would smile,
say, "We had a blast, didn’t we?"
And I would smile back,
because the truth was mine alone.
Because the truth was,
I scrubbed my skin raw that night.
Because the truth was,
I cried until I forgot what I was crying for.
Because the truth was,
I had betrayed myself.
And no one even noticed.