He hurt me.

He put his hands on me. His cold hands on my neck.

You stop for just a moment, a fraction of a millisecond, and wonder if you had died, would anyone look? Another native woman dead, would the public have cared?

Consent to one thing suddenly meant agreeing to everything.

I didn’t want to.

Kissing was a lot for me, scared me even, but I gave it a shot.

I regret getting in his car.

The backseat of his Honda Accord. I don’t care much about cars, couldn’t tell a Lamborghini from a Ferrari, sometimes it’s the small details that stick.

One hand then two after I said no. Not a single part of me wanted to take off my clothes but his hands grew tighter.

He sat on top of me, my vision growing dark at the sides. This ravenous, almost animalistic look in his eyes.

I couldn’t breathe.

My body couldn’t fight anymore, going limp pressed against his car door.

I cried.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as he threatened to cut my braids. I begged for my life and my hair.

I felt my body almost rip into two.

The Cassie who was four and had been here before and the Kaziah who was 18.

A girl who hoped for the first year where she wouldn’t be violated, a simple ask.

Apparently too much as I sit in my childhood bedroom and wonder where I went wrong. Maybe there’s a reason I deserve this all along.

I wonder who I’d be if not fractured, a small wish, something I’ll forever ask for.

And I won’t get it. I never do.

And when I ask again, I’ll feel his hands on my neck and my body split in two.