Claim the blood on your hands.


“If I had any other hands I wouldn’t need the voice to tell the world about the coward that refuses to stand and claim the blood on your hands.” – Go Radio

It wasn’t the first time. You were one of my best friends so I told myself I was overthinking. This was completely normal. The first night we shared a bed, I woke up to your pants off. The second time you held on to me so tight I thought my bones would crush.

The third night changed everything.

Everyone blamed the drugs. I was too high to know if anything happened. You were too high to be held responsible for any actions that may or may not have taken place.

Originally you admitted it. You remembered vivid details that I still have nightmares about to this day. When other people found out, your story changed. It never happened. I was a liar. I wanted attention. It was consensual. I was too fucked up to even know for sure. Your story changed so much in a 24 hour period that I couldn’t keep it all straight. Despite all of this, I was the one that everyone chose not to believe.

You tried to convince me we should just agree to disagree on what actually happened. That there was no reason to let it come between our friendship. That I was making things uncomfortable for our other friends. That I really didn’t remember anything.

I remember.

I remember not being able to move. I remember everything in my head screaming to just get up but my legs couldn’t comprehend the message.

I pretended to be asleep. I thought that would make it stop. It just made you move closer to me. I could feel you against my lower back. I could feel you breathing on my neck. Long heavy sighs.

You finally passed out either from the drugs or exhaustion. But you kept your arm tightly around my abdomen and your hand rested between my legs.

I finally managed to move my arms but it started to wake you. I laid completely still for a few more minutes then slowly moved just my hand to get my phone from under the pillow. My other best friend was in the other room so I texted her to come get me. I pleaded with her continuously with no response. Everyone was finally asleep. Except me.

I’m not sure how much time passed but my legs finally started working again. I tried to slowly ease out of the bed but you moved closer. I knew my only option at this point was to run so I jumped out of your bed and ran outside. The only thing I had was my phone still clenched in my hand. I didn’t even have shoes on. I was too scared to go back upstairs for my keys so I began frantically texting everyone I knew in the city to come pick me up. But of course everyone was still asleep or working.

A little less than a year has passed since that night but I still remember everything. I replay that night more times than I’d like to admit.. each time with what I could have done to prevent it.

It’s not the first time I’ve been in this situation but this time damaged me the most. Because you were the one male I trusted. Your apartment was the only place I ever felt safe.

Despite what you’re still telling people, it happened. You’ll never own up to it because you’re a fucking coward.

One day I hope I stop replaying it in my head.


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