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Puddles on the floor

I came inside to get away from you. I needed a break from the evening, from you. You’d been relentless, and I knew I needed to get away.

I came into my house, into my room, and hid in the bathroom. I guess for a few minutes too long. You texted me, but I didn’t answer. I was just sitting in the bathroom, consumed with both fear and disgust. Someone came into my room, and I thought it was my husband. Why wouldn’t it be, who else would come in here?

But I heard your voice instead. You came into the bathroom, where I was now standing, half in shock, half in fear. There was no escaping the moment.

I can still feel it where you touched me. I can still hear the disgusting things that you said. Still dripping wet from the pool, water now collecting on my floor.

I’ll never get over what happened. You’ve broken a piece of me forever, and part of me feels like I’ll never be okay again.

You tried it again last night, didn’t you? Any chance you get, you think what’s mine is yours. You think my body is yours.

But it isn’t. And it never will be. You have no right to me.

You left more than pool water on my bathroom floor that night. You left me, broken, a puddle now myself.

Those wet towels stayed on my floor for days. A constant reminder that I was too scared to face. The smell of the chorine lingered as long as the mess did. A reminder of my failure, of my shame, of my fear.

The worst part is how I trusted you. A father figure in a sense, someone who I thought actually loved me. I’ve never known what trust was, and now I fear I’ll never know. How could I trust again when I’ve been so brutally betrayed?

Do you not feel wrong, do you not feel badly? Do you just not care?

The details are my shame to carry. Secrets left in the puddles on the floor. I know for as long as I am here, I won’t be safe. Not really. Every night is a chance to be broken again, assaulted by you again.

Puddles aren’t the only thing you left on my bathroom floor. You left me, broken, alone, never to be the same again.

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