The Silence That Lingers Long After

There were drugs in my system. I remember lying down as tears filled my eyes. I stayed fixed on the ceiling, detached from what was happening to my body. His hands were everywhere.

While the memory plays on repeat, my mind is drowning. I couldn’t escape, not then — and sometimes, not even now. Afterward, his scent lingered on my skin like a scar I didn’t ask for. I scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to wash it away, hoping to erase something that I didn’t consent to in the first place.

It’s heavy on my chest even now, but I smile, I move on, I speak like everything is normal — because that’s what survivors are taught to do. But inside, there’s a storm that never fully settles. The weight of the trauma, and the silence that lingers long after.