The girl in the room

Words don't matter when pervertion deafens your soul.
I said and repeated "no, please, no" but I never screamed.
Maybe I should have, even though I think it would make no difference. Sick bastards never listen. Or maybe they do, but I guess they like making us beg, a fucked up way to feel powerful.
So I became silence, nothing on my head but my blood flowing, my mouth as a graveyard of my emotions, not a single breath escaped as if I was dead under your movements, that as the only sound in that dark room. I think there was a window there somewhere allowing the moonlight in but I refuse to bring any beauty into this memory.
My right cheek was cold, pressed to the floor while the rest of me was ablaze in a silent state of impotence. I don't even remember the pain, just how filthy I felt as you dropped your body on me when you were done.
You whispered "I love you" and kissed my forehead while I remained motionless in my shame.
I felt drops of water, somehow I was in the shower with you rubbing me, saying you were sorry, trying to clean me from your lack of control, touching the places you entered without permission. No amount of water could make me feel clean again, but I was speechless even then. My body had no strength, I don't know how I could still stand, but I made my legs walk and take me home.
To this day it all feels strange, besides all the things that still make my toes twitch and my eyes press shut, like I'm in the fogs of just another bad dream but in my dreams I am strong and powerful. Unfortunately, reality shows how weak I am, forever a speechless girl under the pressure of a wicked man.