Drug me. Coward.

Every haunted night, it’s you who I still see leaning over me as I lapsed in and out of consciousness. You, whose eyes danced with amusement and hostility; You, whose soul had long since left your physical form, leaving that consuming black abyss behind that glassy gaze; You, who drugged me and used me like a ragdoll – limp and vulnerable. I could remember flickers of you pushing into me. Grunting. Straining. Repeating, “You like that don’t you baby. I know you do.” Sweat. Disgust. Shame. Humiliation. Then blackness. Unconsciousness. Nothingness. I suppose. Until I awoke again. You sitting beside me ready with a cup, “Here, have a sip. You must be thirsty.” Goddamn it. Yes, I was thirsty. I was cold. I was naked. I took a big gulp. Chocolate Big M.  Relief. I couldn’t remember the last time I had gotten up off the bed. I had no energy at all. I felt completely powerless and immobile. My limbs didn’t want to respond to instruction. I didn’t even have the capacity to push myself up into sitting position. Why did I feel so weak? Had I experienced what I thought I had? Or was I dreaming? How long had I been lying here? I didn’t know. But soon I was again consumed by the desire to sleep. So I gave into the overwhelming need for slumber and drifted back into nothingness. Now you could get back business. I would wake again sore.