I Moaned to Survive. I Lied to be Safe.

by María del Mal

I moaned to survive. Because if I didn’t he would’ve choked me out. That son of bitch, sorry excuse for a man, he’d get angry. He’d take advantage of my smaller size and hit and punch until I submitted. I’ve played these games before. I’ve been on the receiving end of that anger. I felt the oxygen fighting to get to my lungs while his hands held my neck as he thrust into me. I felt myself bleed as I tried to fight back, as I tried to stay the pure daughter my father wanted. But, it never happened. I never won, they always got what they wanted and I always got the consequences that followed. 

So, today, I moaned. I moaned and flipped my hair. I arched my back and made promises I knew I’d never keep. They smirked and smiled, and grabbed at my breasts. They were vulgar in their dirty talk, they ask if I liked to be fucked, if I want it harder or faster, both. They rub my labia in search of my clit, and choke me too hard. I flip us over, because at least this way I have control. 

They don’t question why my “orgasm” comes at a strategic time, signaling for them to hurry up. They don’t question my “clench” and moan, they grin watching me toss my head back in “pleasure.” 

I don’t waste my time climbing out of bed, because I know they don’t want me here more than I want to be here. “Did you finish?” They asked. 

“Yep,” I say with my back turned so they can’t see me roll my eyes. “Thanks, you were great.” I lied. 

I jump into my jeans, and hurry my shirt and shoes on. This part of the routine was my favorite, because I knew I’d be gone soon. I’d be in the safety of my own environment and spaces I enjoy being in. I know he’s texting his friends behind me, probably how he got some and planned to block me later. I know they didn’t care to mention the part where I was pushing them back, where I said I was okay and just wanted to watch the movie. 

“Do you want a ride?” They’d sometimes ask. Sometimes they wouldn’t. 

The times they didn’t I’d left without a word, and took the subway home. The times they did I’d agree and take the free ride home. The whole trip back I would be silent, no matter whether I was alone or accompanied. Sometimes I’d have to hear how great it was. 

I’d change into new clothes and get to the gym, earn my shower. I’d burn off 400 calories and then walk a mile with music blasting over my headphones the entire time. I’d distract myself and pretend the night before didn’t happen. This was me reclaiming the day, just because they took my night didn’t mean they’d get the rest of my life. Then, I’d go back home and scrub off the sweat and dirt and him off of me. I wash my hair and detangle with leave in while still in the shower. I’d exfoliate with a special body wash and use an inshower lotion. I’d layer on retinol, body butter, and vitamin E oil. My face is next, it’s important to cleanse and tone, do a detox mask, and moisturize. I get in comfy sweats and I burn a candle and smoke some weed. I smoke until my brain feels floaty and full of space between each squiggle. I smoke until I’m hovering over my bed on another plane of existence, ready to finally reflect. 

I think back to my silence. How I eventually just turned off my voice and let them kiss at my neck until they eventually peeled my clothes off. I think back to how they always keep asking. 

I think back to my night. How things could have gone differently had I just….made better decisions. Or maybe if men knew how to take no for an answer, they’d leave me the fuck alone. Maybe if they listened to me the first time, I wouldn’t just roll over and accept my fate. Maybe if they were kind, I wouldn’t feel safer just agreeing than leaving. Maybe if so many other men didn’t do it too, maybe they didn’t all force my pants down and wiggle their fingers into my panties, I wouldn’t be terrified of love. Maybe they are just what I expected from men, disgusting horrifying members of society. 

Maybe if men were raised properly, not coddled every step of the way, they wouldn’t expect everyone to agree with their every move and decision. Maybe if men weren’t centered in society, their feelings, opinions, and choices rule our world and have turned it to shit women wouldn’t be committing to lives of solitude. 

Maybe if I had fought harder, or screamed louder a roommate or someone would have heard me. Maybe if I had scratched his eyes out, kneed him in the balls. Maybe if I wasn’t alone, or had people who cared. Maybe if I was stronger, faster, maybe if I hadn’t drank so much I would’ve been. 

I think and wonder what my life would be like if the world was different, if men weren’t evil, and if society didn’t cater to their every whim. Maybe I wouldn’t be a victim of sexual violence, maybe I wouldn’t be scared to go outside in a dress. Maybe, maybe, maybe, so many maybes. So many lost chances and forgotten possibilities because men have made it their mission to tear women down. They will shame us for being too fat, too skinny, too sexual, not sexual enough. They will harm us for choices we make, and force us into choices we don’t. They demand women like their mothers who will cook and clean, but also women of the future who will work and pay bills. They want baby makers, and pornstars at the same time. They expect so much and so little of us at the same time. 

I want to be left in peace.