We are… no, not we.
I am at the bar, and I am with friends, and I am safe. We are laughing. They are teasing. I have always been small. He has always been large. He lifts me from behind, hefts my weight. I am no longer with friends. I am no longer safe. I state calmly that I do not like this. I state it again and again and again. I stutter a bit as I say it, calmly, rhythmically.
I am put down. Of course I am. He is my friend. I am safe.
There is a haze in front of my eyes… no, not my eyes.
There is a haze in front of my mind that was not there before. It is panic. He realizes I am panicking and collects me. He escorts me out, me, trailing, me, murmuring, me, confused.
I am in a stairwell and I am frantic.
Why, they ask me, and they ask me again: why
He hefts my weight
did I react
He lifts from behind
Let me tell you a story, I begin. I am in a stairwell, and I am frantic. My words are jumbled, rushed, loud. Frantic.
It was the last time… no, not the last time.
Her name was Mary… no, not her name.