The noise around, outside; the din within.
The feel of your greedy hands on my skin, the shiver which was a cry, which you took as a win.
The times when I get startled in an elevator because an innocent stranger moves his feet to face mine, without touching me making me shake inside, just like you did – except you touched and stole and ravaged and broke.
Your breath, fast, labored, and reeking of the pretty pink vodka that you exhale on my face with a base of beer and just a pinch of whiskey thrown in.
The number of times when I failed when I said I wouldn’t, surprised everytime I won.
Your palms on my sides, crushing, pushing me back, pinning me down as effectively as the barrel of a gun.
The lost people along the road in this fight against a you that doesn’t even exist anymore outside of my nightmares;
The nightmares that started off with a game of truth and dare.
Your hands around my waist,pulling – dragging – me, the piss drunk rag doll, to the bathroom.
The clothes I wore that night – the cute capri and the shirt on which were etched lily blooms.