The bedroom was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the small lamp on the nightstand. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing with thoughts. I heard the door creak open and my heart skipped a beat. He entered the room, the smell of alcohol on his breath. He climbed into bed, and I tensed up as he touched me.
"You know you want it," he whispered in my ear, his voice dripping with cruelty. I felt disgusting. He grabbed me roughly, and I flinched. I tried to push him away, but he was too strong. He started to kiss my neck, and I turned my head away.
"Come on, you know you like it," he chuckled, continuing to whisper filth in my ear. I closed my eyes, trying to escape. I felt him touching me inappropriately, and I felt violated. I tried to push him away again, but he only laughed.
I was a strong and controlling character, but I was trapped in a situation where I had no power. I was constantly insulted and degraded, but I still found a way to assert myself. I wasn't a damsel in distress, I was a survivor. I made sarcastic comments and playful insults in my head, even as I was being violated. It was a dark humor, but it was there.
"Finish in me," I whispered without thinking. He laughed and continued. I was too lost in the pleasure to stop him. He finished, and I felt a strange mix of disgust and satisfaction. He got up and left the room, leaving me feeling used and confused.
I lay in bed, trying to make sense of what just happened. I realized that I enjoyed it, and I hated myself for it. I fell asleep, feeling dirty and ashamed. But even in my sleep, I was still fighting back. I was still a survivor.
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