Push
I was in the ladies room. The floors were tile. The room had a warm, woodsy feel to it, almost like a den. Deceiving. He was there, in the stall� waiting� hiding. Completely submersed in his desire for me, his own emotion. Selfish and insane. Overbearing. He felt he was right. He backed me into a stall, almost on the floor. The toilet was pushing into my back and arm. I could feel its solidness, contrasting the intangibility of his breath, his want. Greed. Disgust and hatred filled me; his touch revolting, even the movement of his breath on my face. I wanted to melt into the wall, the toilet, the floor. He pushed against me. Heavy. The softness of his skin. The black, faded tshirt. The brush of that shirt on my forearms. Pushing him. The warm humid breath. Push. Exertion. Heartfelt disgust. Trapped and panicked and helpless. Words flowing from my mouth. Explanation, babble, any deterrent. Just push. Push. Just keep the breath away. It would all start with that kiss. I couldn't let him get close enough to kiss me. Push until exhausted and keep pushing. Hope that the now-deserted school building would produce someone, help, anything. Or wish for death before he could touch any more than my arms. Just push.
---------------------------------------------
One Year Ago Today: