“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.” -Mark Twain
My name is Violet, but I know my name isn't important. It is just something to moan. Violet is an interjection and the prefix of a command. Violet, do this. Violet, give me this. Oh, Violet! It was once the name of a sweet little girl, of the school prude. Now it is merely the label of an empty and broken shell haunted by guilt and regret. My name is Violet, but feel free to call me by your ex girlfriend's name. I'll play along.
I asked if he had a condom. He gave me a look like, "Of course. Wasn't this the plan even though I promised you it wasn't?" That lasted a whole three seconds before he decided her preferred other things more. With what he had to work with, I was surprised he wasn't more ashamed. I was surprised he wanted this. I was surprised only until I remembered my opinion didn't matter.
I pulled away, but he held my head down. I felt like I was drowning. I was suffocating in shame. When he had finished with me, I got dressed. I pulled my ugliest pair of panties back on, brownish granny panties, over my stubble. I'd taken precautions to make sure this didn't happen, but certain guys just don't care in their desperation.
I curled up on his bed, feeling the waves of his water bed rocking me into a false sense of security. It reminded me of my childhood, of happiness, of love. He left the room for a while, but I didn't mind. I needed a few seconds alone to just breathe. I looked up at the guitars he wouldn't play for me and thought about the kisses I had to steal myself. I wouldn't be getting any more of those tonight.
He walked back in and asked if I was ready to go. So that's how it is. He could at least have the decency to hold me after. He could have faked it. It might have soothed my torrential emotions long enough to get home and spend some quality time with my favorite knife.
We walked out, like awkward strangers, and got into his car. Why was I putting myself through this? If I was going to be a whore, I may as well get paid for it. After all, what exactly was I getting out of this? I was sure I had an inbox full of emails from potential clients waiting for me on my computer. I'm thinking about getting into the business. I really need the money. Think of me what you will, but what is the different between dating and prostitution? The only difference is that prostitution is more upfront about everything and doesn't waste my time completely.
I fought back the tears again. He smiled at me, but I so desperately wanted to knock his teeth out. I barely knew him and I already hated the sight of his sugary and over enthusiastic smile. "You okay over there?" he asked, gripping the steering wheel with only one hand while the other offered no affection or comfort. "Why wouldn't I be? What difference does it make if I'm not?" I asked quietly. He didn't think he heard me right. It didn't matter either way. He was just trying to convince himself he wasn't a monster.
"Do you regret it?" Yes. I turned him down more times than I could count. I stood my ground and let him know he wasn't going to be given an opportunity to use me, no matter how much he claimed he wasn't going to. I wasn't about to risk it. Yet, somehow and for some probably warped reason a shrink will later blame on my childhood, I ended up caving in and giving him what he wanted. "Why would I?" I almost whimpered, trying to fight back the tears. "I don't know. Maybe because you said no so many times and made up your mind, but I changed it and you did it anyway." Even he knew he'd pressured me, but he saw it as me being weak to my own desires where I knew it was something more.
I could still taste him in my mouth, but I couldn't stand to think about it. I didn't want to end up throwing up in his nice new car. I was in pain, too. He hadn't been very gentle with me. Is it because he knew there had been nine before him and figured he couldn't hurt me? Did he just not care? When I got out of the car, he didn't kiss me goodnight. He requested a hug before driving off. I just gave you my last scrap of dignity and pissed on my morals, and you gave me a hug. Fuck you.
At least I was alone. I got to the gate and fell to my knees, crying. I was used and broken. I didn't ever get a good look at his face. Did he look like his pictures? Oh my god, I just tore myself apart for someone without ever really looking at him, without even knowing his full name. I guess I must have expected it from the start. He must have struck me as that sort of guy. Maybe I just knew no one kind and caring would ever love me, so I knew how he must be. This is as good as it gets for someone like me. If I was lucky, I'd die soon because there is no starting over in life.
I walked slowly to my unit. I walked slowly, in shame and pain. I called my roommate to unlock the door. He asked what was wrong, but I hung up. I finally got to my door and mindlessly dragged myself into my room without a word. The best thing I could hope for was to cry myself to sleep.
Of course, it wasn't that easy. I kept thinking about him. I kept thinking about all of them. Why has such a meaningless act hurt me so? I blame society. If it wasn't such a big deal and so incredibly taboo, I wouldn't feel so terrible about myself. I wonder if he'll call me in the morning. I'm sure I'll end up pushing him away. I don't care, I don't want anyone anyway. Being with someone makes it far too easy to disappoint them.
I downed a bottle of cough syrup. I'd be fast asleep soon, dreaming of the most colorful and crazy things. I'm sure this isn't good for my heart, but I welcome death with open arms. This is just another one of my usual self destructive nights. One of these days, it will all be over and there will be nothing left of me. One of these days, you'll regret what you did to me. Goodnight.
I asked if he had a condom. He gave me a look like, "Of course. Wasn't this the plan even though I promised you it wasn't?" That lasted a whole three seconds before he decided her preferred other things more. With what he had to work with, I was surprised he wasn't more ashamed. I was surprised he wanted this. I was surprised only until I remembered my opinion didn't matter.
I pulled away, but he held my head down. I felt like I was drowning. I was suffocating in shame. When he had finished with me, I got dressed. I pulled my ugliest pair of panties back on, brownish granny panties, over my stubble. I'd taken precautions to make sure this didn't happen, but certain guys just don't care in their desperation.
I curled up on his bed, feeling the waves of his water bed rocking me into a false sense of security. It reminded me of my childhood, of happiness, of love. He left the room for a while, but I didn't mind. I needed a few seconds alone to just breathe. I looked up at the guitars he wouldn't play for me and thought about the kisses I had to steal myself. I wouldn't be getting any more of those tonight.
He walked back in and asked if I was ready to go. So that's how it is. He could at least have the decency to hold me after. He could have faked it. It might have soothed my torrential emotions long enough to get home and spend some quality time with my favorite knife.
We walked out, like awkward strangers, and got into his car. Why was I putting myself through this? If I was going to be a whore, I may as well get paid for it. After all, what exactly was I getting out of this? I was sure I had an inbox full of emails from potential clients waiting for me on my computer. I'm thinking about getting into the business. I really need the money. Think of me what you will, but what is the different between dating and prostitution? The only difference is that prostitution is more upfront about everything and doesn't waste my time completely.
I fought back the tears again. He smiled at me, but I so desperately wanted to knock his teeth out. I barely knew him and I already hated the sight of his sugary and over enthusiastic smile. "You okay over there?" he asked, gripping the steering wheel with only one hand while the other offered no affection or comfort. "Why wouldn't I be? What difference does it make if I'm not?" I asked quietly. He didn't think he heard me right. It didn't matter either way. He was just trying to convince himself he wasn't a monster.
"Do you regret it?" Yes. I turned him down more times than I could count. I stood my ground and let him know he wasn't going to be given an opportunity to use me, no matter how much he claimed he wasn't going to. I wasn't about to risk it. Yet, somehow and for some probably warped reason a shrink will later blame on my childhood, I ended up caving in and giving him what he wanted. "Why would I?" I almost whimpered, trying to fight back the tears. "I don't know. Maybe because you said no so many times and made up your mind, but I changed it and you did it anyway." Even he knew he'd pressured me, but he saw it as me being weak to my own desires where I knew it was something more.
I could still taste him in my mouth, but I couldn't stand to think about it. I didn't want to end up throwing up in his nice new car. I was in pain, too. He hadn't been very gentle with me. Is it because he knew there had been nine before him and figured he couldn't hurt me? Did he just not care? When I got out of the car, he didn't kiss me goodnight. He requested a hug before driving off. I just gave you my last scrap of dignity and pissed on my morals, and you gave me a hug. Fuck you.
At least I was alone. I got to the gate and fell to my knees, crying. I was used and broken. I didn't ever get a good look at his face. Did he look like his pictures? Oh my god, I just tore myself apart for someone without ever really looking at him, without even knowing his full name. I guess I must have expected it from the start. He must have struck me as that sort of guy. Maybe I just knew no one kind and caring would ever love me, so I knew how he must be. This is as good as it gets for someone like me. If I was lucky, I'd die soon because there is no starting over in life.
I walked slowly to my unit. I walked slowly, in shame and pain. I called my roommate to unlock the door. He asked what was wrong, but I hung up. I finally got to my door and mindlessly dragged myself into my room without a word. The best thing I could hope for was to cry myself to sleep.
Of course, it wasn't that easy. I kept thinking about him. I kept thinking about all of them. Why has such a meaningless act hurt me so? I blame society. If it wasn't such a big deal and so incredibly taboo, I wouldn't feel so terrible about myself. I wonder if he'll call me in the morning. I'm sure I'll end up pushing him away. I don't care, I don't want anyone anyway. Being with someone makes it far too easy to disappoint them.
I downed a bottle of cough syrup. I'd be fast asleep soon, dreaming of the most colorful and crazy things. I'm sure this isn't good for my heart, but I welcome death with open arms. This is just another one of my usual self destructive nights. One of these days, it will all be over and there will be nothing left of me. One of these days, you'll regret what you did to me. Goodnight.
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