Soft movement, echoing off the insides of my skull. He's moving closer. Why is he moving closer? Doesn't he know I'm bad for him? Doesn't he know I will only, always, hurt him?

I whimper when he touches me, curling closer to the wall. But I don't want to detach from his touch, don't want to move too far away from his comfort.

I am so selfish. I want him to be there for me, even after I have hurt him so deeply.

I almost... "Oh god."

I almost hurt him more than I could ever take back. I almost...

Rape. That's the word. If I am honest with myself. Though it makes me want to throw up. Makes me want to take the nearest knife and carve my own heart out.