Coercion by Lauren Funai
“Cry. Say nothing like that has ever happened to you.”
Fiction by Lauren Funai
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You don’t know what to call it, so you don’t call it anything. You don’t tell Mom, Friend, not even Dog. Still when they kiss you, hug you, lick you—pretend they understand.
Think about it in the car. Stop. Think about it in the shower. Stop. Think it in to sense and out of reason, in to sense and out of reason, in to sense and out of reason. Stop thinking.
Hear stories on the news about rape. Cry. Say nothing like that has ever happened to you. Cry. Say it out loud now, “Nothing like that has ever happened to you.” You don’t know what to call it.
Start thinking again.
Bad thoughts. (No!) You were dating. (Yeah?) You were in love. (Yeah!) Just a little too eager to please. (Uh…) Way too eager. (Okay.) Too young too. (…) Hey, don’t do that again. Don’t do that again, okay?
(Okay.)
Date again. This time it’s nice. He’s nice. Says he loves you and you believe it. You never believed it before. And Sex? Sex is awesome. You never liked sex before. This, this is love. Tell Mom. Tell Friend. Tell Dog. Sing it from Rooftops.
But Nice Boy starts to get possessive. (Forgive him.) Starts fucking more than talking. (Fuck him.) “Where have you been?” Nice Boy’s dick in your mouth. “Who were you with?” Nice Boy’s finger in your cunt. Cum like you just won a fight. (You didn’t.)
Think about Old Times.
Old Boy talking through closed legs. Old You choking in a pillow. Old Consent feeling a lot like defeat.
Nothing like that has ever happened with him.
Nice Boy cries he loves you so much. Nice Boy fucks to make you cum. Nice Boy calls you three times a day (just wants to make sure you’re safe). Wants to make sure you’re His. You can’t get mad at him for wanting you so much.
Nice Boy wants you so much he fucks other girls. So much, these girls have your hair. So much, these girls have your body. So much, these girls have your first name.
Now Nice Boy screams at you in front of your friends. Calls you Whore when you want to see other people. Calls you Baby when you want to see other people. Calls you with a rope around his neck when you want to see other people. This, this is not love.
You don’t know what to call it.
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Header image courtesy of Theo Gosselin. To view his photo essay, "Vagabonds," go here.
Lauren Funai is a Denver-based writer of poetry and fiction. She'll figure the rest out eventually.