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Truthfully, I didn’t want to be anything anymore. Aspired to nothing. I just wanted to sleep until I felt okay. That was the funny thing about trauma: it didn’t need time to strip you of your personality and plunge you into darkness. It worked quickly. Mercilessly. Didn’t care that you’d spent years cultivating your sense of self and acting a certain way and didn’t give a flying fuck about who you were or what you wanted out of life.
Oh no, I was starting to worry about what other people did with their bodies. I was truly becoming a man.
Men were stupid. Instead of talking shit behind each other’s backs like normal people, they talked shit to the person they were insulting. Then they had the audacity to get butt hurt when the person got pissed. It was like when they were growing up, they were so busy trying to be all macho and strong that they never learned how to gossip effectively. A critical life skill. They wouldn’t survive a single day with teenage girls. They’d be torn to shreds. Eviscerated.
John smiled as he climbed off my mangled cot and pulled down his pants. Penis! Ever been violated? Same. My eyes burned, and I pinched my nose with my fingers.
Malum pushed Scorpius aside and once again slammed me into the metal wall. Blunt force trauma made my head spin, and I saw stars. Either I was heavily concussed, or I was having a religious experience. I hoped it was the former. Praying seemed like a lot of work.
How dare they assume I was a virgin that was into men. Was I a virgin? Yes. Was I into men? Yes. But it still didn’t give them any right to assume things about me. Nosy fuckers.
Why were men so fucking irrational? He can’t understand your motivation, so he made the only analytical leap he can make.
