The first Thanksgiving and what it means to be...
She turned quickly to the left and her bangs brushed against her cheek. She smelled the residual Apple Cider shampoo on the tips of hair. It reminded her of the previous night; she'd used it that morning, hungover and showering in a stranger's house.
She knew who they were, but she didn't know them well enough to be naked in their bathroom. She could only think of the events that had led up to this moment.
...He'd had too much to drink and now he was sitting next to her, his wife to his left and his mother to her right. This was an intimate sandwich to risk being caught. He didn't seem to care and his foot smushed her thigh to the ground as he drunkenly tried to caress her leg. She bit down hard to keep from crying.
"Please someone notice, please someone notice." His eyes burned into the side of her face. No one noticed but her. None of the six other people even looked her way. His foot continued it's awkward stroke. She bit her tongue.
"Too hot?" She'd forgotten he was British and his accent made her sure that he had said it. She turned around and faced the fireplace behind her. It crackled. She was sweating, but not due to the flames. He couldn't have noticed, though. She barely did herself. Her blood was ice water in her veins. She took a sip of the drink he had mixed her. It was too strong, more Vodka than Fresca and she grimaced.
"No. I'm okay."
His hand cupped the nape of her neck and her head lulled forward with the pressure. She tried to right it but his hand was already inching down the back of her sweatshirt, underneath her tank top. His fingertips hit her bra strap and she bit down hard. No one noticed. Not his wife, not his mother. She felt alone in a room of eight people.
+++
"Come with me to get more firewood." She agreed to go, without knowing why. He took her hand and pulled her to the garage. She had two logs in her hand before she told him that she had to go to the bathroom again. He showed her where it was and shut the door for her. She realized too late that the door didn't lock. He didn't walk in, but when she went back out to pick up the wood, he was lingering around the window. He had watched her, she just knew that he had watched her.
Another guest came from around the corner. She took the opportunity to slip away, back to where the others were. Away from him. No one noticed her hasty retreat.
+++
The five of them were still drunk, her fear sobered more than the others, though. She chain smoked the Camels' and left the American Spirits for his sister-in-law. Something strong was necessary. The three of them wer on the table dancing. He pulled her awkwardly up with him and grinded against her back. She clung to the girl in front of her, uncomfortably close for a stranger, but she was safer than he was. She climbed down not long after.
She was crying quietly. No one noticed.
+++
She wasn't sitting with her legs under the table anymore, but the scorecard hadn't changed order so she was still next to him, imprisoned. Her legs were out in the open, daring him to do the awkward caress once again.
He accepted and she looked away pained. She felt his stare again, her face was red with embarrassment, shame. No one noticed.
He made her blow on his dice before he rolled. Not his wife; not his mother. She was sure someone noticed. She looked like she was ten years old, cowering and cold. He was still touching her. By now her tongue was bleeding and her mouth tasted like rust.
+++
Five points to the end of the game and a guest rose. "Cigarette break?" He looks directly at her, inviting her alone. She accepted and ran to the porch. This one was safe.
"What the FUCK is going on?!" The guest's sister is the man's wife. She thinks that he must have noticed and her whole heart gets lighter.
"I want to leave now," she sighs weakly and he pulls her into a hug. The patio door opens and HE is back. Wiggling his way between the two, brushing his fingers through her hair and she wonders why they let him.
+++
She's going to the bathroom again before they leave. Two people are guarding the door from him. She hears the lock jiggle and her body seizes. When she opens the door after rinsing her hands, he is right there. She is done being polite, she squeezes by him and runs back to the crowds. She skips out on the goodbyes and climbs into the back seat of the car.
He calls out her name behind her: "Kelly!"
She doesn't say goodbye to him, just keeps walking, a broken spirit. The driver climbs in and locks the doors.
"Let's go."
She is so thankful that they finally noticed, but she hates herself for waiting until they did to speak up.
She hates herself for being used. Again.
+++
She can still feel his foot on her thigh as she brushes the stray hair away. The smell is delicious but the memories are heartbreaking. She hates herself. She hates herself. She is no one. She hates herself.
She knew who they were, but she didn't know them well enough to be naked in their bathroom. She could only think of the events that had led up to this moment.
...He'd had too much to drink and now he was sitting next to her, his wife to his left and his mother to her right. This was an intimate sandwich to risk being caught. He didn't seem to care and his foot smushed her thigh to the ground as he drunkenly tried to caress her leg. She bit down hard to keep from crying.
"Please someone notice, please someone notice." His eyes burned into the side of her face. No one noticed but her. None of the six other people even looked her way. His foot continued it's awkward stroke. She bit her tongue.
"Too hot?" She'd forgotten he was British and his accent made her sure that he had said it. She turned around and faced the fireplace behind her. It crackled. She was sweating, but not due to the flames. He couldn't have noticed, though. She barely did herself. Her blood was ice water in her veins. She took a sip of the drink he had mixed her. It was too strong, more Vodka than Fresca and she grimaced.
"No. I'm okay."
His hand cupped the nape of her neck and her head lulled forward with the pressure. She tried to right it but his hand was already inching down the back of her sweatshirt, underneath her tank top. His fingertips hit her bra strap and she bit down hard. No one noticed. Not his wife, not his mother. She felt alone in a room of eight people.
+++
"Come with me to get more firewood." She agreed to go, without knowing why. He took her hand and pulled her to the garage. She had two logs in her hand before she told him that she had to go to the bathroom again. He showed her where it was and shut the door for her. She realized too late that the door didn't lock. He didn't walk in, but when she went back out to pick up the wood, he was lingering around the window. He had watched her, she just knew that he had watched her.
Another guest came from around the corner. She took the opportunity to slip away, back to where the others were. Away from him. No one noticed her hasty retreat.
+++
The five of them were still drunk, her fear sobered more than the others, though. She chain smoked the Camels' and left the American Spirits for his sister-in-law. Something strong was necessary. The three of them wer on the table dancing. He pulled her awkwardly up with him and grinded against her back. She clung to the girl in front of her, uncomfortably close for a stranger, but she was safer than he was. She climbed down not long after.
She was crying quietly. No one noticed.
+++
She wasn't sitting with her legs under the table anymore, but the scorecard hadn't changed order so she was still next to him, imprisoned. Her legs were out in the open, daring him to do the awkward caress once again.
He accepted and she looked away pained. She felt his stare again, her face was red with embarrassment, shame. No one noticed.
He made her blow on his dice before he rolled. Not his wife; not his mother. She was sure someone noticed. She looked like she was ten years old, cowering and cold. He was still touching her. By now her tongue was bleeding and her mouth tasted like rust.
+++
Five points to the end of the game and a guest rose. "Cigarette break?" He looks directly at her, inviting her alone. She accepted and ran to the porch. This one was safe.
"What the FUCK is going on?!" The guest's sister is the man's wife. She thinks that he must have noticed and her whole heart gets lighter.
"I want to leave now," she sighs weakly and he pulls her into a hug. The patio door opens and HE is back. Wiggling his way between the two, brushing his fingers through her hair and she wonders why they let him.
+++
She's going to the bathroom again before they leave. Two people are guarding the door from him. She hears the lock jiggle and her body seizes. When she opens the door after rinsing her hands, he is right there. She is done being polite, she squeezes by him and runs back to the crowds. She skips out on the goodbyes and climbs into the back seat of the car.
He calls out her name behind her: "Kelly!"
She doesn't say goodbye to him, just keeps walking, a broken spirit. The driver climbs in and locks the doors.
"Let's go."
She is so thankful that they finally noticed, but she hates herself for waiting until they did to speak up.
She hates herself for being used. Again.
+++
She can still feel his foot on her thigh as she brushes the stray hair away. The smell is delicious but the memories are heartbreaking. She hates herself. She hates herself. She is no one. She hates herself.