Muggy

"What are your dreams?" I ask, absently.

It's muggy out and my hips and lower back are sore.
Probably just signaling some form of incoming summer storm.
Or change.
We're sitting on his stoop in the night testing peach and tropical fusion flavored cigars.
The moon peers out from her hazy curtains and the trees are silhouettes.
My knees are pulled up and his arm is propped at the angle of my legs, fingers swirling the inner side of my knee in that dip.
Smoke pours from our lips and seeps into the night air.

"To marry you someday."
For a second, he stops and moves his arm to get a drink from his Gatorade.
Immediately my skin ripples a goose bump protest then smoothing when he resumes.
There is nothing I want more than to be able to say what needs to be said, to have the courage to end my current relationship so that I can be free to taste happiness.

It's muggy in my heart.

Two days earlier it was Tuesday night and since my cousin and uncle were visiting from North Carolina, my Grandma and Grandpa grilled.
We sat close enough for fingers to skim under the table.
Eyes darted back and forth.
Grandpa made us a second margarita.
Then I made us a third.

I have eaten today, but it's not enough to soak up the alcohol.
Fingers easily slip between has when they stroked my hand.
Time to go.
Sneaking three wine coolers and turning up the radio as we drive to his house.
Sitting down on his futon in my tequila haze, saying what needs to be said.
Somehow our lips found their way back to each other and he's laying me back.
I'm weaving my hands through his hair, gently tugging it.
It's so soft, just like his kiss, even in urgency.
He pushes my long dress up my thigh to run his hand up the full length of my leg and I'm running my hand up his back.
Too far.
We've gone too far kissing like this.
I cry because if I wasn't a slutty cheating girlfriend with self respect this wouldn't have happened. 

I cry because I should be able to just break up with my boyfriend and not feel such struggle in my heart.
I cry because my abuse has me programmed to go along with things,

I cry because this programming leaves me with guilt that I didn't push myself to do what needs done, even if I like the person, to say no, not until I've broke things off with him.
I sink to the floor, ashamed it's coming back to me with a safe person.
He sinks to the floor and scoops me into his arms, holding me, kissing my hair.
I try to explain and he holds back tears. I hear them, lodged between his throat and eyes.
He says he didn't mean to make me cry, that despite the struggles and pain I'm beautiful to him, that he loves me.

I straightened up since Tuesday.

Tony asked last night if I had doubts.
"Yes. I'm unsure about us and don't feel connected."

My voice hesitated. 

"I just don't know anymore..."
"If you need to go, you need to do it before the end of the summer. I'll still let you stay if you don't want to stay with your mom so you can have privacy. You can't lead me along thinking we'll make it. I'm still in love with you. I'm not the one with doubts. You need to do some thinking."
His face is etched in my heart forever but I can't be in this anymore.
He looked heart broken.
Tired and worn from work, use, and monotony.

I feel heartbroken from things done, things thought, and settling.

He stops time.
We've been friends since I was 16 and I never knew he could do that.
When other guys have touched me in any form, I feel nothing.

Maybe it's sweet. 

Maybe it's uncomfortable. 

It's nothing. 

Just touch. 

He gives me goosebumps. Literally. 

This has never happened to me, not even with my first love.

When they talked about being careful because you can get lost in the moment in sex ed at school, I didn't understand and I never have. 

There's never been a moment. 

Until his hand was sliding up my thigh. 

There has never been someone that has made me question the lies I tell myself. 

There has never been someone that has made me believe, on my own, that I am not dirty, tainted, ugly.

There has never been someone that has made it difficult for me to restrict and work myself to exhaustion at the gym, to make me feel like I'm not just a sexual abuse victim, but a beautiful and radiant soul capable of all the things that I ever wanted to be.  

There has never been.

Until now.

I will struggle. I will want to hold on to these security blankets I reason hold value.

I won't eat. I will eat. 

Still hoping for my 5 pound loss.

Still angry that I eat. It's hard not to worry when I come home happy.

I'll drink too much now and then so that I can say the things I've needed to. 

I'll work out and feel insecure and stare at myself naked, wondering who would find this girl radiant in all that has been done to her, she chose to do, and the ways she has hurt others. 

I'll smile with my eyes and hurt in my heart and I'll laugh easily and learn to cry unashamed. 

I'll learn to do the right thing by my bf, I promise you all I will do it.

It's muggy out and my head is turned to the right, which is west. 

Seems like I've always been watching, waiting, anticipating the sun's setting and never the rise. 

I never liked mornings. 

But I'm starting to like the dawn. 

"I have to tell you something."

"What's that?" 

"I'm not very good with expressing how I feel so just bare with me. It's probably dumb, but I just, I just feel like I need to tell you." 

Strokes my leg softly.

"You can tell me whatever you need to."

"I think... I think for the first time ever..... I think for the first time ever I want to recover. From everything."