Nothing has been worse to me, as a sexual assault survivor, to be tucked into bed fully clothed with a man who I lost attraction too. He, who promised a movie, but really wanted to make out. As we lay in the same quarters and I scoot away slowly as to not outright wave a flag of rejection and hurt his pride. But his drunken body pulls itself like gravity to me and in those moments I wish to change my molecular makeup. In his arms, he links a nose around my chest and hangs me closer to him. He humps my limp and dissociated body as I promise myself "next time he does this I will find the strength to leave," but next time has come again and I haven't gone to have the possibility of coming back. The words "I'm going to go," gurgle in my stomach invaded in acid that I distort into feeling if I say them that I will burn him. I don't want to dissolve anyone. So I stay and my mind leaves to a place where I was brave enough to use my voice.