--It wasn't rape.
--But something close to it, I would tell you back, in hushed tones that echoed yours because my throat was closing up like yours.
I can see you shrugging it off and piecing yourself back together, a thought at a time, until finally you look up at me and say,
--It's about time we started dinner, don't you think?
And we are back in the present, and you are the same, with that same brave look around your eyes that I know only too well.
You head back to the kitchen and I am left on the couch, knees drawn up to my chin, just sitting there, tears flooding my vision, hurting for you as you jangle pots in the kitchen alone.