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I’m afraid of bright blue cars. 
Every time I see one driving down the road, my body tenses and I look away. 
Only then to look more closely to see the driver's face. 
Once I figure out who’s driving, I can relax a little, but the pit in my stomach never fades. 

I can’t go to the gym.
The gym used to be my place. 
For me only. It was my time.
It was somewhere I could relax, and feel better about myself. 
But even now, I find myself avoiding the weights and machines as if they were toxic. 

I can’t watch someone mix vodka, cranberry, and orange juice. 
At the bar, people ask for that beverage a lot. And I make it for them. 
But the sweet citrus can’t ever rid of the sour memories that come by every time I prepare the drink.

Because every time I look at that cocktail, I think of that first time you made it for me, and how we kissed and fooled around in the sheets after I tasted it. 
Every time I go to the gym, I remember the way you’d spot me when the weights got too heavy and I couldn't lift them by myself. 
Every time I see a bright blue car, I visit the night where yours rescued my friend and I from a party and made sure we got home okay. 

But every time I see that drink, I can’t forget how I drank enough to let you do things to me even though they made me uncomfortable.
Every time I go to the gym, I can’t forget how I felt like you were taking away my space and time that I had set aside for myself.
Every time I see a bright blue car, I can’t forget that you have one of your own and only live a few steps away from my house.

But even those memories pale in comparison. 

Because no matter how much I try to forget, I always think of you. 
I remember the night when you were too drunk, and I was too tired. 
I remember the way we fell asleep and I felt okay in your arms.
I remember waking up a few hours later.
My trust was gone. I can't speak of the rest. 
But one thing I distinctly remember, is never saying the word, "yes."

They say you have "problems." They make it sound like you’re fragile and that you’re actually the victim here. 
But how can you be the victim when it was me who felt violated?
How can you be the victim when it was my body that you were doing things to?

How can you be the victim when I can’t look at alcohol without freezing in my tracks,
When I can’t go to the gym that I used to go to?
How can you be the victim, when I’m the one who's afraid of bright blue cars?
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