His hands on my head, pushing. My ponytail pulled, tight. His words rough. His sweat, his stench. The cold. All triggers. Euphoria. Bliss. Overwhelmin.... I remember my instructions, just. I stop. I reach into a pocket and pull out a piece of paper, handing it to him. I explain, it’s garbled, he laughs with little sound and less humour. But he does it anyway. His phone out, recording. I am lost. I am lost in a sea of sweat and euphoria, stench and bliss. Sleaze and cold. More words, more. “Just go to school, see your friends, and write in your diary. That will make me very happy.”“You don’t want me?” she asked, sounding sad.“It’s not that,” I said. “It’s the situation. I’d feel like I was taking advantage.”“Taking advantage?”“Yes. Because of how distraught you were Friday and yesterday. I don’t think you’re back to normal.”“I thought you said I could never get back to normal? That I would always hurt.”“Both of those are true, but you’ll find a ‘new normal’. My first night in. More

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