You don't have to be raped to feel used and dehumanized.

When I laid down my head was on the pillow. Now it’s rammed up against the headboard.

Surely he’ll notice. But no.

And I don’t want to make a fuss, disrupt his rhythm. I’m starting to feel like an instrument for his masturbation. Not seen. Not here. My comfort not considered. No needs to meet.

Best just to let him finish. Easier. Keep the peace. Keep him happy. Women do it all the time. Many do a lot worse. Some get raped. This isn’t rape. Surely. I never said no. Didn’t try to stop him. I close my eyes. A tear leaks out and trickles into my ear.