My hand trembles a bit as I sit down in my bedroom, getting ready for my date. I shouldn’t be going, not again, not after how the last date went. “Date” is perhaps too strong of a word, I think to myself, as I look in the mirror. My black eye has faded to a more ugly yellow and the swelling in my nose was almost completely gone. He had laughed about the swelling giving me a “Jew” nose. It was funny to him. The past few days at work, I’d had to use copious amounts of makeup to hide as best as possible what had been done. Heavy lipstick to cover my split lip, eye shadow, coverup, heavy eye liner. Of course, that was just to hide what was visible from my co-workers.

The bruises under my dress, that was a different matter. Teeth marks on my breasts, bruises, still very purple, hid under my bra. My butt and thighs matched my breasts in marks and color. My male co-workers simply thought I was jumpy and easy to startle, every time I jerked or flinched around them.

But, the truth of the matter was that the man I had been dating was the cause. Him and his friends. I got to meet them on the last date. They must have thought I was funny, they laughed almost non-stop. When they weren’t choking, slapping, punching, or raping me. Maybe that is it; I was the literal punch line?

I steadied myself, I couldn’t be crying again. It would streak the makeup as I cleaned myself up for him. Why? I don’t know. I know I barely cried anymore, at least on the outside, that just encouraged him. Enraged the monster within him to beat the innocence out of me. A dark twisted symmetry. Maybe he reminded me of my stepdad, or my first boyfriend. Or my first boyfriend’s friends. Or the guys at that frat party my first year of college. They all gave me what I wanted, right? They all knew what I was. They all told me what I was. And the fucked up thing is, they were right. Maybe not at the start, but they were right.

I checked my makeup as I finished up, hoping that it looked good enough for my date. I honestly did want to look pretty for him. I walked nude to the closet and started going through it, looking for the dress that he liked. The one from our first date.

I had met him online at first, because those men that came before him were now right about me. Fully, and deeply, I was a broken clock that was only right when I was the rapebait they wanted. I had tried dating normal guys, but that just turned my dull, flat gray and turned it into a meaningless ash. I’m sure they were wonderful guys who would make some woman happy someday. Just not a woman like me. I had tried plenty of drugs and alcohol and they were all temporary fixes, although the molly I regularly took was good. For a little while, I didn’t care about anything because as the Lego Movie said, everything was awesome. But eventually, even that went flat, and left me even more numb than before.

So, I had met him. He’d had me take plenty of pictures of my limited wardrobe and picked out a red dress that he liked. It was a bit tight on me now, as I’d gained a bit of weight, making me bulge in both the right and wrong places. Heels along with it, the tallest 5 inchers I had. No bra, no underwear though. Despite everything, that brought a tingle. He was exactly as he described, about ten years older than me, smart looking, distinguished, clearly a professional. He had asked about what places I wanted to eat and when he picked me up in his BMW, I thought I had hit the jackpot.

We didn’t eat out that night. He drove me to a cheap ass hotel, the kind that you pay by the hour. He said he had to have me first, before we ate. I started to argue and he slapped me and grabbed my jaw and said “We’re going here first, understand?” He then nodded my head yes and in we went. He asked me if I’d had anal and I told him I hated it. He said ok, shoved me to my knees and fucked my mouth. A sharp kick to the gut doubled me up a few minutes later, and as I sobbed, stepped behind me and shoved me forward. As he mounted me, pressing at my ass, I screamed, kicking, trying to pull away. He said something to me, cruel sounding, but I couldn’t process it as he slammed me head first into the floor not once but twice. Then he spit on my ass, and slowly, painfully, forced his way in as I cried, confusedly. There was nothing but a haze of pain as he reamed my ass, covering my mouth, as he pumped deeply in me. After a short bit, my guts were flooded with his cum and he pulled out of me.

What happened next was my fault, I should have prepped I guess. It’s always my fault. His cock was messy, I’d bled on him and worse and he slapped me again, and again, and again. Finally with snot flowing down my face, he forced me to clean him. He was a gentleman though, he pulled a bucket over for me when I got sick, crying and looking at him with brown stained lips. Eventually I was done and he was clean and my stomach was emptied out. I went to the bathroom to clean myself up, putting a tampon in my ass to stop the minor bleeding. He was gone. That should have been the last night, but it wasn’t. No matter what else had happened that night, I had been alive. I had felt. So I walked stiffly to the bus stop and cried the whole way home.

I looked at the dress now and I touched myself, feeling wet. I absentmindedly licked my fingertips and then pulled on my dress, and then the heels. I looked around for my purse, hidden somewhere here. My apartment was a mess; it was always a mess, even more chaotic than my thoughts. I panicked for a moment, because I needed to find the collar, the collar he’d given me on our second date, a few days ago. My heart was racing it when I found it by the trash can. I picked it up and pulled out the small black collar that simply said “Slut”. If he gave that to me, it meant he had to care, right?