TOUCH II

Thirteenth Chapter.

*trigger warning. Sexual assault, violence, blood(kinda)*

Have you ever felt helpless? No, better yet, have you ever felt defeated? Stripped of your strength, and pride. Left powerless, wounded, incapacitated.

That bitter feeling of losing in the name of someone who has the upper hand. Have you ever faced an injustice so unjust, no prison or death sentence could placate the atrocious effects of it.

Power was a horrible thing. Mankind were horrible people for the way they abused it when they had it.

The worst thing about power is, if you have it and use it, you're a horrible person, but if you don't, you're on the other end of a horrible person. In other words, a horrible predicament. You're the victim.

It's kill or be killed, beat or get beaten. Cause the pain, or suffer it. In a world varying with assholes, narcissists, jackasses, cold-hearted, stone cold beasts, the worst of any of these is a powerful man.

A man with such abundant power that he is far too aware of it. A man that uses every bit of his strength to tear down as many women as he can. Do you know what the pain of it all is?

That women can't do shit about it.

Absolutely nothing.

You are to be the victim, remain the victim, even long after the situation has past. You're first victim of the act, then you're a victim to your own mind. Because you relive every bit of that torturous moment. It tears you down every waking fucking second. It's like a wasp that stings you over and over and over again until the wound eventually becomes numb. You bleed until there's no blood left. You cry tears that wet the ones that had dried on your cheek.

It's pain. It's torture. It's a relentless flame of agony that doesn't stop. You can scream, you can cry, you can smile, you can frown. It doesn't go away. It stays there, and becomes a part of you. Your own imaginery tail that keeps itching and hurting.

Emotions cannot be surgically removed. Jordan wished she could perform an operation of a lifetime to the brains of every woman that was victimized. To take those thoughts away. To rid her of the pain, the guilt, the memory, the imaginery bruises that left her skin but she still sees. To take out the part of her brain that still hears his voice, the part that remembers how much she screamed, how loud, for a help that arrived far too late.

In all honesty, Jordan wishes she had the mental capacity to think like a man. To take his heart and swap it with her own. To make herself as malovent, and vile, so that she returns the favor and privilege called abuse.

If she did she would tear open the skin of every predator to walk the Earth, layer by layer. No, better yet, she would use a scalpel to gauge his eyes out and feed them to him. Or rather she would break every bone in his body, from his phalanges, to his femur, to his spine until he cannot walk, then she would throw him in the middle of the ocean, and wait for every shark species alive to tear him into one million pieces.

If she only had the heart for it. If she only had a mind like his. A mind that sees, not a human, but a mere punching bag, or a sex toy, or an indestructible object made of rubber that should be bounced, or torn, or cut, or stabbed, or thrown around, and it would still remain the same right after.

FUCKING DISGUSTING.

Every single cell in their bodies, every nerve in their hearts, every artery, every vein, even the aorta between the organ they consider a heart. No good man alive could possibly make up for the abomination that was made in their form. No good man could take away and undo the trauma women have faced.

They cannot speak a word about it, and call it a joke. They cannot make comments, or throw looks and refer to it as 'playing around'. Because once upon a time, a man was 'playing around' with a woman at a vacant parking lot, and ended up playing a different game in the backseat of a car, while she let out broken pleas that weren't heeded.