The morning after…but the morning after what?
She doesn’t know.
No one does…except him, but he’ll never tell the truth.
Last night, it’s just a blur.
Moments piece together here and there.
But why is she in this bed?
Where are her clothes?
Why didn’t anyone do anything?
Panic sets in, but she doesn’t let anyone see.
Downstairs after a long hot shower, she smiles.
Laughing at the stories that they all remember.
Home.
She turns to google, asking how to tell?
Research, scheduling, timing, calenders.
Even a little prayer.
All these sites seem to say the same thing
“you’ll just feel it, you can tell”
Feel what?
Nothing seems out of place.
And in all reality she’s probably over thinking the situation as usual.
But the possibilities consume her.
As she lays in bed under the darkness of light, willing herself to remember.
A friend says they tried, but the door was locked.
He says “I used protection”
She laughs it off to friends and says, I don’t remember so it didn’t happen I guess.
But inside.
What if?
Research, scheduling, timing, calenders.
Even a little prayer.
She’s too young for a baby.
People say to her, “it’s barely even possible, you’ll be fine”
Her brain is torn, she doesn’t feel anything.
Shouldn’t she?
Pain, hurt, trauma, the things they show on television.
So she uses this to trick herself that he lied.
And nothing happened.
Because if she doesn’t remember than it couldn’t have happened.
But in the back of her mind.
Research, scheduling, timing, calenders.
Even a little prayer.
And the rest is yet to come, only time will tell.