The Passenger Seat

I’m in the passenger seat of his car.

Snow falling through the headlights.

We just got there.

Nothing has happened yet.

Time is still.

.

Movements rigid.

Then I see him.

The thought alone makes my stomach churn.

He looks fine—

but his eyes look hungry.

.

I’m not ready.

I’m scared.

He turns the car off.

This is it.

.

He leans in.

My mind hesitates.

Still nervous.

.

My first kiss—

stolen

by a man

I never chose.

.

He kisses me—

hard.

Hungry.

The window cold against my cheek.

His tongue forcing its way in.

Our tongues wrestle

in the most uncomfortable way.

.

I hate this.

I don’t want this.

He doesn’t stop.

.

His words blur into pressure—

unwanted, heavy,

a demand I never gave consent to.

.

I don’t love him.

This is not safe.

This is not okay.

.

After—

I didn’t believe it happened.

I called my friends.

They told me none of that

was supposed to happen.

That he coerced me.

.

Reality hit me like a gong.

Disgust seeped in.

Used. Manipulated.

Broken—

the feeling lingers still.

.

And yet—

To the girl in the snowlit car—

if words could reach her then,

I’d tell her:

Hey, it’s okay to not be okay.

This is not your fault.

You were taken advantage of.

It’s okay to be scared.

It’s okay to be angry.

.

The best part?

You are safe.

Scarred, yes—

but healing will come.

Time and forgiveness

will find you.

Don’t give up.