[Continuation and ending of Part I, II, and III]

Joseph was only the beginning though. Another vivid memory was my forced interaction with a man named Vincent as I speak to you now. Another scar that I’ve wished to erase from my mind but was unsuccessful. It happened when I was working at a pet store. Our relationship was purely professional in the beginning until we became comfortable and more casual with each other. We spoke of inappropriate things: sex, fetishes, physical attraction. I made the mistake of complimenting him. I was simply trying to be nice, however, he believed something else.

I went into the basement of our workplace, preparing the small gray cart with food for the animals that were displayed on the floor. I was in the middle of grabbing hay for the chinchillas when I suddenly felt my hair being pulled back tightly. I turned back to find Vincent. The look within his deep brown eyes wasn't malicious, but lustful; animalistic even. He pressed himself against my rear, retreating slowly to bang hard against my behind. He repeated it, his hand still wrapped around my ponytail. His fingers snaked themselves into my mouth, attempting to make me suck on them. I couldn’t do anything but I go along with it. My body went limp, unable to protest and losing all my words of objection. The only thought in my head was, ‘if I give him what he wants, he’ll go away.’ He than pushed me down, forcing me on my knees as his other hand unzipped his pants. He exposed himself to me and shoved his member into my mouth.

My body was numb, becoming a posable doll for his amusement; a puppet for his own pleasure. He groaned, he still keeping my head in place to take in as much of him as he desired. It happened in a flash, within a minute or two, and he spilled into my mouth. The taste was disgusting; the taste of raw egg yolk and acid. He sighed happily, zipping up his jeans and walked away like nothing happened. And I, still on my knees, couldn't move. As if I was paralyzed, my mind unable to compute what had happened. He was still in my mouth, lingering as the slimy hatred that seeped through my skin and into my soul. I ran quickly to the sink and spat any trace of him.

I told you I was hesitant in telling you this. This isn’t what would happen in a Disney film and I’m sure as hell this kind of thing isn’t in any fairy tales I’ve read. But it happened. I allowed myself to be taken advantage of. I lost all respect for myself and let my body to be used however they pleased. I’m still attempting to pick up what I glued back together from the aftermath. From James to Joseph to Vincent, I lost pieces myself along the way and I’m not sure I’ll ever get them back. However, after a while I began to wonder: if I got those pieces of myself back, would I even recognize them?

Author’s Note: You must be wondering why I decided to share this. I chose to tell you my story because I want others to avoid my mistakes, and the signs I was too blinded to see. I want people to learn that sometimes what you think is love really isn’t. That you may have good intentions, but others could abuse it or mistake it for something else. Take heed in this tale, and, hopefully, your ending won’t be like mine.