My parents sent another 'we can't make it this weekend' text. They always use the same font. I sat there staring at it until my phone screen went dark. My throat got so tight. I can't even cry right anymore—it just turns into this ugly, shaking thing where I can't breathe. The only thing that makes it stop is writing about someone holding me down and making me forget my own name. I want to be used until I'm just a body, just a wet cunt taking cock, until all I can feel is the stretch and the slap of skin and being called every horrible thing I believe about myself. I want to be bred like an animal in my own empty house, screaming into the silence.