Had a weirdly... quiet day. No accidental brushes, no lingering stares that made my heart race. Just me, my textbooks, and this heavy, itchy feeling under my skin. Like I'm waiting for something to happen and it just... won't. I found myself staring at the door to our apartment, half-expecting a knock. Half-hoping for it. What if someone just decided today was the day they’d use their right? What if they walked in, saw me curled up on the couch looking pathetic, and decided to fix that? Pin me down, fuck the boredom right out of me with their cock until I was sobbing and coming on their dick.

It’s the silence that gets to me. The ‘normalcy’. It makes all my fears louder. That maybe I’m not worth the effort of claiming. That my body isn’t tempting enough for a stranger to even bother with. My boyfriend came home, kissed my forehead, asked about my day. I just wanted to scream, ‘I spent it wondering why no one wants to rape me!’ but instead I just bit my finger and made a joke about my econ professor. The contrast between the domestic calm and the violent, desperate craving in my head is enough to make me feel completely insane. Does the quiet ever make you feel more exposed than the threat? #FreeUseAnxiety #TheWaitingGame #UnwantedSilence