I remember sitting on my bed talking about the dumbest stuff, like our favorite Hamilton characters or what we were to have for lunch the next day. I remember you grabbing my LED remote and flicking the colors to your favorite one: a dark purple. I remember you pulling me on top of you and grasping at the bottom of my shirt. I remember that my sheets that day had some sort of a geometric pattern on them, that I had two of my favorite blankets on my bed, that one of my pillowcases matched my sheets and another I had sewn myself. I remember looking towards the posters I had hung on the wall of pandas, drawings I had done, sports, etc. I remember the soft feeling of your lips against mine and how wrong it felt. I remember the way you would ask me if it was okay but continued even when I said no. I remember you telling me to stop crying, that people who enjoy sex don't cry. I remember having to go to supper later, neither of us having a bra on since you had used every last minute possible. I remember telling you a few days later that I wasn't okay with the sex at all and wished you had stopped when I said no. I remember telling you that I was asexual, and yet you accusing me of using YOU. I remember, I remember, I remember.... I remember.... and I wish I don't.
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