I had a dream — a nightmare, perhaps — where I was lying beside one of them.
A third party, a casual talker who seemed to lack self-awareness, shared the bed with us. Staring at his back, turned away from us and at a respectful distance, I found myself grateful rather than annoyed by his intrusion.
Either way, I remained pensive, a feeling of discomfort bubbling in my chest until I mentioned that maybe I should go home instead. I said it was the morning, but I just didn’t want to be around him.
Curled up beside me, close enough but never making contact, he muttered something to pacify me. But his body language did not match his words — he seemed to want to get closer and closer the more I squirmed to get further.
He wasn’t the only one, I realise. In every moment I was with them, the abject terror of being jumped pervaded our waltzes; the only real choice I had was whether to lean into the joy of being hunted. I allowed them to decentre me — for that was what I was willing to give — and all of them seemed to revel in taking without reciprocating.
And then they would eventually tell me, sometimes not even directly, as if I wasn’t worth their while — that I was too much for them.
baby g’s diary 