You asked for it

That feeling.

Those hands.

The tingle and ache

remains searing in my skin.

Maybe that's just the bruises;

the bruises I've painted over.

That tight grip.

Those words.

The constant shudder and coldness

as your voice echoes in my mind.

"It's okay gorgeous, it'll feel amazing;

it'll feel like you're floating."

The cries.

The sudden numbness.

He was right, 

I was floating.

I didn't want to,

but I was.

I wanted to be drowning,

but I wasn't.

The ache.

The emotional numbness.

They never left me,

constantly spewing false words of fault.

"You were asking for it, you had it coming,"

but where was the sign taped to my back? The one where I asked for his assault?