Our second date was on April 23rd. This was the day I stumbled and fell. 

It was at my house, where Zeke showed up on my front porch, greeted my mom with an awkward handshake, and met me upstairs. I still had to clean my disaster of a room so I was understandably embarrassed. I was also panicky, picking things up with lightning speed as he trudged up those stairs.

Right away, he told me his plan to smoke with me-- ''We need deodorant, weed, and a pipe,'' he said, ''I only have two of those items.''-- and Zeke took out weed and an aluminum can. Yeah, it was garbage, but there was nothing else to smoke out of, and if I said no to this he'd make the same face he made before when I had told him that I didn't like being high 24/7. It was by far the most judgemental, bitchy look I'd ever seen. I went along with the plan. 

We forgot the deodorant. 

I guided him along the path that led into the woods. Zeke gave me a full monologue about a Romeo and Juliet play he had been in, where he played a modernized, emo, Romeo. He had never actually read Romeo and Juliet. 

Smoking was always a really fun activity. I was glad Zeke seemed to like it as much as I did. I got most of the hits off of the pipe, even though I was only a Baby Stoner. That seemed like heaven for me, Zeke was so nice.

Once we got back, we had a laugh over the deodorant that was still sitting on the desk.

I don’t know how much time it took between that moment and the moment when we started to kiss. My memory while high tends to cut out the empty space and put the big parts right beside each other, making the jump cuts daunting. But there we were, kissing. It was the first French kiss I had ever had, and now I realize the emotion I felt about it was a deep disappointment. 

Kissing Zeke was like repeatedly licking an octopus tentacle. His tongue was rough, and it reached everywhere, making the whole thing a gross trip. I kept kissing; what else could I do?

We got not even two minutes in and his hands got just as intrusive as his tongue. He grabbed at my crotch and asked in a silky-sweet voice "Do you want more?"

I declined with a squeak, "Not right now."

Okay, what the fuck?  I thought. Zeke was not someone I was considering giving my virginity to. Plus, it was only our second date, isn't sex supposed to happen on the third date at the earliest?

My scared eyes told him 'let's take it slow'. Either he couldn't tell that I was scared, or he just didn't care. At any rate, the end result would have been the same.  

I remember getting up to lock the door—if Mom found out I was making out with a ‘friend’ I didn’t think I’d be allowed to have friends over for a while. Zeke must’ve thought that was some weird kind of consent because as soon as I got back on the bed he pushed me down and yanked down my sweatpants.

I closed my eyes.

What was I supposed to say? I was too high to think, I’d end up saying something stupid and pointless. All I thought to do was go along with it, maybe make a noise or two because I felt bad for not wanting it when he did.

Zeke didn’t want me to feel good. He didn’t touch me anywhere that would feel good, he just went right for sticking his fingers where it hurt. This was just him giving himself another story to brag about. I was going to be an addition to the holy trinity. That didn’t feel good to think.

I tried to open my eyes, and when I did, I regretted everything. Describing that face is so hard to do. I couldn’t just say it was blank, or bored. That only describes so much. That face sucked my soul into those emotionless eyes. Seeing it made my heart sink as far away from him as possible, down into the bedsheets. It made me squeeze my eyes shut and silently beg for it to be over.

He washed up in the bathroom while I slipped my sweatpants back onto my legs where they belonged. We sat on the floor after that, scrolling through social media and not talking. He left maybe a half hour after that. 

The next day, I locked myself in the bathroom and had a panic attack on my bathroom floor. I made the rug damp with adrenaline-caused tears and filled the air with the smell of fear. 

That bored look as he hurt me. That look was the harsh ground I fell onto as I tripped over my desire to 'catch up' with my friends' supposed sex lives. The ground was harsh, uncaring, and blank, just like that haunting face.