Punched in the Face, The Time I was
I don't think I wrote about the time I was punched in the face?
Of course I laugh about it when I tell people. I knew I was hanging out with a guy who was bad news. I knew he was pushy. On some level I must've known he was trying to get me drunk so he could take advantage of me - although I didn't entirely, consciously realise this until I thought back in retrospect. But I was like, hey, free alcohol and possibly weed.
I mean, I got high and drunk and then I really wanted some weed, and figured I may as well look while I was... In my state.
What was I on? Lemme check.
Well I was on a whole cocktail of benzos, including lorazepam and meclonazepam on top of the usual suspects, and soma, and DHC, and I'd had a bit to drink. So of course I was extremely sharp and capable of making good decisions.
So, I went out to look for weed. I saw a few guys on my walk who looked like they might know, but then I felt racist for making that assumption, and too awkward to approach them. So ofc, I just resort to responding to whoever says "Hello" at me.
Typical budbud man, on the younger side. Yeah, that term has heavy racial connotations; but if you've never lived as a light-skin woman/AFAB, or probably any colour (but, the way they see it, any nonreligious woman is sexually available to every man, as if they're dog in constant heat) having to deal with this specific, explicitly patriarchal and consciously entitled sex-negative personification of rape culture (the type that make MRAs say "It's not like it's acceptable/legal for men to think/act like that HERE, therefore rape culture doesn't exist in OUR culture") then shush. I can be nuanced about it. But I won't be right now, because I'm telling my story.
I mean, I looked like shit. I was wearing my torn jeans that I'm going to dispose of (and that ended up giving me an awful rash) and my hair and skin was all ugh and I was even slurring slightly. And like I say, I've come across hundreds of men like this guy since I was like 10, just I was fucked-up enough to put up with him out of curiosity/boredom/misplaced optimism. I recorded myself with him, and he tried to kiss me and I moved away like "No I'm literally just here for weed and drinks." I posted it up for witnesses and evidence. Then I got him to buy some beers and we walked and talked. He kept trying to touch me, calling me baby, "I love you." He was fully expecting to have sex with me that night. I told him nah, I'm expensive.
Then he told me to wait on bench while he went and talked to some people who were having a little outdoor shindig with music. Ofc I got bored waiting and went to join them. Some white guy was like "They're a gang, you can dance but don't ask about drugs." Perhaps I'm incredibly naive, but this still doesn't make sense to me. Then I realised I recognised one of the people there, she hugged me and gave me a roll-up when I asked. So I smoked, danced a little and then the nicotine made me have to sit down. I'm glad I'm not addicted, but damn, nicotine hits when you don't have a tolerance to it.
I should've stayed with the party, it would've been more fun - and safe - but budbud moved me on. And I went with him, for some reason, even though that weed was looking less and less likely to appear.
I asked him to buy me water, so he sent me to the shop. Told me to choose alcohol too. So I got the strong stuff. Yeah, probably at this point he could sense I was getting to a level were I'd be easier to take advantage of. When we left the shop, I poured a little into my water. He tried to get me to pour more in, I said No, I need to be hydrated.
Then he was starting to really try it. We were on a main road, but not the high-street, and the sun just starting to come up. Very few people around.
He kept saying he had weed inside his place and I kept saying No, I'm not going in some strange man's house. And he gave me £20 to give him head, and tried to get me to follow him to some corner. Ofc if I were smart, I would've bolted for the nearest bus just then.
But I just stood at the pavement, watching him. He realised that wasn't going to work, and came back. He demanded his money back, I gave it to him. I don't know what I was thinking, and in retrospect he was leading me around to disorient me, probably. We found another corner. He gave me the £20 again and I told him, again, that I wasn't going to give him head. But I did kiss him. Like, I actually put effort into making the kiss sensual.
That was my second mistake; cheap guys will act like they're happy just to have a kiss or a grope for their paltry offerings, but then get mad at you for being a tease. But far as I was concerned, I'd earned that £20 and he didn't even get me any weed, so I was off home. He got angry, demanding I give the money back, and I refused. So he punched me in the face.
Hah! Fool. I was too drunk and benzoed out to register any meaningful amount of pain.
I screamed, and walked along the main road to the nearest shop, yelling at him to leave me alone, and he was yelling at me how he'd bought me alcohol, and to give him back the money.
I walked into the shop, hoping he wasn't friends with anyone in there. The men were annoyed I'd brought them into this, as they passed by me carrying stock into the shop, telling me I had to leave. By now the fear was setting in enough for me to sob a little, put my hand to my injured cheek - in retrospect, it was probably the least bad assaultive punch I've ever received, in a lot of ways, as it was on the fattiest part of my cheek, but my teeth did feel a bit crunchy after - and say shit like "can someone walk me to a bus stop?"
Eventually it seemed safe to leave. As I looked back, I noticed the three men were standing around Mr Punch. I don't know what they were saying, but they all seemed pissed. Who knows what they were pissed about, exactly. What aspect of his, or of our, actions were they condemning? Him getting me drunk and assaulting me, or for not being successful? I get the impression that, had I gone into that shop without any angry man in tow, my clothes in disarray, they would've treated me much the same as they had then, ignoring my requests for help, saying I had to leave.
But, there was a man, a perp for them to focus on this time. The psychology of this interests me. Again, I wish could've stayed to hear exactly what they were saying.
Perhaps it's simply that they were unable/unwilling to show care or tenderness, especially to yet another drunk/drugged woman; but that there was an obvious dickhead at their door, to deal with in the man-to-man manner with which they were accustomed.
I tried to figure out a bus route, and did wait at a stop. But then I walked. Maybe partly out of fear of staying still. But also knowing that home was close enough, and why devalue my suffering by £1.55? I did turn to watch my back a few times. (Anyways, so much for saving £1.55 when I had to buy ointment for my inconveniently placed thrush rash.)
I also had a couple of bruises, one one each thigh. I'm not sure how. Did he kick me and I blocked it out? I don't think I fell. I could've though.
So yeah, I need to calm down with this kind of behaviour. But also... Eh, nothing that bad has happened yet? I've had worse done to me and didn't even get money out of it.