“Go ahead.” My voice sounds weird. He’s not really forcing me; he’s just forcing my body. My body’s trying to escape, but I want him, I really do. He knows that. We wrestle. He dodges my punches and kicks; finally he pins my legs with his legs and shoves my arms out of his way. Now he can get to me, with his mouth, with the one hand that isn’t holding me down. I’m frantic, and he’s not making it any better. It takes all his strength and his dancer’s agility, but finally, he does what needs to be done. Relief. It’s over.

I know sex is possible, but I can’t imagine it giving pleasure. Not to me. Not with my body the way it really is.

I stare up at the blackness around the rafters and try to come up with a new fantasy. What if it’s not a normal guy? Maybe a CP guy. A CP guy could love me just the way I am. A spaz attack wouldn’t bother him. Together, we could figure everything out. But where would we live? Who would feed and dress us? Even in fantasy, two CPs can’t make enough money to have live-in help.

What about someone like Willie? A hideous guy might see beauty in a strong, muscular girl. After all, what’s wrong with muscles? Who decided all women have to be soft? He can help me. He’s already fed me—a hot dog—quite capably. He’s a very good guy, and going to college. We could laugh together. He’s patient. With him I could relax.

But I’m not ready for that idea.

Willie belongs with someone like Sara, if only she’d have him. He should be with a rebel, someone who doesn’t give a rip what people think. For me, marrying someone like Willie would mean giving up the treasured place I’ve won in the normal world. I’ve never had a boyfriend, but I love going out with my crowd. Whenever we pile into a car to go to the movies or get burgers, I’m proud to be with a group of healthy, good-looking people. I feel like somebody. Maybe that’s petty and vain, maybe I’m kidding myself, but I’m not ready to give it up. I’m not ready to join the leper colony. I’m not ready to be half of a couple who turns people’s stomachs.

Over and over again, I try to rein in my thoughts and go to sleep, but thoughts rush like an emotional spaz attack. Somehow, I have to get control; I have no other choice.

No one can help me.