There’s a version of the story where you did it all right.
You went home alone
You went home unalone
You feared the right things, said the right words,
Let salt pass from your lips, kept your anger to a simmer
You spoke no evil. [You spoke no evil.][You spoke no evil]
You let them turn you wet, turn you like clay,
Someone comes home to find you asleep on the bed. Belly to pillow, your own hands in your own hair. It’s too early, maybe you’re supposed to be there, and maybe you’re not. We never established that. Maybe in this story you’re goldilocks. The bed you’re in is a thief’s bed, your hands thief hands, your full belly the belly of a thief. You’ve had more stolen from you than you’ve taken but you still know what happens to girls like you who try to take what isn’t theirs.
If you’re goldilocks, you’re three breaths away from the last time you’ll ever wake in a den of bears. You don’t know who’s come home yet. You’re unwary. Unafraid. [Still sleeping.][In fact, you're dreaming]. Whoever came home, they’re crossing the floor to your bed now. Let’s say that they pulled the covers over you. Let’s say that they turned off the lights. Let’s say that. Let’s say that now they’re shutting the door.