When he came up the stairs, he walked past me as if I didn’t exist. I am still haunted by this memory. He did nothing to acknowledge my presence. This is what I replay, over and over, in my head. That moment could have been a turning point but fate had other plans.
He walked toward the bedroom area as if he was on a mission. I followed him without speaking a word. I smelled alcohol on his breath. I was not afraid of him but curious as to what his purpose was. When I started to speak (or was it only a thought?), he grabbed me. The nightmare was about to begin.
I resisted but I did not fight. A weakness, grown from fear, possessed my body. I spoke, not yelled, words of refusal but he didn’t deviate from his plan. My hair was pulled. Fingers were jammed into my mouth. Worst of all, drool mixed with sweat covered my face and neck (To this day, any wetness, but especially stickiness, will cause my mind to return to that bedroom.) He felt heavy even though he wasn’t a heavy man. I couldn’t breathe.
Mentally, I left the room. I played games with my mind, reminding myself he was someone I knew. This had to be a drunken mistake. He would soon realize what he was doing, apologize and beg for forgiveness. Unfortunately, that never happened.
When he finished destroying me, he got up and left.
I peed. I peed blood. I peed blood for 3 days.