I cannot relax in my own basement alone. My basement is decorated exactly to my style and filled with all of my beautiful books and collections, but that’s where everything happened to me.
My basement holds a memory stained with fear that no amount of cleaner can remove.
I was out on the dock
Of the lake one night.
I thought I was alone
But you just weren't in my sight.
With your hand around my neck
You swiftly struck out my light.
Then you tied the rope
To the cinder block so tight.
And you pushed me over the edge
Without me giving you a fight.
And I sank.
And I drowned.
And I lost all hope...
But then the rope...
It fucking broke.
I fought to the surface
Pain increasing with every stroke.
Leaving behind all the hopelessness
That you had evoked.
I reached the cool air
Now gasping as I choked.
I knew I had made it
Finally free from you and that rope.
So then my dear...
Then I fucking awoke.
I fell asleep. I felt safe.
I was drinking. Fell asleep. On my couch. In my home. My husband went to bed. You were there. My husband’s coworker. Fucking watching. Fucking waiting.
I woke up. My pants pushed down. You were behind me. One arm around my neck. One arm around my chest. You were inside me. Thrusting. Sweating. Cussing.
Paralyzed in fear and pain. I knew what was wrong. I knew I should shout, scream, cry for help. But there was fear. And then it was over. You finished yourself off into me. Like a dirty rag. A tear rolled down my face.
Shock. Disbelief. I trusted you.
I was bleeding. I was hurting. I felt disgusting. I had become another statistic. You said it was fine. But it wasn’t fine.
For six months. I lived in silence. In fear. In guilt and embarrassment. Then I told you off. You told me you thought I wanted it. You told me you didn’t remember doing it. You said “sorry”.
You fucking lying bastard.
So I cut you out of my life. I picked up the pieces. I moved on. I learned. I grew. I became stronger. I spoke up. Now it’s been a year.
And I’m still fucking here.