I open my eyes to nothing.
I do not see anything because my face is against my pillow.
But I do feel something.
Hands, hands exploring my body like I'm some kind of unique jungle.
Hands exploring me like I'm some sort of animal in a petting zoo.
I don't try to look up or alarm him I have awoken.
I feel a single tear roll down my face praying to God the evil hands do not get any worse.
In my mind I scream for someone to rescue me.
But no one comes.
I want to look up to see who these evil hands belong to but the more the hands travel the harder I shut my eyes in fear.
The next day comes.
I am in tears from sun up to sun down.
I finally have the courage to tell someone, my mother.
A few days pass, nothing has been done.
All because I couldn't 'have the balls' to just open my eyes.
My mother says to me "Maybe it was all just a dream".
How dare my own mother accuse an assault as a figment of my imagination.
I remember the evil hands unclassping my bra
Mommy how could anyone make this up?
When I tell people my story they give me a look like they just stepped foot into an asylum.
Those looks made me feel psychotic.
Two years later pass, I'm now 16 years old.
Laying in bed having a panic attack reminding myself that those evil hands that violated my body are possibly still out there.
If I just would have opened my eyes.