After dinner, I couldn't bear to linger any longer. I got up abruptly, the clatter of utensils fading behind me, and retreated to my room, the echoes of conversation turning into a dull roar. The weight of the evening's events crashed down on me like a tidal wave, each memory more painful than the last. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I replayed the horror of what had just transpired, feeling utterly broken and isolated in my turmoil.
I sank down onto my bed, burying my face in my hands as sobs wracked my body. I had never felt so alone, so betrayed. Just when I thought I could gather myself, a soft creak pierced the silence. My heart raced as I turned to see the door slowly swing open. It was him—the devil in human form, the source of my anguish. He stepped inside, an unsettling smile curling on his lips as he approached.
"Please, just leave me alone!" I shouted, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury. "If you don't, I swear I'll scream at the top of my lungs!"
Instead of retreating, he climbed onto the bed, invading my space with an arrogance that made my skin crawl. "I came to apologize for what I did," he said, his voice dripping with insincerity. I stared at him in disbelief, the audacity of his claim leaving me momentarily speechless. "Apologize? You think an apology can undo what you've done? I can never forgive you for this! You've left a wound that will never heal, a memory that will haunt me forever. Just get out before I do something I'll regret!"
My heart pounded in my chest, and I felt raw anger bubbling to the surface. But he didn't flinch; instead, he leaned closer, a wicked glint in his eyes. "This is what I love about you the most—you always act tough in every hard situation." My anger flared, and I opened my mouth to retort, but before I could form the words, he pressed his lips against mine. Panic surged through me as I instinctively tried to push him away, but he quickly overpowered me, pinning me down with his full weight.
"Stop!" I cried out, the muffled sound barely escaping my lips as he shoved a handkerchief into my mouth, stifling my screams. "I came prepared," he whispered, a twisted grin spreading across his face. My hands were pinned behind me, completely helpless against his strength. In a swift, brutal motion, he yanked down my shorts, and with a cruel flick of his foot, removed my underwear. I felt a wave of despair wash over me as he forced himself into me, and I groaned in pain, tears streaming down my cheeks as I realized the depth of my helplessness.
I couldn't endure it any longer; the pain was unbearable. Blackness engulfed me as I passed out, my body unable to bear the torment. When I regained consciousness, I was alone, my body aching all over. It took me several agonizing minutes to muster the strength to drag myself to the bathroom. Each movement sent jolts of pain through me, and using the toilet felt like a punishment. I groaned, tears of frustration mixing with my discomfort, and bathing was a nearly insurmountable challenge.
After I finally dressed, I was about to leave my room when a knock echoed from the door, sending a jolt of fear through me. My heart raced at the thought of it being him again. I opened the door slowly, peering through the crack, and my fears were confirmed—it was indeed him, standing there with a tray in his hands. I blocked the doorway, my body tense with anxiety. "What do you want? Are you here to continue what you did last night?"
He smirked, an unsettling glint in his eyes. "I wish, but what's the pleasure if I can't see you beg me to stop?" His words ignited a wave of irritation within me, and I fought the urge to hurl the tray at him. But I couldn't bring myself to act on that impulse. Instead, he pushed past me, waltzing into the room like he owned the place. He placed the food on my desk, along with some pills he had concealed under his shirt. "Take these," he instructed, his voice lacking any empathy. "And remember how to use them."
With that, he turned and left, leaving me in a whirlwind of confusion and anger. I stood frozen in the doorway, my mind racing. How could he act so nonchalantly after what had happened? Did he truly believe he could just waltz back into my life as if nothing had occurred?
As I turned back to my room, I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. I glanced at the tray he had left behind, the food seeming unappetizing and cold. The pills were a stark reminder of my predicament, a cruel twist in this nightmare. I sat on the edge of my bed, my heart heavy with despair, grappling with the reality of my situation.
The tears began to flow again, and I allowed myself a moment to grieve—not just for what had happened, but for the loss of my sense of safety, my trust in others. I resolved then and there that I would not let him take any more from me. The battle wasn't over; I would fight back, not just for myself but for anyone who had ever felt powerless.