Something In The Night

I'm lying in my bed, but I'm looking at myself. Like I'm stuck in the corner, and my body is just there. It's dark in my room, there are clothes littered on the floor, and the desk that I have now, that sits across from my bed, isn't there. The foot of my bed reaches the door-frame, but my door is closed. I have my nightstand, and my TV stand, which is also my drawer. My closet is closed, and I linger in the corner next to it.

I can't tell what my clock reads, but it's sometime in the morning, way before dawn, or any sunlight that would ease the goosebumps I can feel on my body. It's strange, how I can feel this, but I'm not in my own body. Then there's a man, who enters through my window. I don't know how he got in, I usually lock it.

He walkes calmly over to my bed, the street-light outside of my house shines some light into my room, and he walks into it. His face seems familiar, but vague and obscur at the same time. He sits on the foot of my bed, and puts his hand on my leg.

"Take off your clothes." He whispers, his voice strict, but not aggressive. He sounds familiar too, like someone I know, but I just can't put my finger on it. "Take off your clothes." He repeats himself, this time more maliciously.

I try to scream, but suddenly he's on top of me, kissing my lips, my cheek, chin, neck. He tugs down my shorts and underwear, moving his lips slowly down my body. I'm not sleeping with a shirt or bra on, which I normally do. He grips my wrists and pulls them down to my side, to where I cannot move at all. My legs are apart, and I feel some warmth, his tongue moving slowly down my abdomen, lower, and lower.

I'm able to get my left hand free from his, and try to reach over my motionless body to my cell phone sitting on my nightstand, but he catches my hand, and with the flick of his wrist, he brakes mine. I try to scream again, but no words escape, I'm left helpless.

Fingers in inapropriate places, I rock my body from side to side. It doesn't even phase him. I try to sit up, but his free hand pushes my back down on the bed. I start sobbing. I can feel it, the pain, and nothing but. I try to yell for my mother, but my mouth won't open.

He sits up, pulling my wrists and abdomen up-right. If he is going to rape me, why doesn't he just do it already? He pulls of his pants and shirt, unbottons his boxers. I squirm, and try to bite his arms. When I open my mouth to scream again, he intertwines his fingers with my hair and forces my head down.

"If you bite down, I'll brake your neck." He smiles, I can see it from where I am in the corner. It's an arrogant smirk. He's bluffing, but my body doesn't bite anyway. I don't move, his arm does, up and down, my salty tears mixing with my saliva. He talks to me like I'm an adult, like he does this to me every night. It scares me.

He pulls me off, pushes me down on the bed. He grips my sides and climbs on top of me, starts kissing me. His hands move to the inside of my thighs, squeezing tight, tighter, it burns. And he's inside of me, but he makes no noises. Silent. I'm the one drowing in my own screams, sobs, squirming. I feel it. I feel him inside of me. I don't know how long it's been. It's still sometime in the morning, my clock has stayed the same vague, unreadable number throughout the night.

He finishes, gets up. He pulls my underwear and shorts onto my sweaty body, and dresses himself. There's some form of light outside of my window, shining through. When he pulls up the curtains, handfuls of sunlight are thrown at my face. I blink, one, twice. He's gone. My window is left open. I try to scream. Nothing. I try to move. Nothing. I tell myself to get my cell phone and call the police. Once more, nothing.

I'm trapped, in the corner. I'm the shadow, lingering on the wall. I start to wonder if I'm dead. I haven't moved since he left. I can't call out to myself. I pound on the invisible barrier keeping me from my body. I hear no sounds. Nothing. No crickets. Not even my own sobs. I'm sobbing? I didn't notice I was moving. Too preoccupied with getting out. Trapped. I'm lying in my bed, but I'm looking at myself.