"Alone With Fear"
(Anonymous)

"You'd better not tell nobody or we'd both be in trouble. I know you enjoy it though." I hear his rough voice rasping, grating on my raw nerves. Terror creeps into my veins like ice. I pray for the numbness to come and envelope me so I won't feel what happens next. He tries to put his hand on my leg again, while I try to shift the other way, to curl myself into a ball of nothingness in the corner. I think that if I only want to badly enough, I can become invisible and he can't hurt me anymore. He follows me into my sanctity, invading my safe haven, and taking my space for granted.

I can smell the stench of his body. The scent doesn't come from his breath or from his cologne or from any other artificial means. For a moment I fancy that it comes from all the evil things fermenting inside of his soul. The bile rises into my throat, threatening to choke me. I am gasping for breath and I hope for a moment that I will choke. I try to block the odious thought from my mind. I pretend to fly away. I wonder if he has done these unspeakable things to anyone before. I decide against the thought. I know it is my fault. I must have done something to provoke him.

I can hear my grandmother coughing in the next room, oblivious to my terror. I can imagine her sitting there thinking he is helping me with the chores. I see her smiling and proud of the demon manifested in front of me. I wonder how he can make people think of him as human when I know the truth about him. I think of my grandmother's trembling, rubber legs. Since her stroke last year, she hasn't been able to get about as well as she once did. She always protected me before, but now I am alone. There is no one who can save me.

I notice he has placed me into hiding behind the wall, so that his shame hides with him. As his arms snake around my body, pawing at my adolescent chest, I struggle harder. He finds this funny. He seems to think it is all a game; that I am just playing with him. Finally I scream out and she hears me. "Are you alright?" she asks, the concern falling heavily from her voice.

I want to scream no and beg her to help me. I want to be a child, weak, finding comfort in her ancient loving arms. I think of her feeble state. Her mind is as weak as her body and the news of her beloved son's betrayal would have murderous consequences. "Yes, grandmother, I only dropped a glass. Everything is okay."

He thinks that she might come to check on me anyway, so abruptly, he releases me from my detestable prison, arms dropping to his side. He smiles at me, smug in his knowledge that I won't tell anyone. After all, I never told before, why would I start now? He exits through the back way, the screen door, my only witness to what just happened, screeching protests to his posterior; a million reproaches about what he has tried to do. I honestly wonder if he thinks anything wrong happened. I hug myself close and cry, seeking solace where there is none.

If only I hadn't said hello to him this morning, I wouldn't have drawn his attention. I should have kept my eyes on the ground, my gaze on the worn tennis shoes I use when I do the chores. I never should have encouraged his advances by walking in front of him as I did the sweeping. I should have known better. I am a slut and after all, it is my fault or I wouldn't be the one to get in trouble if anyone found out.

I dry my tears and collect my shattered soul and what is left of my self-esteem. I take the egg pail and exit through the same door that shunned him only seconds before. I don't want her to see my face or she would know something is wrong. It will be getting dark soon so I have to hurry. I never know anymore what dangers might be lurking in the shadows. Still, I walk slowly to gather the eggs, all the while reminding myself that I have to be strong for Grandmother. Someone has to take care of her like she always did for me. I have to pretend everything is all right.

I will be eighteen in a couple of years and then, I tell myself, I will be able to break free from him. He wouldn't dare touch me when I am an adult. I try so hard to convince myself.

I keep pretending everything is all right. I know everything will be okay, if only I try hard enough. I know he will come back tomorrow, maybe while I am sleeping again, or while I am washing dishes. He may be waiting for me when I go to gather the firewood. The not knowing is the worst part of his control. I could handle it if only I knew which part of my day to avoid. As I think about him, my soul crumbles, but my resolve to fight remains strong.