• I’m so afraid; terrified that he’ll find me. Every time it’s dark I think he’s there behind me; waiting for me to turn around so he can laugh at my screams. Every place I go it’s like I can feel him watching me. He takes his sick pleasure every time I jump at the loud noises, loving that he’s caused this fear. Bile rises in my throat when I think about what he’s done to me. I hear his voice, calling me, mocking me, telling me I’m his dog. I can smell him; I feel him behind me, his hands around my neck squeezing till I can’t breathe. “Do you like that?” he asks, but he doesn’t let me utter a sound. He’ll bite me, hard enough to bruise, to hurt, to make me want to scream, but never enough to bleed. As he brings his head around to my cheek, I’ll whimper trying to tell him to let me go. He’ll chuckle softly. “I know you like it, my little slut.”
    My eyes snap open as I lay in a cold sweat breathing harshly after the familiar nightmare. “He can’t hurt me” I try to say to myself. “I’m safe” but I know that it’s all lies. He knows where I live. He knows how to get in and how to hurt me again. It’s only a matter of time till he gets bored.
    I know that’s what I am to him; his pastime, his pet, his dog, his slut. I cry silently wishing it all away. Wishing I could tell someone, one person, who would hold me and tell me I was safe because they would protect me. But I had no one. He made sure of that. That I could tell no one. Because then, what he’d done to me, would look like child’s play. Nothing.
    I shudder at that thought and try to go back to sleep.
    As I drift off I feel his hands on me again. “Hello, my little dog.”
    And the nightmare begins again.