There was this tall, big man who went into the same restroom with me. He had this unusual look, a bit of Asian mix I would say, but tall and white-skinned, or more like pale. He observed me at the urinals, unzipped his pants and did his deed. Upon seeing me going out, he rushed out and stood between me and the door, challenging look on his eyes, like that of a bullfighter. But I’m no bull. I was just trying to get out. His face gradually turned into a quirky smile and that’s when I knew things were not going good. I was going to be raped.
The last thing I remembered was my arm got stuck at the door as he was trying to close it. I couldn’t move as he got me from behind. My mouth was dry. There was no strength left inside my body. This was it. I thought about my dad the moment I gave up the fight.
Dreams usually come and go. That’s why I used to have a journal to write down those dreams I’ve had when the memories were still fresh. Sometimes all I could do was to reach for the phone and pressed recording, said a few words and then fell asleep again. But the one last night didn’t need all of that.
My dad was the one who woke me up. He asked why I screamed his name a lot. I pretended nothing ever happened and then went to sleep again. It was good sleeping in the same house with him. We had troubles communicating but still, I felt safe when he was around.