My Never Ending Nightmare

Safety and comfort, the feeling of the cool cotton duvet on my freshly shaven legs,

The protecting weight of blankets covering my freckled body,

And a damp circle where a kiss was placed on my forehead, goodbye and goodnight.

In the rooms next door my friends were soundly sleeping, checkout time will be here soon,

My alcohol soaked taste-buds yearned for the Waffle House All-Star breakfast in the morning.

I was drifting into the sanctum of sleep, when a shadow moved across the wall, and the brightness cast a shadow.

Was it the beginning of a dream? A nightmare? Maybe. I sunk back into the darkness, safety.

The weight of a body, pressed against mine. My freckled skin shivered against the warmth,

Drip. Drip. Drip. The shadow stained my face with grainy damp circles, 

I only half remember alcohol drenched lips and penetrating blows.

I dreamt I could reach one of our friends just behind the walls my arms called to them silently,

As I was left to drifting back into the sanctum of sleep,

Unsure of reality, and hoping for a pleasant dream.

My eyes guardedly quiver open in disbelief, my freshly shaven legs still shivering,

I feel each wrinkle in the sheets that I have grasped in my desperate palms.

The two thumps on the door made my blood run cold; could it be him? No. Please, no.

I roll to the side where the kiss was placed on my forehead, where safety and comfort lingered, 

She walked in and sat innocently, criss cross applesauce at the edge of the bed, and asked me,

“How was your night?”

I spit out the words, but my tequila soaked breath deafened her ears to the truth I spoke,

The silence echoes, her laugh mocks me

She tells me what happened the night before, she tells me we went to bed together

My story became her story, and her minty breath was all I could hear

The truth became whatever she told me. She would know, right? She was asleep nextdoor.

Her story became everyone’s; “they went to bed together”

The stares perforated my mind, the whispers ached my core

The soft, crooked smile he cracked at me across the hall caused a surge of adrenaline 

The dread of which was all too familiar

I bolt to the pure, clean bed I had left to convince myself it was just a nightmare

It was much easier to accept, that part of me wasn’t robbed.

I will always be different.

I am no longer able to drift into sleep without checking the room for shadows

The overwhelming need for independence and control consume me

The deadbolt of oversized clothing covering my freckled body

The damp circle where kisses were placed on my forehead is no longer desired

And my forever sober taste-buds yearn for safety and comfort in the mornings.

Maybe I won’t be different when my story becomes the story.