[Chayden]

He started out as a nightmare quite a few years ago. I didn't know that it was rape then, though. Jorianna and I didn't even know what sex was, either. Even though we talked about it all the time... We had no fucking idea what we were going on about.

[Chayden]

You see, we lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the second story of a bike ship in Beverly. The one thing I've never told anybody about are the rape nightmares. I don't remember where the dream would start, but it would always end the same way.
The man looks kind of like the caveman from the Geico commercials, funnily enough. He looks even more like that fucking cartoon Gundarr.

[Chayden]

I never got a good look at his face. He's probably what started my hate of Mexicans, though. It's the suspicion... The sick fucking anticipation. I want them all to come after me, somewhere in a buried part of my subconscious.

[Chayden]

I'd race up the stairs, slam the door to the apartment, and scuttle across the floor, trying to get the adults' attention. I'd shut the door that separated the apartment doors from the stairs, too, because it never worked. No matter how many of them there were, the adults would always just sit on the couch. For some reason, I could never lock the door or get any help. No 9-1-1.

[Chayden]

No nothing. I'd always try to lock the door. I'd throw my tiny little body against it... That's sometimes how he would catch me. I shudder to think about it, his arms and the cold-warm mutedness that was always coating the entire dream...

[Chayden]

I'd pile things against the door and push on it to keep him out, but he'd always force his way in.
Sometimes I would cry; sometimes he would yell. I know now that he was always raging drunk. And I've never managed to keep him out of my house.
I've locked the doors countless times because of him...

[Chayden]

I've developed fucking disorders. Obsessive-compulsive. Because of a dream. Because of a fear that my parents instilled in me as a child... One that I couldn't push away.

[Chayden]

Years of fucking worrying. Years of crying. Years of being fucking neurotic... Of being a fucking freak. Because, somehow, I never got over that one fucking dream, and it tore and my fucking sanity until it was shredded and I was fucking ostracized.

[Chayden]

Every single time, he'd push open the door and chase me. Down the hall, into my room. He'd grab at my ankles as I tried to get away... But I couldn't feel it. Everything sort of sounded muted.

[Chayden]

I was terrified. The only thing that I could always hear clearly was my breathing and my racing heartbeat. It was thick - too thick - because of the terror that it pushed through my veins.
If the adults were watching TV, the sound would dull as soon as he entered the room.
The world was fucking centered around him; he was the one who held all the power, all the cards.

[Chayden]

He didn't wear a shirt. His tanned, sweat-shined skin was left bare for all to see. He wore only dark grey shorts and shoes. Running shoes, sneakers. And his socks were the ribbed white kind that always felt disgusting - too dry - against my skin, in wakefulness and in sleep.

[Chayden]

He'd come after me angrily, shut the bedroom door, and smile. I don't know why I could see his smile when his face was always hidden otherwise, but I could. He loomed over me as I dashed up onto the lower bunk where my parents slept. It would smell like them still... But he'd hold himself over me, grinning that fucking satisfied, monstrous grin, blocking out the light.
Giving himself a fucking halo.

[Chayden]

That's why I'd always cry when they'd try to shut my bedroom door.

I'd be on the floor, trying to scoot away from him. Then he'd pounce on me. Pin me to the ground by my shoulders. I'd only realize that I was naked at that point.

[Chayden]

It's also when I would wake up, every time.
I'm not afraid of my nightmares any more. In fact, I ask for them, sometimes... Nightmares are better than the darkness I usually get. That's the most frightening thing of all.

[Chayden]

You know I'd be lying if I said things were bad after that. In fact, I always wished that some tragedy or other would make my life "interesting". Can you believe it? I actually wanted my life to be fucked up. If I could go back, I'd change so many things.