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Tossing the shoes out, I reach toward the back of the closet to grab some files. Suddenly, I feel a hand on my ass, and it pushes me forward into the closet. Panic climbs my spine up into my brain where it takes root as full-fledged fear.
My face is hurting from being pressed against the back wall, making it pitch black inside. Feeling like I might throw up, my stomach lurches even more when I feel a hand run beneath my dress and over my crotch a couple of times.
Tears silently fall down my cheeks as I wonder if I’m about to be raped. The person leans close to my ear and says in an imperceptible whisper, “This is just the beginning, beautiful. Take care.”
I don’t move for several minutes, until I hear the closing of my front door.
And he is gone. I roll over onto my ass, pulling my knees close to my chest and cry uncontrollably. I don’t know what this person wants from me, but he is putting the fear of God into me.
Not thinking rationally, I will myself to settle down, and I leave for work. When I get there, my make-up is streaked down my face and I have no shoes on.
I look up as I enter the office and see David. He smiles at first, but quickly frowns, seeing me in such disarray. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Now sobbing because I have to repeat the ugly thing to David, I look at him, as I wipe my eyes. “I set out for a walk this morning, and as I did so, I had the feeling that someone was following me. Then I waved it off as paranoia.”
David’s eye’s fill with fear as he anticipates what I’m about to say. “After a shower, I got dressed and went to get my shoes and papers from the back of my closet, when someone pushed me against the wall so that I couldn’t move or see.”
“Oh God! Don’t tell they raped you.”
I shake my head and say, “No, but they were definitely having fun stroking my crotch.” I lean into him as his eyes take on an angry tone. He reaches for the phone, asking reception to send some police.
* * *
When they show up,they take notes on my story and ask for any surveillance footage.
“We don’t really have any security cameras and I know she doesn’t have them at her house,” David tells them.
“Nothing was taken, but then again, I didn’t bother to check while I was fleeing,” I say.
Cop number one asks, “Is there any way you have any evidence?”
I shake my head no and cross my arms over my chest. “This bullshit took place in my home, about two miles from here. I was scared so I came to work and told David.”
“We’ll take a look around once we get there,” cop number two says. “Are you able to go with us and show us what took place?”
I look up at David as my heartbeat quickens. I could feel the icy fingers of fear gripping my mind in a relentless assault, choking me. Tears well up in my eyes. His face holds no judgment, only an empathetic face. “Do you want me to come with you?”
All choked up, I couldn’t say the word ‘yes’ to answer David, but I nodded.
“It’s alright if I come along for emotional support, right?” he asks the cop.
“Certainly,” he replies.
Once we get to my place, I’m frozen in fear. David coaxes me inside, his arm around my waist to steady me. Looking around and seeing my trail as I ran from the house earlier, scares me even more.
I show the police the closet and the strewn papers, another cop comes in and says that the back door had been jimmied open.
“Anything?” David asks impatiently.
“I’m sorry, but this doesn’t really amount to anything and I can’t make a charge stick without proof,” he replies.
“Even if I know who it is?”
“I can’t arrest a person based on your word, miss,” he says, taking down notes and signaling for them to wrap it up.
Standing there while David escorts the police out, my fear turns into anger. How is it I can be violated in my home and have to prove it?
They want proof, I’ll get them their damned proof!
