I wasn't safe. I was never safe. When I fell asleep, I never knew if I'd wake up in the same place, if I'd be alone or if there would be others with me. In my bed. In another bed. A warehouse. Basement. There could be one or twenty. Old, young, mostly men but there'd been a couple women. Women, like the one who was holding down my wrists while her husband was pumping away inside me, tearing me apart.

They wanted me to scream and fight, and I did what they wanted. I'd heard my mother negotiating with them before they'd come into my room. I'd been pretending to sleep, hoping and praying that this time, it was just a nightmare. That I hadn't heard my mother telling them it would cost extra if they left marks. That I hadn't heard in her voice that she wanted them to agree to pay more, no matter what it did to me.

They'd agreed and my breasts ached with the bite marks they'd left, but they were nothing compared to what else they were doing. Once he was done, they turned me over and it was her turn. My throat was raw from screaming by the time she was done and he was hard again.

They took turns for hours and when they left, my mom took a belt to me for ruining the sheets. I begged her not to throw away my blanket, the only consistent thing I'd ever had. It had never protected me from the horrors of my childhood, but it had always been there to bring a tiny bit of comfort. I didn't care that it was a mess. She burned it in front of me and laughed when I started coughing and choking from the smoke.

I stayed home from school three days after that one. Mom even left me alone. Or she forgot about me. When I crawled out of bed after two days without eating or drinking, she was passed out on the couch. It was a very real possibility that she’s forgotten about me. She hadn't been giving me time to heal.

When I got home from school after my first day back, the man Mom called Uncle Ronny was waiting. He had another baby doll dress for me. Mom said I should be thankful that I wasn't developing young because once I started getting real boobs, Uncle Ronny wouldn't want me anymore.

I prayed every day that I'd start growing like the other twelve year-olds in my class. Until it happened, I would have to do all of the disgusting, humiliating things Uncle Ronny made me do, things that left me retching and crying... all after he'd left of course. I'd learned the hard way what happened if I threw up when Uncle Ronny was still here.

The memory bled into another, then another.

Fingers, then hands, inside me.

A thick shaft shoved between my lips, choking me.

Hard objects being shoved into me, bottles and sticks, whatever happened to be lying around.

Hands around my throat as I tried to scream.

Gasping for air.

No air.

I was dying...

I fought my way awake, pushing at the darkness, at the past. I felt my heart pounding in my chest, blood rushing in my ears.

I reminded myself that I hadn't died the time my mother had tried to choke me. She'd left my throat bruised and swollen for days, but I'd lived. I'd survived that and more. I clung to that truth as I tried to wake myself up.

I heard someone screaming and knew it was me, but I couldn't stop myself. I was aware that I was dreaming, that the things happening in my head were a mix of memories and the dark imaginings of a mind twisted by the past.

Uncle Ronny had been real enough, but only half of the things in the nightmare had been his particular fetishes. There had been a nameless man in a mask who'd liked the other things. He'd been the one who'd punished me for throwing up.

I kept trying to talk myself out of that space between sleep and waking; the place I sometimes hated worse than the nightmare because I knew it was up to me to get myself out of there and I often doubted my ability to do so. The more I doubted, the longer I stayed.

I was sure this time would be bad, that I'd be stuck in this state for what would feel like years. Then, I heard it.

“Jenna, shh. I'm here.”

That voice.

The voice that broke through my panic before.

“Wake up.”

There were strong arms around me. Arms I recognized. Ones that protected and strengthened rather than hurt and restrained.

“It's okay, Jenna. I'm here.”

The screaming stopped.

Lips pressed against the top of my head.

Soothing noises filled my ears, repeated words being murmured, mixed with nonsense sounds.

Little by little, I felt my muscles begin to unclench and other sensations started to come through.

A gentle rocking motion.

The steady thumping of a heart.

The scent of him, fresh and clean, as if he'd taken a shower before he'd gone to sleep.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay here with you until morning.”

I wanted to tell him he didn't need to do that. He needed his sleep because he had to work tomorrow. I had to work tomorrow, but I wasn't as important. If I fell back asleep, I could have another nightmare. I could get violent. More than once, I'd woken up after a nightmare to find scratches on my arms, or even bruised knuckles. I'd cracked a knuckle once putting a hole in the drywall. I didn't want to hurt him. Especially since I'd given him a black eye the first time we'd met.

The memory made me smile and I heard him sigh in relief.

“That's right. Good dreams now. Go to sleep and I'll be here.” His arms tightened around me for a moment, then loosened.

I pressed myself closer to him, not wanting him to let me go.

“Shh.” He shifted, cradling me against his chest. “I've got you.”

He said he'd stay. He'd respected every decision I'd made about the physical contact between us. He'd never lied to me or gone back on his word. Everything I knew to be true said I could trust him. Even my heart was daring to hope. It was only my instincts that still wanted to push back.

I was exhausted physically, mentally, emotionally. My defenses were down and I couldn't fight anymore. And, if I was honest with myself, I didn't want to fight. I was tired of fighting. When I woke up tomorrow, I'd probably be back to my normal self, pushing people away and keeping up the walls I'd built over the years.

For tonight, however, I would sleep.