His piercing, blood shot eyes were hidden behind dark shades, yet the sneaky smile plastered on his face revealed his lustful desires – exposed, uninhibited.

It’s 3 am.

I’m sitting in the chair, my mind racing at unimaginable speeds, as I stare, wide-eyed, at his 6’5, 200+ pound frame sprawled across my bed.

You see, what started as a friendly gesture to give a friend a lift, turned into a disgusting twist of intimidation and fear as he crossed the line of friendship. Before I could open the car door, he grabs my room key and insists on seeing me “safely” inside.
Blinded by naivety, I laugh, thank him for the kind gesture and stand by the open door, welcoming his exit.

He doesn’t leave.

Instead, he proceeds to pick me up with both hands and throw me on my bed.

The door slams shut. I’m terrified, vulnerable…

I quickly roll off the bed and grab my phone to call someone but to no avail.

He threatens, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

So I sit. Calculating my next move as I watch him quietly devise his plan. This guy, who disguised himself as a friend, has turned into my worst enemy in a matter of minutes. He stretches across my bed and just stares, waiting for me to surrender and give him exactly what he came for. Will I be a victim? Did my short dress and exposed legs extend his invitation to come inside?

An hour passes.

He refuses to leave. He’s holding me hostage, restraining me with his words. He dares me to try and contact someone as he posts his large body closer to the door, blocking my exit. I start to wonder how many girls there were before me. How many times he’d succeeded.

Then I stand, refusing to be another notch in his belt. He jumps up and comes toward me, cornering me against the wall, towering over my small, 120-pound frame. I push back, fighting for my dignity. My future. My freedom.

After he shoves me back with one hand, I take off for the door, running up the stairs to the top floor of my dorm where I hide in an empty study room. Shaking and sobbing, I wait, expecting him to come after me and anticipating the outcome.

It’s 5 am.

The sun begins to rise and penetrate the darkness of my night. Time has passed and my phone rings. He realizes I’m not coming back so he decides to leave.

He tells me to come outside to retrieve my keys, only to find them dangling outside of his car window with the same sneaky grin across his face. The games have not ceased. I snatch my keys and run to the safety of my room — the same place that was disguised as my prison only hours before.

The sun has risen.

I lay there contemplating the occurrences of the night and replaying them over and over in my head. Wondering, how did I allow that to happen? Blaming myself for being too trusting and unsuspecting.

I couldn’t help but think, if only I had taken the bus.

Latoya

model / isabeli fontana