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at my pan ties.
    My mind frantically scrambled over everything I'd ever learned about rapists. Something about power, they needed power, but there were different kinds, some of them needed different things. I couldn't remember. Why couldn't I remember? If I couldn't get him to stop, could I at least get him to wear a condom?
    "Stop! I have a--" His chest pushed my fist into my solar plexus. I gasped out, "A disease. A sexual disease. You'll get sick if you--"
    He tore my pan ties off. I started to buck wildly. He smiled.
    Almost out of breath, I stopped struggling and gulped at the air. I had to think, had to focus, had to find a way--
    His smile began to fade.
    Then I got it. The more I reacted, the more he liked it. I forced my body to stop shaking. I stopped crying. I stopped moving. I thought about planes. It didn't take him long to notice.
    He pressed down so hard with his elbow I thought my arm would break, but I didn't make a sound. He spread my legs wider and tried to force himself into me but he was soft. I noticed there was a mole on his shoulder with a lone hair sticking out.
    He gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw, and grunted out, "Say my name." I didn't. There was no way I was going to call this freak by my father's name. He could control my body, but I wasn't going to let him control my words.
    "Tell me what you feel."
    I continued to stare at him.
    He turned my face to the side. "Don't look at me."
    He tried to force himself inside me again. I thought of that one mole hair. Everything on his body was shaved clean except that one mole. I passed by terror, arrived at hysteria, and started to giggle. He was going to kill me, but I couldn't stop. Giggles became laughter.
    His body froze on top of me. I was still looking away, facing the opposite wall. His free hand shot out and clamped over my mouth. He turned my face back so I was looking at him, my lips mashed into my teeth. He ground his hand down harder. I tasted salt.
    "Bitch!" he screamed, spraying me with spit. Then his face changed again. All life was gone. He leapt off the bed, blew out all the candles, and stalked into the bathroom. Soon I heard the shower.
    I ran to the front door and tried the handle. It was locked. The shower shut off, my heart started to pound again, and I raced back to the bed. With my face turned to the wall, I sucked on my bleeding lip and cried. Tears and blood mingled. The bed sagged as he lay down beside me.
    He sighed. "God, I love this place. It's so quiet--I put in extra insulation. You can't even hear the crickets."
    "Please take me home. I won't tell anyone. I swear. Please ."
    "I have the best dreams here."
    He snuggled up to my side, folded his leg over mine, and held my hands until he fell asleep. I lay there with this naked freak cuddling me and wished the bed would open up and swallow me whole. My arm hurt, my face hurt, my heart hurt. I cried myself to sleep.

    We still have some time left, but I'm finished. And, yes, I remember we're missing next week's session because of Christmas. Just as well--I need a break from this crap. To tell you about it, I have to go back there. Denial is a whole lot easier. Well, at least I can fool myself into thinking it is...for about half a second. Avoiding this shit is like closing a door on a raging river. Little trickles of water start coming through the cracks, and next thing you know, the door blows off. Now that I'm letting some of the water through, will the door come crashing in? If I unleash everything that's inside me, will I go floating down the river with it? Well, for now I think I'm going to go home and have a hot shower. And after that, I'll probably have another one.

SESSION FOUR
    How was your Christmas, Doc? Hope Santa brought you something good. Dealing with a head case like me every week should've guaranteed you a spot on his "nice" list. Me? Well, despite my best intentions to avoid any form of holiday merriment or good cheer, it came knocking on my door.