Watching Rory

Not A Dream

My eyes shoot open.

A hand just caressed my upper thigh, and it woke me from a drug-induced sleep.

Two weeks ago, when the hospital released me, I began having night terrors.

But this wasn't a dream.

Someone is in the house.

The warmth from where their fingers touched me still lingers.

"Hello, who's there?" I stutter.

No response.

"Eric, is that you?"

"You Know you're not supposed to be here," I say a bit louder.

He was let free on a technicality, but there's an order of protection set against him by the county.

He legally can't be within five hundred feet of me until our court date, and hopefully, after that, it's made permanent.

The only thing I remember from that evening is the words Eric said under his breath before the police took him away.

"This isn't over, Rory"

"Next time, they won't be able to get to you fast enough."

When I woke up in a sterile white room, it was days later, and the nurses had to sedate me. I was thrashing about, and they feared I'd rip out my chest tube.

I suffered from multiple injuries the night of Eric's arrest. The most severe being a complication from numerous broken ribs. One of the fractured bones punctured my lung, causing blood and air to escape into the small space between my lungs and chest cavity.

I shake my head to erase the thoughts.

It's eerily quiet. Whoever was inside the house must be gone now.

There's no way I'll be going back to sleep.

I roll over to my stomach to get in a more comfortable position. One of my legs is lying straight, and as I go to tuck the other up into my chest, my knee runs through something cold and slimy.

What the fuck is that?

Shooting up to my knees, I pull the string to turn on my bedside lamp. When I get enough courage, I force myself to look at the spot in question.

But there's not only one spot. There are multiple spots of a white substance sprayed all over my bed.

I bend down to examine the stains closer and start to dry heave when the realization smacks me in the face.

It's cum.

"Fuck" I yell, making a hasty exit off the bed.

The duvet covering me before I fell asleep is lying at my feet. I was so petrified earlier after feeling the caress I didn't even notice it was missing.

As I glance down at my spoiled sheets, my stomach weakens again. If I weren't more aware, I'd think millions of bugs were crawling under my skin.

I've never felt so violated.

I need a fucking shower.

Stripping my shorts and cami off on the way to the bathroom, I open the shower curtain and turn the hot water faucet knob up.

The water scolds my feet as I step into the tub, but I don't care. The burn is much needed.

I squeeze a dollop of my favorite coconut coffee body scrub on my loofa and wash all over.

Pictures of my cum covered sheets replay in my head.

My flesh burns due to the pressure I put on the loofa, but at this point, it could be bleeding raw, and I wouldn't notice.

How did cum get on my bed?

Who touched me?

Was it Eric?

It had to be Eric.

Thoughts of seeing Eric send me into a panic, and I begin to scrub violently.

Unable to hold my weight any longer, I drop down to the base of the tub. I pull my knees to my chest and sit there.

My grasp on the loofa never wavers, although the delicious coffee-scented scrub washed down the drain long ago.

The water is running cold when I finally decide to get out and put a new pair of pajamas on.

Back in my room, the pile of crumpled-up bedding taunts me. There is no way in hell I'll ever sleep on those sheets again.

I find a plastic bag on my dresser and use it to create a makeshift glove. Then I pick the pile up as fast as possible and take it outside to the trash.

Once back inside, I pass through the living room, stop at the love seat and grab my favorite wool throw.

Ironically Eric's mother, Jamie, gave it to me for my last birthday.

My legs are like cement blocks going back up the stairs. Each step weighs me down the closer I get to my room.

The naked bed sits there, and I have no clue what to do with it. I wonder how long it would take to burn the entire thing, box spring included, in the fire pit in the backyard.

I'm so distracted thinking of ways to burn the mattress I almost forget to lock the door.

I won't make that mistake again.

Moonlight illuminates the room, causing my eyes to glance in the direction of the window.

Holy shit.

The black drawstring blinds are discombobulated. Some of its pieces are broken off and lay on the floor below. While others are warped, making the set inoperable.

As I get closer to the disarray, I gasp when I see a slight open gap in the window.

After Eric's arrest, I had all the locks in the house changed, but he got creative and managed to find his way in.

I secure the window closed, triple checking that it is locked, and draw the curtains we have tied back for decoration.

Goosebumps cover me from head to toe.

The door and windows are locked, but that's not giving me peace of mind.

Nowhere in this house will grant me the comfort and protection I need.

Stepping into my walk-in closet, I close the door behind me.

It's not a panic room or anything like that, but it is my only option if I want to attempt to get some rest.

The throw falls from my arms, and my body crashes on top of it shortly after.

🖤 How would you react if you woke up to someone caressing your thigh?