Wow. What just happened?
I sat in silence for a long time. My heart was still thumping wildly and I couldn't get the image of Sam's angry eyes out of my mind. I slumped in the corner of my bed rereading the conversation on my screen, trying to understand the series of events that had lead me down this very dangerous rabbit hole. I wanted to show him that it's all part of The Game until I use my Safeword. But it backfired. I took him to a place where the Safeword lost all meaning, a place I wasn't comfortable with anymore. That was a hard limit: the Safeword kept me pushing and challenging men, it was like a shield I could put up when The Game got too real. But I wasn't in The Game anymore. It's impossible to be the only one playing. And still, the fear was intoxicating. I didn't understand how my desires could be so overpowering. My mind and body were completely disconnected from each other.
I was genuinely scared for a while, often checking around me to make sure no one was following me. I removed the basement key from the shed under the stairs as I had said I would and I figured I would tell my parents I had simply forgotten to put it back should they have needed to use it. It took a lot for me to move the key; to really and truly not want him to come back in the state he was in when he last wrote to me. I didn't realize it then but I was beginning to learn the rules to The Game I had been so obsessed with playing.
I wasn't sure if Sam had been serious about not respecting my Safeword, but I didn't want to take any chances. I thought that maybe he had just wanted to scare me. Maybe they were tough words as mine had been from a safe place behind a vale where nothing but words mattered and actions were inexistent. I was hoping he wasn't serious and that he would talk to me again so I wouldn't feel actual terror. The thought that he could be unleashed on me was delightfully tormenting in theory, but I didn't want him to show up at my house again without talking to me first. I didn't enjoy the idea that he could seriously injure me; I did not want to be bloody on the floor. He didn't appear online again, though. I checked every day for nearly 2 weeks.
Two months went by. It was more than enough time to get back to my regular routine; although I never did put the key back in the shed under the stairs. His threats were always some kind of tormenting cloud that floated nearby. I couldn't really forget, but I wasn't conscious of the worries I had had of him coming back again. The real threat seemed long gone and the imminent fear went with it. I went back to my normal boredom, so focused on life and oblivious to the dangers lurking all around my protective, little bubble.
One Saturday night, as I was sitting on my bed in sweatpants and a tank top chatting merrily with a friend online, a gentle knock came to my bedroom door. I assumed it was one of my parents who came downstairs to ask me something. I didn't notice that it was past 2am.
"Come in," I said. Nothing happened. I didn't think twice about it. I hastily wrote to my friend that I would be right back and went to answer the door. As I turned the handle, the door rapidly swung open and sent me flying back a couple feet into the wall behind me. Before I could come to terms with what was happening, Sam had me pinned against the wall by my throat. I grabbed at his arm to try to move him. He didn't budge even a little. He towered over me in his black attire. I looked up at him and again, all I could see were his eyes. They were so angry. I remember looking up at them as they hovered over me and I tried so hard to show him that I was just a harmless creature in need of his mercy. I wanted him to know he had all the power so that maybe he wouldn't feel like he needed to exert much of it to prove himself. A part of me already knew that would mean nothing but what else could I do? I had no words for him; my voice was caught in my throat. I felt such an intense rush of real fear that I didn't even know what to do. I was too scared to really fight back in my usual provocative manner. I sincerely didn't want him there.
It's truly amazing how people push each other's buttons without ever really knowing what we're capable of. People are constantly being underestimated and it's such a dangerous thing, to underestimate. No one is harmless, not even when they want to be. I thought I was, but having the power to push people to letting out their monsters is the farthest thing from harmless. In retrospect, I think I just brought out a trait he had in him all along. If it took a few words on a computer screen in a half hour conversation to get this man to step within the realm of real sexual abuse, I don't believe I was to blame. I pushed him, sure, but never beyond The Game. His ego did that; his sense of pride was challenged and it brought out a monster. I couldn't have created the monster; it must have been there all along... just waiting.
It was a fight or flight moment. Time seemed to stand still. It felt like hours passed from the moment he barged into my room and pinned me to the wall but thinking back on it now, it must have only been seconds. Every fiber of my being wanted me to run. It may have been as easy as just a quick movement, bringing my arm up to hit his from underneath fast enough that his hand would be jerked off my neck, and then bolt for the door. But there was something different about the way he was moving, the way he was holding me, and I knew I wasn't dealing with the man I had known before. My eyes moved from his tormenting glare down to a glimmer of reflected ceiling light and it all became clear to me: he was holding a knife.
My heart began racing faster and faster. This was not part of the deal, I shouted in my head. My eyes probably grew 5 sizes as I looked back into his face. I could have sworn his eyes were mocking my helplessness.
"[Safeword]," I said sternly and in my most serious voice. I had never been so sure I wanted to use that word as I had in that very moment.
"What's the matter, bitch? Not so tough now, are you? You fucked with me, time for me to return the favor!"
I was so scared, these words cant even begin to express the level of my fear, the sound of my heart beating in my eardrums, the way my whole body shook violently with every breath and before I knew it, the knife was at my throat and I closed my eyes to pretend I was anywhere else. His hand came off my neck and all I could feel was the cold metal pressed lightly up to me. My head was tilted back against the wall and I was trying hard not to breathe too much for fear of being cut.
"Look at me", he commanded sternly. I did as I was told without any hesitation. I stopped thinking. I was under his complete control. My life depended on it. My eyes were glossy and some tears had begun flowing down my face. "Look at that beautiful face," he continued. "It would be a shame to ruin it, don't you think?" Instinctively, I closed my eyes again as more tears rolled down my cheeks and fell off my chin. "I said open your fucking eyes and look at me, you fucking cunt!" My eyes shot open and looked up at his with pleading mercy.
"[Safeword]," I muttered pathetically. "[Safeword, Safeword, Safeword...]" I started trailing off as I said it, over and over and over, almost like a prayer, so softly and so forcefully at the same time. I was starting to cry, like really cry out loud and my whole body began trembling. His right hand still held the knife to my throat and his left began to grope me, violently assaulting my breasts. My sweaty palms were pressed firmly against the wall behind me, stabilizing me so I wouldn't move. I was terrified that this man wouldn't have complete control over the knife and move it in the wrong way. A single slip and that could have been the end of me.
"I told you, you shouldn't have tested me, bitch. You didn't know what I was capable of, but you're about to find out. Don't you fucking fight me, or I will cut your fucking head, OFF!" He dug the knife into my neck harder and my head tried to go back further; I felt I wanted to break a hole in the wall behind me to escape. I resented the wall for its existence.
He grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me to the bed, waving his knife in my face as a warning not to fight back. I was sobbing uncontrollably. I had no idea what to do anymore. He laid me on the bed and climbed on top of me, pinning my arms under his legs. He hastily undid his belt with both hands while fumbling with the knife above my face. I was so terrified he would drop it. He lowered his pants and grabbed my face holding it firmly in front of him. I so badly wanted him to leave. I didn't want to touch him at all. He started trying to pry my mouth open and I resisted. The knife was pressed up to my neck again but I still didn't open my mouth to him. I understood he could easily cut me and leave me there to bleed to death. No one would find me for days in my little soundproof sanctuary. For some reason, even knowing that, I couldn't help but resist him. He started getting agitated. He put the knife down on the bed and grabbed at himself to force it into my mouth, but that still didn't work. I was determined. He was losing control; I could feel it.
My arms broke free as he fidgeted. I rolled into the fetus position and began rocking back and forth under him. I was just so absolutely terrified that I wanted nothing more than for him to either cut me or leave me alone. Nothing in between existed. I remember how hysterical I was, tears and mucus pouring out of my nose like a little child; loud and inconsolable. He tried to pull me out of my fetus position but he was unsuccessful. He was beginning to panic at my cries. He even put the knife to my neck again but I just kept rocking back and forth pretending he wasn't there. I was ready to die if that was what he really wanted.
In aggravation, he slapped me excruciatingly hard in the face, bent down one last time to whisper a warning that if I made any sound, he would be right outside my door waiting and wouldn't hesitate to come back and finish the job. I believed him so fiercely. I didn't move for an hour after he walked out my bedroom door. My sobs died down slowly as he allegedly stood there, but the shaking didn't stop and I couldn't remember what life was like before that feeling that it was my last night alive.
I never heard him leave through the basement door. I lay there until the sun began to peek its rays through the morning mist. My eyes were still wide open and extremely alert. I felt no fatigue, just intense fear and pain. I couldn't believe what had happened to me that night, discovering the feeling of real fear. I felt it was something I couldn't soon forget and I was right. To this day I can recall the thoughts that echo through the mind when you simply have nothing left but the intense feeling that it's all over, like something that washes over you accepting that it's just what needs to happen. It's complete and utter helplessness; you're left with no other choice.
It's such a terrifying game when we don't follow the rules. Then again, we're practically forced to live in shame of our fantasies so that when the opportunity is finally presented to us, our passions run high, protocol is neglected and people get into some seriously dangerous situations. It is important to try to make sense of the taboos that structure our ways of thinking so that we can overcome them and rebuild them into something more relevant to our society and not to the one that created those taboos in the first place; a society long gone. There are too many real dangers in this world to pretend we can forever live with shame in our hearts when we truly have nothing to shame but shame itself. We must learn to communicate properly and create a world where people can feel comfortable with their fantasies instead of repressing them so fully that one day they are unleashed on poor, unsuspecting souls. Unsuspecting... well... we don't anticipate that the world can be so cruel. But we are creating it to be that way.
When I finally got up the courage to open my bedroom door to check that Sam wasn't, in fact, waiting for me on the other side, I was trembling so much that I was hardly able to walk. I opened the door, slowly and creakily, saw that he wasn't there and I sobbed with relief and fell to the floor immediately. All the strength I had had in me while I thought he was on the other side of the door melted away in an instant and I felt immediately exhausted. I crawled back into bed with my tear-stained face, cuddled myself into my blanket and picked up the phone. I dialed my friend's number. It was late and she answered with worry. I told her what had happened and she immediately got dressed and drove over to my place. She held me for a short time while I sobbed and she offered to let me sleep on her couch for as long as I needed to feel safe again. I slept there for 3 weeks.
By the time I was ready to return home, I felt a newfound appreciation for life, for the rules of The Game and for my own self worth. I knew that the next man I would allow near me like that would have to work damn hard to get there. Would I take it back if I could? In the moment, absolutely; but looking back on it now, I wouldn't change a thing. I needed that eye-opening experience. I needed to learn my value and the dangers that are real and everywhere.
I have thought often of Sam. Whenever I heard a creak in the house at night, I was jerked awake with a thumping heart. I just couldn't shake the feeling of danger and of guilt. I held a lot of resentment for him but also for myself. I thought I had let myself get too carried away and I pushed him to that dangerous place. I felt I couldn't call myself a victim because it was my doing. I felt so much anger inside for myself and I was so ashamed. I easily found solace in self-blame. Why did I have to cry wolf until he wasn't sure if I meant what I was saying anymore? Why did I have to feel that rush of adrenaline? Why did I have to use him for my own pleasures with no regard for his Being? For a long time, I couldn't stop thinking that all men must be hiding some horrible part of themselves they don't consciously know exists. And of course who would go looking for their demons before they have to, right? Imagine our society could promote self-validation and introspection.
I felt guilty for bringing out his demon. I thought maybe it would be unleashed on some other poor soul. Guilt sits low in the belly, peeks through everything you do and grows stronger over time. It's a silent killer. It's sneaky, sometimes hibernating for years until it sinks into you, takes you over, creates a panic so severe and deep that no one else can see it. You are stuck, alone, in a war with yourself. It took me years before I realized that the guilt I had been feeling was my own choice. Guilt is our way of telling ourselves subconsciously that we haven't come to terms with something we have said or done in our past that we are not OK with. It takes meditation and contemplation to recognize the reasoning behind the guilt. I can tell you it's not easy and the further we tumble down the rabbit hole the harder it gets until we come out the other side with a better understanding and control of ourselves. Only then can we say the journey was worth it.
I often wondered what he truly wanted from me that night. He could have done something worse to me if he had really wanted to. I knew he had the strength and the ability; he has proven that before, but he left. Maybe he realized he was doing something horribly wrong? Maybe he was feeling remorse? Pity? Shame? Whatever it was he felt, I was grateful for it. I lived to see another day. And I learned such a valuable lesson from him that I cannot fathom what my life would have become without it.