Heavy footsteps tread down the hall,
and my pulse pounds, a deafening bass beat.
Skin clammy, sweaty, cold...
Composure flown on chilly feet.
Endless eons between each clumping step,
yet time's inevitable advance mocks me.
The door flings open, rebounding off the wall,
inspiring an overwhelming urge to flee.
Knobbly herringbone sweater, innocuous, misleading,
the perfect match for his scratchy brown pants.
Eye contact, sending swirling nausea rising,
a precarious prelude to the latest of his rants.
He shoves, sending me stumbling back, off balance,
too close to the yawning acreage of bed.
A sick gleam, horrifyingly familiar, another shove,
and I plonk down, grabbing fistfuls of the bedspread.
A leer, too lecherous to be a smile,
and I can't hold back a low, pitiful moan.
Thick fingers on my shoulders, a heavy weight,
searing panic now we're prone.
Timing needs to be just right, distraction perfect,
won't be a second chance, another lucky break.
The knife feels heavy, awkward, terrifying...
but it slides home, just as my hands start to shake.