I open my eyes to nothing. 

I do not see anything because my face is against my pillow. 

But I do feel something. 

Hands, hands  exploring my body like I'm some kind of  unique jungle.

Hands exploring me like I'm some sort of animal in a petting zoo. 

I don't try to look up or alarm him I have awoken.

I feel a single tear roll down my face praying to God the evil hands do not get any worse.

In my mind I scream for someone to rescue me.

But no one comes. 

I want to look up to see who these evil hands belong to but the more the hands travel the harder I shut my eyes in fear.

The next day comes.

I am in tears from sun up to sun down.

I finally have the courage to tell someone, my mother.

A few days pass, nothing has been done.

All because I couldn't 'have the balls' to just open my eyes. 

My mother says to me "Maybe it was all just a dream". 

How dare my own mother accuse an assault as a figment of my imagination.

I remember the evil hands unclassping my bra

Mommy how could anyone make this up?

When I tell people my story they give me a look like they just stepped foot into an asylum. 

Those looks made me feel psychotic. 

Two years later pass, I'm now 16 years old.

Laying in bed having a panic attack reminding myself that those evil hands that violated my body are possibly still out there.

If I just would have opened my eyes.