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In the dream I had last night, Patrick was living on 4th floor of his dorm, and I would walk over there every night to come and see him. When I walked into the room I’d put a smile on my face just for Patrick, and we’d ********. It wasn’t love, it was ********. Patrick cared not about me, not about us, but about him and him ******** me. Despite how much of an a** Patrick was to me, I’d smile and say I was alright.
Afterwards he would send me off on my way, telling me to be careful so as not to get in trouble. What I didn’t say to him was that every night on my way there, and on my way back, one guy would always stop me, demanding that I do to him what I do to Patrick. Eventually I stopped trying to fight him, and on each way…he’d rape me. It was like he followed me everywhere. Always wanting more of me or something.
I got trapped in a room with him, and next thing I knew…there was fire, like candles or something, and I was on this table of some sort. All around the table were scissors. Nice, sharp scissors. I was chanting, “If these scissors don’t kill me, then I will.” I found a small pair, and just dug and dug at my wrist. I was halfway through, cut through the vein and it wouldn’t bleed. I wouldn’t die. I wanted to die before he could rape me again.