he was.

I had another dream about it last night. Never a face, just a feeling. A certain familiarity. A specific disgust with him, and myself. I hate feeling dirty. But there it is. And if I try to ignore it, it creeps into my subconscious. Dreams are supposed to be sweet. They're not supposed to force you to re-visit your living nightmares. Every time it's the same too. It starts out completely innocent. This time, I was playing out in the yard with Kara on a summer day. Throwing water balloons and splashing in a pool. Laughing. Then the storm clouds come rolling in, and I can smell the sweat on his chest. He smiles and hides around a corner, waiting. And I'm alone. It's dark, cold, and frightening. I run and run but I never get anywhere. I yell and scream till my throat is hoarse but no sound escapes. I look to whoever I see for help, but no one knows what I'm asking for. No one can hear me. No one cares. They don't get it. So they look away. And he closes in. I fight him off at first, and I'm almost successful. But he wins every time. It always ends this way. I'm taken. Crying and thrashing about, but he's stronger. And I still don't know who he is. 

Who he was.