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THE CATERPILLAR

I can’t sleep, my throat feels dry maybe from screaming too much. Did I yell? I just remember a man came into my room, with others claiming he’s a doctor. Then, I couldn’t see, because my vision is blurry, but I heard a voice, one I recognize, it was the nurse I met earlier, what’s her name again? He said he would give me something to help me sleep, this is all I’ve ever wanted since I came here. It made my limbs feel heavy, weighted down by the medication they pumped into me. I feel calm, too calm. My thoughts are sluggish, like they’re wading through thick syrup. But then it starts to shift.

A sound.

A low creak. Faint, but unmistakable.

My heart lurches, my breath hitching in my throat. The calm is slipping away, replaced by something jagged and raw. I sit up slowly, straining to listen. Another noise—closer this time.

Or is it still the effect of the drugs, I’m not even sure if the night has turned to day, or if it is the day turning to night again.

All I know is that the man who has been protecting me. He’s dead now. I remember the blood, dark and pooling under his body.

My pulse races, my stomach growls, a deep hollow ache that reminds me I haven’t eaten in… God, how long has it been ?

Then I hear it again. A slow, deliberate shuffle coming from the bathroom.

The sound is closer now. I stare at the dark crack under the bathroom door, my mind spinning. Something’s in there. Watching. Waiting. Sweat drips down my neck, soaking into the thin hospital gown I’ve got on. One minute, when did I get change? I don’t recall taking my clothes off. Someone took off my clothes, without my permission, it’s happening all over again. I feel trapped, caged like an animal. Maybe I was wrong about this place. Maybe I was never safe.

I need to leave.

Now.

I went to self-defense classes to avoid feeling like this. I went to therapy to stop behaving this way. Yet, everything I’ve done—or tried to do—to stop being the person I am now, has amounted to nothing.

I force myself up, my legs tremble beneath me. Each step feels as if I’m walking through quicksand, my muscles sluggish and uncooperative. There’s a sudden rush inside of me, an energy I didn’t have before. My fingers curl into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I stumble to the door, panting, desperately wanting to be set free.

“Help…”

My voice is faint and so weak. I hold on to my throat, wondering why it’s so dry.

I don’t belong here, I don’t deserve to be locked up like a damn animal and no more am I the delicate child who was taken advantage of and fed to predators, I am so much more than that.

"Let me out!" My voice cracks, but I don’t stop as I try to get to the door. I’m on the linoleum floor, crawling unable to walk. I don’t care as my skin rubs against the floor. My vision swims, black spots dotting my sight. The medication still have their hold on me, but I fight through it.

The sound behind me grows louder. A scraping noise. I whimper as I finally make it to the door. Then, it creaks open slowly, as if protesting the intrusion. The hinges groan under the strain, and for a moment, the world seems to hold its breath, waiting. There’s the sound of a distant clock ticking is now unnervingly loud in the stillness.

And then, he appears.

The cop.

The agent.

It’s as if I can’t get him out of my mind no matter how hard I try.

“Tell me what you saw!” He screams as he approaches me, and helps me stand up tall, but my height is no where near his as I feel like a speck of dust on the floor, and if he lifts his foot, then he could crush me in an instance.

T his man isn’t my stalker. He’s someone else. He must be, probably using some disguise to pretend that he’s my stalker. My stalker would never come up to me, and try to hurt me. Or look at me with such disgust. No, my stalker desires me, wants to make me come at night when no one is watching but he can’t approach me.

Why?

This part I haven’t figured out. The more I try to run from him, the more he holds me in place, firmly against the door, snarling like a dog wanting to protect his home and not allowing anyone to move into his territory. In a way he’s mocking me, and with the dim light in the room it is as if he is one of the monsters, as his shadow stretches over the room, as he continues to lure me.

Run little girl, but you can’t hide.

He’s right about that, I can’t hide

“Tell me, what you know and stop playing these silly games Penelope.”

He knows my name …my real name.

My knees threaten to give out, but I lock them in place. His lips curl into a slow, deliberate smile, and I swear I can hear my heartbeat hammering against my ribs.

The room spins. My breath catches in my throat, and I can’t move. He just stands there, staring at me with those same cold eyes I remember from all those years ago, but there’s something different about him.

When he rescued me, I was only seventeen, so I had no idea what all of it meant, but as I got older and curiosity got the better of me, I realized what would have happened to me that night.

Hammers.

Chainsaws.

Nails.

They wanted to rape and watch me die, but I’d done nothing to them, I’d not even hurt a fly. I’d lived my life innocently and yet everyone around me, either died or in the case of my aunt, wanted to hurt me. I didn’t know if it was a signal from the universe about the type of person I was.

Why is he still here? Why is he still after me?

My hands shake. My mouth is dry. "Why are you doing this? What do you want?" I demand, my voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t answer. He just watches me, eyes dark and hungry. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. The walls, the smell, the flickering lights—it’s all too much. My vision tunnels, and for a moment, I think I might pass out. But I can’t. Not now.

I have to survive. I have to find a way out.

I’m fighting the darkness in my mind. I’ve done it once, and I know that I can do it again.

What was the motto of the self defense class?

You are so much more than you know.

I have to believe in it, otherwise everything I’ve been through would have been in vain. I try to focus as I move to the other side of the room, once again he’s mocking me. He’s smiling and I can see the twinkle in his eyes as if he’s enjoying this game.

But I’m not playing anything with him.

I manage to break free from him and thump my fists against the door. Someone must hear me. Someone must know that I’m not alone. I don’t care if what I’m doing is no use, I’m going to keep screaming, until someone comes! I just hope that they’re not too late.