it was a dark and stormy night

i was in my mid-teens. as i lay in bed one night, almost asleep, my door opened and a man walked in. he was drunk. i could smell it even before he got near me. the bed creaked a little as his weight was deposited on it. i kept my eyes closed and my breathing even. i didn’t need to look, i knew who it was.
the bed shifted as he moved his hand to my hip. it sat there, unmoving, as he started to talk.
“you’re a very good girl. don’t let boys do things to you. you’re smarter than that.”
his hand moved. it could have been an involuntary twitch, but it felt like a blow.
“such a good girl.”
i thought that if i just pretended to be asleep he’d get bored and leave. please let him leave, i thought.
he sighed heavily and the bed moved again. it felt like his head drooped against his chest.
please let him leave.
he started to stroke my side through the covers. i fought to keep from flinching. sleeping people do not flinch. i don’t know what else he said. i only remember his telling me over and over and over again what a good girl i was.
the next thing i realized the door was closing and i was alone again. i started shaking. i couldn’t cry because he was in the next room. i didn’t want him to know i was awake.
it’s been almost fifteen years since that night. i’ve never told anyone about the night my mother’s boyfriend almost molested me. yes. almost. i got off lucky, you might say.