I don’t want to see him. Oh Lord, I hope I don’t see him. It’s the first time I am out on my own since the incident took place. But as I turn the corner, our eyes lock.

It’s him, my worst nightmare. I try to run but my legs are shaking, my legs are stuck. “Oh no Caro, you got to move,” I encourage myself.

It only took a minute to find myself in his car. Next to me is a girl, her hands tied, black tap across her mouth. She has bags underneath her eyes. I can’t let this happen, not again. At least for her.

He warned me, he said he would come for me. Why, didn’t I believe that?

“Help.” I mumble the word. Everyone seems to go their way normally, maybe I can see them but they can’t see me. Ah, this stupid car!

“Help, help!” I cry as loud as I can get, punching the back of the driver seat.

The car stops. He turns toward me, fishes a sharp knife out of his pocket and points it at the girl next to me.

“Please don’t, please not her…no, no!”

“Caro, Caro! Wake up… breathe, breathe.” I wake up in Michael’s arms, he’s calming me down. Another nightmare.

It is another nightmare, another bad night. About him. He follows me even in my dreams. My anxiety is through the roof but seeing Michael next to me calms me a bit. I never thought I would ever allow myself to be in another relationship. After having a relationship where I was emotionally abused and raped, I didn’t think I would give myself a chance to be happy again. But then my miracle came. Michael.

I was told that I would get better with time, that the wound would heal. I think we just get used to it and pretend that it never happened. I think we choose to wear a face of bravery until everyone forgets about it all and they decide for themselves that we are better, that we have healed.

“Talk to me love, what was the dream about? Was it about him again?” Michael intertwines our hands and fixes his eyes on me. “I know you never like the idea of talking about this but it the only way to recovery and I want to be there for you.”

I know he wants to help; I know he means well but the truth is, I’m in this alone. And as much as I have tried, I cannot run away, not from myself. It’s too late to ignore his questions, so I tell him what I always do. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. I probably just need to take my Aventyl HCI,” I lied.

“Caro, I can’t be there for you when you don’t let me. I can’t help you when you aren’t truthful.” He wipes my tears. “We both know you ran out of antidepressant and were supposed to get them on our way to church this Sunday.”

“No! I made it clear to you, I told you that I won’t be going to church…. not anymore.” I step down from the bed. Why should I go to church? Why trust a God who doesn’t stop bad things from happening? If He loved me like the Bible says then, He probably wouldn’t let the abuser make me his victim. “I can’t trust someone, something that does not care! “And I’m tired of you focusing me to go to church, Michael.” I sob as I sit on the cold tiles with my head buried in my hands.

“All this could only mean one thing. You had a nightmare about him and couldn’t even trust me enough to share it?” He steps out of bed and walks toward me. “Do you even want me here? You chase people away. You want nothing to do with the church and decline my request for counselling.” He joins me on the floor and holds my hand. “How can I help you? How can I sit and watch you hurt?” He holds my hands tighter.

I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to be a burden and I don’t want to let him down. He brings me so much joy and having him here make a difference. His request for me is more than I can bear right now. How do I tell him that I’m angry at God and myself? How do I tell him that he is too good for me?

Michael rises to his feet. He steps toward the wardrobe, opens it. And faces me. “Look, I know this is hard for you and getting harder for me.” He sighs. “I can’t stand by while you’re drowning. It impossible for me to not be able to help…” He grabs a bunch of t-shirts, throws them on the bed and fixes his eyes on me.

“Oh, Mike…please don’t do what I think you doing, please.” I am probably drowning in the ocean of my own tears now. He is leaving me, is he? He can’t be.

“I have to do this; I’m going away for a while. I’m giving you time to decide.” Michaels hold my hands. “I care about you. And want what is best for you…you need to decide whether going to counselling or doing activities that will help you get better,” he says while wiping my tears. “I will be there once you make that decision.”

I’m hurt but he is right. Maybe that is all it will take, to have everyone away. To be alone before I decide to take the path of healing. To accept my past. “Please don’t leave me…” I say to him.

“I love you.” He grabs his mini suitcase, kisses me on the forehead and leaves.

Once again, I am left alone, with my thoughts, flashbacks, nightmares and anxiety. Will I seek counselling? Will I start attending church? I don’t know but what I know is, I cannot run away from myself.