I was sitting at the far corner in the room, with tears noiselessly rolling down my face. He had not beaten me, neither had he punished me, but the pain I was feeling would always be with me, because of what he had taken from me.
Suddenly, he looked at me, pointing a knife at my throat with the blade gleaming from the light of the lamp. His eyes were daring me to shout but he knew I would not. I woke up from my dream sweating, with tears already in my eyes. I knew he would come again. Every night he would always come, the dream keeping me awake till he arrived.
He staggered inside, his breath smelling foul and reeking of alcohol. I looked at him, trying to see the love in the eyes of the man I called uncle when parents were alive but the only thing I saw was lust. He closed the door, locked it and started to unbuckle his trousers while staring at me.
Suddenly, a certain defiance started to grow in me and I thought “If he doesn’t kill me, this will”. So I stood up to him, dried my tears and asked him to get out. He was astonished, “You said what?”, he asked. “I said get out”, I replied him. When he tried to draw closer to me, I shouted and shouted so much our neighbour came knocking to ask if anything was wrong.
By now, he was almost sober, so he went and said something to him. Then he entered the room again and I told him I’d shout again if he came near me and would tell everyone what he had done.He stood looking at me for a while and for just a brief moment, I saw an expression of regret on his face that I thought I might have imagined it.
Then he left the room. I did not know whether he will come back again but I was sure that my moment of silence was over.