Two men entered and I thought I was dreaming. I heard the sounds of what were laughter. And expected the door to slam off the hinges. The dark initiates my fear and I tell myself nothing can hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. The blanket weighs 300 pounds pinning me on my stomach. Although my eyes are open, I see nothing but a spiraling glow that radiates an alarm clock on a nightstand. Hands are gripping me. The sheets are twisted, I'm suffocating. I smell nail polish. I picture my mother out in the garden on a spring day planting new strawberry seeds. The earth aroma as she turns the soil lingers. And I imagine my life as a princess. Nothing can hurt me. It's 5:47 a.m. and the sun looks as though it's just about to defeat the night sky. A battle between good and evil that rages on through centuries unnoticed. My night gawn is taggled above my hips. I went to sleep with panties on and I smell blood. My breasts are exposed and sore. One of them has bite marks. Blinding light from the bathroom crushes my eyes. I try to stand up and the weight of the world buckles my knees. Nothing can hurt me. The dawn breaks and this veil I carry around for secrecy is about to melt. Something inside my veins explode. And I realize I'm not looking at a portrait now. We are all living in it.