It's like a nightmare waiting to be retold millions of times. The same figure, the same vague shape in the distance which sends chills down her spine. She vaguely recalls holding that slim waist. Then shudders.
Shudders at having been made to believe that she is the equivalent of a servant or worse, that of a common prostitute. But the two had dignity that she didn't find in two years. The two would have some shred of self respect left where she had none.
She calls up the face of the one she loves now to chase away the figure of her demon. But it's still there, lingering somewhere to haunt her, to pull her back from even walking alone in a peopled road in broad daylight.
Does a woman ever get over that fear once instilled in her? The brute domination of sheer physical force of someone bigger over someone smaller?
Maybe she has begun to believe in love again, maybe she has begun to trust again, maybe she is regaining what she ended up losing.
Even then. Though she can voice it out, act out, do so many things... though she is aware of all this... when does she actually recover from the panic and fear of having been rendered helpless and subjugated and manipulated? When?
Hopefully, when truth and love shows her that all men are not the same and that people do change for the better... and when she lives in a society where this manipulation, subjugation and domination are not embedded in its members as a part of daily life. That sort of life isn't okay for anyone.
Here's to hoping for a happy life. Salud!
