I was excited. I had been meaning to play the piano again.
And now here I was, with a new teacher in her apartment. She was showing me notes I could recognize at a fairly high speed, which pleased both of us very much.

And then she lifted up her skirt, showed me what a woman was not supposed to have.
It looked unfamiliar; my belly uncoiled recoiled hitting all the disgusted spots within me to the pulse of her living breathing thing. My fingers were thrown off the piano (or was it the other way around?) and
I was raped,

over and over, under the censors of her pink skirt and crying because of her new smell (putrid), her voice (sandpaper), her laugh (lecherous), and her unnaturally strong little hands. When I could, I grabbed my phone and texted everyone in it, even certain people repeatedly, the same message, the same SOS.

Save our stupid, or
Save our sailors, or
Sack of stuff, or
Science of speed, or
Scoot over some, or
Sea of slime, or
Sex on stage, or
Sink or swim, or
Spawn of Satan, or
Storm of swords, or
Stuck on stupid, or
Statement of sensitivity.

I pleaded everyone for help, even my ex-this-and-thats. But there was a massive flood at ground level, and it took up everyone’s attention. When I closed my eyes I saw a few of my phonebook contacts playing jetski, swimming, laughing, and of course moving their stuff. I tried to find the only person I wanted to find but I couldn’t, he was as inaccessibly mute as I first knew him, back to the first drowned square.

I woke up sobbing, my nose a Rudolph.

Fiona Apple once sang “And then he rose, brilliant as a moon in full.” It was exactly what happened. I don’t know how near or how far he was or how long he took but he was now here.

The first thing I did was wonder about the flood and whether we were safe, and how he found me after I must’ve passed out from under the fetid pink umbrella. But no, it was only a dream, and tasting the salt on my tears made me realise as much. He wrapped me in a rope of limbs, kept me still, warm, felt my goosebumps, and I was crying into his neck. He went ’shh’ over and over, while my tongue wrestled ahead of his whisper, rambling around my crumbled self about how no one came, I tried so many times with everyone I loved or remembered loving once, but none of them came to save me.

Later I realised my hysteria was unjustified. I remember it was far more painful to wake up alone so many times after sleep like this, without a witness to my crash back to consciousness, or

Some one special.