He Who Haunts My Mind

Things in Miami were already horrible; it seemed like my only friend was Caveman, the sixty-six year old homeless cuban man who helped out around the Camelot Inn. No one else really talked to me. Everyone else seemed...bad. Caveman didn't seem so bad. He seemed kind of nice. He was old, he was friendly. He'd even found me a 'client' and warned me about pimps. He told me that they'd take my money, and use me. He said I'd be better off working independently. He was pretty cool. He had a lot of tattoos, and had a warm way about him. I trusted him.
It was really late, and he and I were sitting on the never ending construction in the hallway outside my room. We chatted for a while. He asked when my birthday was; he said his was October first. I lied and said, "Oh, me too!" Mine is really on the seventh, but I didn't see the big deal about a few days. He said that that was why we had such a 'connection'. He began talking to me about sex...and said that he began having sex very young. And that once when he was a young man he had sex with a twelve year old boy. And it was the best thing he or the boy had ever experienced. He went into gory detail. But I try not to remember what he said about that. It scared me a little, but at the time I was very distant from myself. I was barely conscious of what was going on in my own body, and my emotions were flat. I didn't really care then if he had had sex with a kid. Sure, it unnerved me a tad, but I hardly paid attention to it. It was a fleeting feeling.
He began talking about how beautiful I was. And then it got weird, even for me, even for that mindset.
He asked if he could come to my room and see me naked. Not touch me. But masturbate while looking at me. I wavered. I didn't want to. He was disgusting. His hair and beard were unkempt. He smelled. He had obviously not bathed in a disturbingly long time; his skin was covered in a layer of filth. His nails were long and dirty. And I did NOT want to see him naked or have him see ME naked.
I gave in. I was too weak. And I let him into my room.
It did not go as he had said it would. First came the undressing, then the touching. I pulled away. I didn't want this. No!
I didn't want this man to touch me. I wanted him to go away.
But I had already let him in; and I was passive. I was limp. I became an emotionless unseeing unfeeling object. Detaching from the present and attaching to the nothingness that was the darkness of my mind, I moved as he wanted me to move, I did as he wanted me to do.
But I wasn't really gone. I was still seeing. I was still feeling. I was still doing. And everything I saw, felt, did...smelled...tasted...those things linger still. He haunts my mind.
Once he finished he wanted to lie next to me and talk...but he finally left.
The next day he took me for a walk, and he climbed a coconut tree by the water and retrieved us a coconut that we shared. We ran into Gotti, who had been stalking me. Caveman protected me from him and we returned to my room.
He had sex with me again. And afterwards he told me about some of his tattoos, which really were terrible. He'd done them himself. He said that he was going to put my name, "Harper" on him when he could. I thought he was stupid.
After that I didn't see him, really. Soon I would leave the Camelot Inn. His name would come up again. He would probably wind up, in a strange sort of way, saving my life.

But awake or asleep, Caveman haunts my mind to this day. He is someone my soul refuses to heal from.