I do not want to do this

I do not want to write this, because I know that it is going to make me cry, and I do not want to cry. I want to put on my happy face and pretend that nothing is wrong. I do not want to think of how afraid I was this weekend, but now that the anger is gone, all I can remember is how lonely and scared I felt. I am trying so hard not to despair, but with every reality check of what has become of my country once with so much hope, another piece of my soul is dying.

I do not want to remember that when I walked to my hotel room that night, that I was pinching myself not to cry - I did not want anyone to see. I was hungry and tired, all the restaurant kitchens were closed already, and after what had just transpired, I could not face pleading and explaining to a stranger why I want food so late at night, with tears on my face.

I do not want to think about my longing in the midst of all the chaos and the hostility directed at me for doing what I am being paid for, how all I wanted to do was hear his voice, the calmness in it, to tell me that I will be okay. I do not want to remember how sore my feet was and how I stood on the cold tiles, feeling the relief as the coldness eased the physical pain, but at the same time how my heart was breaking because I heard his laughter at the South African girl that does not like shoes.

I do not want to remember the absolute despair and loneliness that settled over me when I was in my warm and humid hotel room, and that after a day and night of longing and missing him, when I finally did manage to speak to him, I was miserable and moody. I do not want to think about his text message warning me that I sooner or later I am going to get hurt in what I do for a living, because then I have to think about my fear. I do not want to remember that when the rain started, how I stepped out onto the balcony, and cried as the raindrops hit my face, trying to rid myself of the sadness.

I will then have to think about how I faced the aggression and taunts, loosely wondering if they might have some sort of weapon concealed on their bodies. I will have to remember that I deliberately closed the space between us, with my heart beating so fast and hard, and how I thought that I am going to get my bottom smacked for this - I am putting myself in direct danger once again.

I will then have to think about how badly I do want to be able to go home to him, telling him of my fears, and my actions that I know he hates. I will have to think about him pulling me over his lap, his voice deep whilst lecturing me about the consequences of not obeying. I will have to think that even though I might not be able to sit down for a while, and with a bottom sore and red, how safe, loved and wanted I will then be. I will have to think about my deep desire that I would love nothing more than only just that.

But I do not want to think about it, because it is making me cry, for all I want on this Tuesday morning, is his strong arms around me, holding me and telling me that I will be okay.