Have you ever feared for your life?

I believe that there are 2 categories when it comes to risk:

Risk-averse or risk-willing.

I’m a risk taker, plain and simple, and when I come into contact with someone who errs on the side of caution, I don’t quite understand how they are the way they are. It’s a personal struggle of mine, duly noted, and I’m sure they are just as equally astounded by the pleasure I take in risk.

Take travel for example. When others come to learn that I traveled to dozens of countries in my early twenties all by myself, they act completely startled, and when they realize I’m a woman their anxiety escalates out of control.

“Weren’t you scared? Did anything ever happen to you?”

I used to take pride in the fact that I could answer honestly, “No, not at all. Nothing bad has ever happened to me.” I mean how many single women traveling the world could boast of that, especially after doing the things that I had done?

The uneventful/safe travel lasted about 15 countries before something actually did happen to me. I was in Egypt, but the person of interest was actually American.

Ironic, I know, seeing as many people believe that terrible things happen to people from outside their homes, not within.

I had been on a tour of the pyramids with this man and a number of others earlier that day. He seemed kind. He told me he was a flight attendant on vacation in Egypt. There were no red flags, not even a smidge. He was a happy man, full of laughter and smiles, seemingly aware of his boundaries within the world.

But none of my assumptions mattered when I was woken up by his heavy body on top of mine at 2:00am. I was in an unlocked private hostel room fast asleep without a worry or fear in the world until I felt his body weighing down on mine, separated by nothing but a sheet. It took me a few moments to register what was happening. Once I recognized his face in the dark, I thought perhaps he was in trouble and had rushed in for some important emergency. When I saw his position on top of me I knew I was wrong.

I asked him to get off, he said he would get off when he wanted to.

I pushed/kicked him off the bed. He went for the keys to lock us both in the room, but wasn’t able to manage the task.

I opened the door, wearing nothing but the sheet I used to cover my body, and asked him to leave the room. He laid down on the floor for what felt like an eternity, and finally left.

In tears, I curled up into the fetal position on the bed and messaged the owner of the hostel what had happened. The man was kicked out of the hostel and it wasn’t until the next morning that I learned he had taken LSD that some guys from Michigan gave him the night before.

In those moments while the unwelcome guest was in my room, I never feared for my life. I just couldn’t for the life of me imagine his intentions. I had gone over our encounters the day before over and over in my head trying to see where I had missed the signs of the poor choices he would make, but I never suspected what he would do.

I felt tricked. I felt naive. I felt mortal.

He never got the chance to touch my body, and with the state of mind he was in I’m not sure exactly whether he wanted to or what his aim was in my room that night. Later on he would message me denying any of those events ever happening. He would get angry that I told the owner of the hostel, and angry that the owner called the Giza police. Angry that I didn’t understand the “ecstacy” he experienced.

I knew women in those situations had definitely had it worse, and the unwelcome guest in their room actually crossed the ultimate boundary, but I couldn’t shake the thought that even though he never went that far, I still felt like he had.

It was already too late.