I was dating this baseball player. I don't know his name, or what team he was on, or even how I knew he was a baseball player but he was. I remember laying in bed with him in my old bedroom from a house that we'd moved from when I was 15. We were talking and enjoying each other's company and he left. I followed and it led me to a hallway where other girls were sitting and waiting. They were either standing or sitting, whatever, but they all looked sad and scared. There was another door next to the one that I'd come out and one by one girls would disappear in there. I sat and wondered what was going on until my mom's best friend came in and explained to me that the girls were being tortured by members of the baseball team (their own boyfriends) and sometimes killed. I sobbed, crying that I didn't want to die and she just comforted me, kept saying that it was going to be okay. I was one of the last girls to go in and it looked exactly like my parent's (being my mom and stepdad) bedroom, except a bit bigger. I remember looking in the mirror at their vanity and seeing a lot of make up under my eyes and my hair all in my face (I haven't worn make up in months). My boyfriend was there, wielding a chef's knife told me to take off my shirt. He kind of chased me around the room with it and got my back with it (I remember the tip being pushed into my back but not like being stabbed, just the tip, and him dragging the blade across my back a couple time) before I woke up.