Page 75 of In For a Penny
Tom is still asleep whenI manage to slip away, finding my clothes and purse by his bedroom door. I try not to take too much of his room in—I don’t want to add any more information or material to the flashbacks I know I’m bound to experience for the next couple of days.
I make it home—no idea how. I think I ordered an Uber? Whatever he gave me still has me fuzzy when I get to my apartment.
I stand in my doorway, not moving, mind blank.
It’s odd. I know exactly what happened, but I still can’t believe it. Can’t process it.
I sigh, dropping my things on the floor, not giving a shit about leaving a mess. It’s dark and almost six a.m. I don’t want to wake Allie, but there’s no fucking way I’m going to bed without a shower. I can still smell his sweat all over my body.
I turn the shower on, staring at the tile floor cold under my feet, waiting. While the water heats and I undress, I notice my muscles begin to ache and tighten. As the fog of whatever he slipped me fades, I start to feel pain in certain areas of my body.
With the light on, I examine myself in the mirror.
Holy shit.
My wrists. My wrists are bruised. Actual marks on my wrists from his fingers where he held me down. Scratch marks on my shoulder—when did that happen? Bruises on my hips from him trying to keep me immobile. And finally. And finally. And finally. I notice something inside my left thigh. A painful red mark. I poke at it and wince.
Fuck, that hurts!
I open my legs to take a better look at it. A bite mark. But not just a bite mark. I very lightly run my fingers over the bruising area and feel the teeth indentations. Still? How is that possible? How hard did he bite me? Hard enough for it to hurt without touching, apparently.
Oh my God.
It was when he was going down on me. When he was trying to get me ready to fuck me while I was asleep.
The reality of what happened slams into me like a freight train. I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m asphyxiating. I try to choke back the tears and fail. I start to shake, teeth chattering.
Oh my God.
I let him do that to me.
I let him.
But I had no choice.
Didn’t I?
I was scared it would have been worse if I had tried to fight him. I was afraid he’d hurt me even more.
Can what have happened even be called…?
I start bawling and jump quickly into the shower to quiet my sounds.
I let the scalding hot water fall over my body, fall over my skin, wishing more than anything that it could wash away the last ten hours of my life. Wishing it could wash away the memory of the feel of his body on mine. I reach for the soap and start scrubbing away at my shaking body, tears disappearing and combining with the water.
Dirty, dirty, dirty.
Unclean.
I scrub harder and harder. I take the loofah and fill it with body wash. I scrub until my skin burns.
I try to scrub the bite mark on my inner thigh, but it hurts, and the flash of pain makes me gasp. I sob and power through.
I need to get clean. I need to be clean. I need to wash the night away.
