I went inside my room and the familiar heavy burden of fear hit me before I could even draw breath. All of my being revolted against the memory of his touch—the way in which his fingers had drawn marks upon my flesh without my permission, creating a mark that could never be removed. My eyes involuntarily moved towards the mirror placed on the wall, in hopes of seeing a reflection that wasn't marred by shame. My face was tight and stained, and even when I tried to control my breathing, my hands gave me away within a minute, sending shivers.
I went towards the bathroom, I scrubbed my body until it turned red, remembering his words and his touch sending shivers down my skin. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine it washing off the stench of him—the cold, intrusive smell that clung to me. Wit
