Cynthia didn’t move for a long time after he finished.
She lay there, naked and still, staring up at the ceiling like it could answer all the questions screaming in her head.
Her body ached—inside and out. Her lips were swollen. Her thighs were sore. There was an uncomfortable wetness between her legs, and every breath she took felt like her chest was collapsing.
She could hear Mike behind her, already lighting a cigarette like nothing happened. Like she wasn’t a person—just something he used to release his anger.
Slowly, carefully, she sat up and pulled the sheets around her. Her hands were shaking, and her heart was still pounding as she climbed out of bed.
She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t.
Her clothes were scattered across the floor, some torn, some stained. She grabbed what
