Keeley
I was numb. Trapped inside my head, frozen, as I was marched down shadowy hallways on the too small shoes that had been forced onto my feet. I couldn’t let myself feel anything. If I did, I would become hysterical. Staying calm was the only weapon I had at that point. They wanted me afraid, especially the man who had washed me. Frankie, they had called him. He had left no part of my body unscrubbed and he hadn’t been gentle about it. My breasts were red raw, my thighs and p***y were screaming in pain. He might not have touched me with his fingers, but I felt violated.
Again.
I stumbled, and it was only his vice-like grip on my arm that kept me from face planting the thick carpet. Wherever I had been taken was luxurious in an old-fashioned kind of way.
“f*****g clumsy bitch.” His
