Perhaps she knew, from the beginning, that this would happen: that the men would return later on in the night to finish what they started. That they would leer at her, pull her hair, taunt her. That Carol, knowing their heady looks all too well, would wrap her essence around hers and pull her gently—more gently than she ever had—to the back of her mind. To bask in the warmth, the quiet—A sanctuary.

Perhaps she knew, from the beginning, that she'd be grateful for this: now she won't remember seeing their faces above her, she won't remember their hands on her, their manhood inside of her.

She tells herself that it's all just physical repercussion, not emotional. We can handle the physical.


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