Your sadness is quickly replaced by rage.  You grab the lamp in the entryway and pull it from the outlet, smashing it against the far wall. You run into the bathroom and tear off your clothing as if they had somehow inflicted this pain and humiliation upon you.  You rip the pieces of material off and throw them vehemently to the floor.  You peel off your blood stained jeans and underwear and thrust them into the trash can.  You do the same with the shirt.  Weeping unconsolably, you turn on the shower and crank the heat over to max, wanting to burn the memory of the rape from your skin.  You step into the burning water, wincing at the pain as it stings your skin. You're not sure what hurts the most.  The scalding water, the injuries or your pride.   You feverishly scrub your body, cringing as the sensitive skin barks back at you.  You scrub the tender areas even more punishingly, as if trying to make amends for the torture that you invited upon yourself.  You colllapse into the bottom of the tub and sit there with your arms around your knees, sobbing.  Bruises and lacerations blanket your thighs and legs.  You sit there until the water begins to turn cold and your tears are expended, leaving your ducts and your soul empty and dry.  

 

    You climb out of the shower and dry off.  The feeling of the towel touching you makes you begin to cry again, but you fight back the tears, feeling as though you've felt sorry for yourself long enough.  You can't bear to look at yourself in the mirror.  Tasting blood in your mouth again, you run your finger over your lips.  They are swollen and cracked and weeping blood after cleaning the coagulations from them in the shower.  You take a ragged breath and pull a robe around your naked, abused body.