Your head hangs over the toilet bowl limply. Reaching up you flush the toilet, your vomit swirling down with the water. Rhys had just finished having his way with you, and you feel sick. Your whole body hurts and your head throbs with pain. Bruises cover your skin along with large bite marks. He's getting worse - your body hurts more than last time, like you can't get up.

Tears well up in your eyes as you feel disgusted with yourself, like it's your fault for letting it happen. The cold bathroom tiles press against your knees, the smell of cleaning chemicals mixing with the sour scent of vomit in the air.

The door opens quietly. Rhys doesn't even look down at you. He just grabs his wallet and leaves, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. The sound of the front door slamming echoes through the small apartment, leaving you alone with your pain and thoughts.