20

It was seven-thirty when I left the Square. No vans waiting. None would come for at least another hour. I called an Uber and started the long walk to the nearest gates. My legs protested, still shaky, my thighs still like stones, my groin still oversensitive. What I pity. My head could use the stroll in the quiet evening, down the neat lanes lit by spherical lamps that radiated a warm golden glow every few feet. I thought the fresh air would help me clear my mind. I was wrong. It remained the muddled blank it was when Big Ellie left the room. Like the hormones overdose had drowned any ability to thinking straight. I was not only tired: I felt mentally drained.

It’d been worse than I’d ever expected. Even worse than the first time, because the element of surprise had been taken out of the picture. I was fully aware of what would happen, and the ugly truth was that I’d enjoyed it. Once he’d gotten me started, my body had left my mind to deal with whatever troubled it and gave in gladly