I could never see her the same way as before, after picturing him entering her, even if it was his sick daydream. Sometimes I pick up the box, the on... we all have somewhere hidden in our homes or garages or storage units. The one with the dried flowers, cards, letters, mixed tapes, stuffed animals, dirty photos, anything he or she might have left behind. I have letters that I read. Text and email transcripts. Some horrible poetry. I bring this box out when I need to cry and can’t, but now it. My limbs were bound to all four corners of the bed and a bandanna had been tied around my mouth as so I couldn't scream.No matter how hard I tried I couldn't move one inch from the center of the bed. Totally bound and tied and left exposed to who ever wanted to see me. And that's when it happened.A warm rough hand touched my left ankle. I turned my head to see who it was and just that quickly, my t shirt was being pulled over my head. It wouldn't come completely off, but it was pulled up enough. More

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