Images of Lost Innocence

I’m lying in bed listening to the sound of myself breathing. My tiny dog is burrowed under my sweatshirt transforming into a personal heating pad. I focus on my breathing as I force my eyes open with another sip of fizzing, orange soda. I’m entering the toughest part of the night: my head is pounding, the room is spinning, and my body has fallen asleep disconnecting itself from the rest of me. 

I refuse to let my weary eyes shut because when they do the images come. First, the black turns into the distorted purple bruises on porcelain skin. I see the pleasure in those blue demons he dare call eyes. I see the sinister curl of his lip as he relishes in the pain he is causing me. After that my other senses decide to join the party. The smell of two types of sweat swirling together. One of a man acting on his desires. The other of a victim who doesn’t know how else to say no. 

The screams are what end the scene. Desperate cries for help covered with a callous hand.