The bile burns as it comes up in continuous streams as I lean over the porcelain toilet. Tears run down my face and snot comes out of my nose as I sob and vomit at the same time. The two actions barely allow me to catch my breath which only causes me to choke more. My hair is a mess, some falling into the toilet, but I can't be bothered to remove it from the mix of vomit and toilet water. It doesn't matter anymore, nothing matters.

After Timothy had his way with me, he rolled over and went to sleep. His breaths became heavy and his face became calm as he slept. It was like nothing happened, like he hadn't just forced himself on me. There was no clock and I have no idea how long he had raped me for. It doesn't matter. Every second felt like it was lasting days, like it would never end. But it did.

When Timothy rolled off of me, I stumbled my way out of his room and to the nearest bathroom. I barely made it before everything spewed out of me. I'm only happy I made it to the toilet, but it's not like that should really matter. And still, it continued to come. That's until there's nothing but stomach acid then dry heaves. The dry heaving is even more painful and violent than the actual vomit.

When I fully finish, I just sit there. My uninjured cheek lays against the toilet seat as the sour smell of my vomit repeatedly smacks me in the face. Still, I don't bother moving away. I can't because my lower half burns and my legs are weak, too weak to move.

The door opens and I wake up. I didn't realize I fell asleep until someone comes in and gags. There's no telling who it is as I keep my head down with my hair blocking my face.

"Oh my gosh, what the hell," it's a woman who speaks. She gags once again and I hear her blow out a breath. "What the hell, runt. Why are you just sitting here? Why are you even in the packhouse? You don't live here."

When the girl receives no reply, she huffs and stomps over to me. I feel her hands in my hair and she yanks my head up. As she sees me, she gasps and drops my head. A groan leaves me as my uninjured cheek smacks against the seat of the toilet. There's no doubt that it's bruised now.

"Oh my God, what the fuck? What the fuck!" the girl shrieks. I hear her step back, but I don't hear her leave. "What happened to you?"

Nothing leaves me once again. As soon as I open my mouth, I'll cry. There's too much pain and it's taking everything in me to hold it all in. There's only one thing I still have and that's my dignity, but it's dwindling fast.

The girl is quiet once again, but I feel her eyes on me, burning into me. It must be quite a sight. Me, the smallest, non-shift girl in the pack sitting on the ground. I have nothing on but a shirt which Timothy, thankfully, hadn't ripped. My bottom half is bare and I would've grabbed pants if I was able to do so without spewing everywhere. She also had to have seen my cheek and the three large gashes. Even now, I can feel blood trailing from them, but that's not the only place I'm bleeding from, so I'm inevitably a bloody sight.

"Oh, God." She comes forward again and shoves her hands under my armpits to hoist me up. "Please get up, please get up."

I try, I do, but I can't. My legs are still too weak and my womanhood is burning. When Timothy had forced me, there was nothing to help. Lubrication wasn't a thing and if I hadn't started bleeding, it would've been even more painful.

"Get. Up. Sophia-Grace," she commands and her tone does something to me. It's too similar to Timothy's.

"No!" I cry out, yanking my body away from her and effectively falling from her grasp. My vomit-covered hair blocks my face as I lean my head away. My back is pressed against the tub and I pull my legs to my chest. "Please, no."

"No, please calm down." The girl moves forward quickly and kneels in front of me. "Oh, God, just... tell me what to do. Please tell me how to help you."

My chest tightens with her words. I feel an inexplicable anger at what she just said. Where was she when my throat was ripping in half from my screams? Where was she when I was crying for someone to help me? It's only when something actually happens do people finally open their eyes to see. If I wasn't a mess on the bathroom floor, she wouldn't have stopped and she wouldn't be trying to help me now. It's a sad world.

A bitter laugh escapes me but the force hurts from my dry throat. "Help me?" And finally, I look up to see who this person is. My eyes connect with a pair of hazel ones that are wide and scared.

Her name is Hannah Cavanough. We were never really friends before my twelfth birthday so I don't know much about her. If I was still in training to be alpha, it would have been my job to learn about her and every other pack member. But I'm not still training and it's not my job to know about everyone in this damn pack. What I do know is that she's taken part in the years of verbal abuse. Not physical, but words can hurt just as much.

I shake my head and shift, rolling onto my side. As I get on my hands and knees, I don't bother getting embarrassed by her seeing my bare bottom. Nothing matters like it used to. I push myself up and stand on my shaky legs with a wince. Grabbing the bottom of my t-shirt, I yank it down to try to cover myself.

"Here," Hannah says as she scrambles around for a towel. Once she grabs one, she hands it over to me. Despite my anger, I give her a nod and wrap the soft, purple fabric around my lower half.

Getting ready to leave the confines of the bathroom, I stop in my tracks. The mirror catches my attention as it reflects a girl who's broken beyond repair. It reflects a girl who has deep, dark bags under her eyes. A girl who has one bruised cheek and one cheek covered in gashes. The blood has stopped now, but it's smeared across her face, dried and browning. The wounds stand out against her sickly pale skin. That cheek is inflamed, redness around each opening. If it doesn't get cleaned soon, it'll grow infected. Yet the girl doesn't care, not after what happened to her.

I don't care, not after what happened to me.

"Please leave," I whisper to Hannah who stands, watching me. "I need to wash... I have to wash it off." My voice cracks as I speak and she gives me a pitying look with her eyes narrowing and her bottom lip jutting out.

"You can barely stand, how will you shower?"

I turn to her, thinking about her question. "I'll take a bath, but please leave." I'll be breaking down soon and I don't want her to see me. She can't see me.

"Let me help you, please let me help you," Hannah pleads and I don't bother denying her.

After she fills the tub, she helps me into the bath. The water is nice and warm and I pray that it will wash away everything. Before I know it, Hannah's washing my back as I shove my head into my knees that are pressed against my chest. My shoulders are shaking violently with my forceful sobs. 

I scream in pain and for my stolen innocence.