"Well..." She hesitates for a moment before continuing. "Yes, I suppose he did. But it wasn't that big of a deal." Even as she says this, though, she can feel herself growing aroused at the memory. The thug notices her reaction and grins triumphantly.

They arrive at a small diner and the thug holds open the door for her. "After you," he says with a wink. As they enter the restaurant, Zoey feels a strange mix of fear, excitement, and anticipation coursing through her veins. Where this night might lead is still anyone's guess... but she can't help but feel that she's about to find out.

"I don't remember," she says, trying to change the subject as they sit down at a booth. "It was a long time ago." But the thug persists with his questions, and she can see that he's enjoying getting her to talk about these things. It makes her feel uncomfortable, but also strangely turned on.

"So," she says, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction, "what do you want to eat?" She glances at the menu, hoping that he'll drop the subject and focus on ordering food instead. As they make their selections, she can't help but wonder if this is really just some twisted game he's playing with her... or if there might be something more to it.

she swallows one last time before slowly standing up on shaky legs, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and avoiding his gaze

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice raw from crying and choking on him. "Please forgive me..." Even as the words leave her lips, she knows they're pointless. He'll never be able to forgive her for what she's done... or what she's become because of it. All she can do now is try to pick up the pieces of her shattered life and hope that somehow, some way... things will get better someday.

---

---

I huff and get out of bed, reluctantly heading toward the bathroom. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever." I mumble under my breath as I close the door behind me. It takes me a few minutes to get undressed and step into the shower, but once I'm in there, it feels good to wash away some of the stress and frustration from the day.

I scrub myself clean, trying not to think about my father's words too much.

After what feels like an eternity in the shower, I finally rinse off all the soap and get out. I dry myself off with a towel and look around for some clean clothes. I manage to find an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts that still fit me decently well, then pull them on before heading back into my room.

I see my dad looking through my stuff when I get there, and I immediately feel defensive again. "Hey! What are you doing?"