Unspoken Pleasure by Erotica

Just One Drink; 3

After the blissful afterglow faded though, she was left with only shame and the dull ache from her torments. What was she supposed to do after something like this happened to her? Should she call someone? The police? Would they believe her? She'd probably just washed away what little evidence there was, and it's not like she could remember enough about any of the perpetrators for a conviction, or even an arrest probably. She thought about some of the rape cases she'd followed, and how traumatic it appeared to be for the victims. The reporters eventually found out their identity and then they hounded them for all the salacious details. Imagining that now it seemed like a whole second rape; there was no way she could go through such a thing. Better to pretend it never happened. Better to let the scant details drift away until she could convince herself it was just a party that got out of hand.

"Or I could just kill myself," she added in a barely audible whisper while she continued to sit on the cold wet floor. It was a last resort for sure, but people had done it for less hadn't they? No, she decided after a moment of silence, slowly rising to her feet. She wasn't going to do that. They weren't worth it. If there was anything she was good at it was baring the slings and arrows of a life which had never been kind to her. Not since well before she'd been institutionalized in high school.

She could do this.

Tomorrow.

do

she either had top marks or a nervous breakdown, whichever came first. Today she could crawl into bed, tune out the world, and pretend that today never happened. And that worked for a while, but sometime towards the evening, when

she felt no need to investigate further as she looked at the door with antipathy and annoyance. At least until he followed up with "We need to talk about last night," after that she sat up in bed immediately. How could someone know about last night? Unless he was a part of it? She was filled with fear then, but also anger. What was the right thing to do here? Should she ignore him? Should she talk to him? Should she call the police? After a moment of deliberation, she got out of bed wearing only her panties and her long shirt and padded quietly to the door to look in the peephole. The man on the other side of the door was a little taller than her, and a little older, but she didn't recognize anything about him. Not in her hazy recollections of the party or in the terrible snatches of memory from later that night she was already trying to forget. He was in fact carrying a pizza and had a little laptop bag over his shoulder,

he said, quietly this time. "I've got something you're definitely going to want to see

said, barely audible through the door. "I don't want anything, and if you know what happened, then you know why. Just, please... leave me

night, do you?" he said. This conversation itself was starting to make her nervous. What if one of the people that lived next store was listening? What if they figured out what they were talking about? "If you don't join me for dinner then you'll never have the evidence

door, not so much convinced by what he was saying so much as he didn't want her to say anymore in the hallway. She was mortified that anyone might find out, because once anyone knew, it would only be a few days before everyone knew. But it was only when she opened the door that she was even more

say and then get out." The stranger opened his mouth to speak but