Unspoken Pleasure by Erotica

Just One Drink; 3

After the blissful afterglow faded though, she was left with only shand 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 sof 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 | 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.

She could do this tomorrow.

She thought, as she started drying off. Now she just wanted to go back to bed and forget all the terrible things

that had happened. Tomorrow she could go to school and pretend that nothing had happened. She could throw

herself into her academics until she either had top marks or a nervous breakdown, whichever cfirst. Today

she could crawl into bed, tune out the world, and pretend that today never happened. And that worked for a

while, but somettowards the evening, when the sunset was streaming through her curtains in reds and

oranges there was a knock at her door that woke her up out of her temporary coma. Violet looked at the door but

did not make any move to get up. It was probably one of her friends from the party last night, and she knew if

she started talking about it, she'd just start crying again.

So, she waited in silence for them to go away, and after another minute there was another knock. This one was

more forceful. "Con Violet," an unfamiliar voice said, "I know you're in there, and | brought pizza." She didn't

know who that was, or how it was that he knew her, but 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, while he stood there,

smiling to himself.

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

Violet."

"Go away," she said, barely audible through the door. "I don't want anything, and if you know what happened,

then you know why. Just, please... leavealone."

"I know. | get that. But I'll bet you don't know what happened last 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 joinfor dinner then you'll never have the evidence

you need for..."

Violet opened the 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

embarrassed to realize that she wasn't wearing any pants.

"What do you want?" she hissed, stepping back as she tugged down her nightshirt to just above her knees. "Say

what you need to say and then get out." The stranger opened his mouth to speak but she quickly interrupted

him, "And if you so much as touch| swear to Christ I'll scream. If you think I'm just shelpless little

victim..."

He laughed sardonically, stepping in the room and closing the door behind him. "Don't worry Violet, | don't think

you're a victim. I'm James by the way, and in a few minutes, | promise everything will make a lot more sense, but

first, why don't you put spants on while | find us splates, and we'll have dinner. | doubt you've eaten

anything all day, have you?"

She ignored him, turning to find her least sexy pair of sweatpants, while dishes clattered in the kitchen. She

wanted to ignore everything he was saying, but now that she could smell that pizza, she was surprised to

discover that she was in fact starving. She could eat his pizza and hear him out... But then she was kicking this

weirdo out even if she had to call the police.

She returned from her closet, finally decent in the sloppiest way possible, to find him set up at the table. She

took the glass of water obviously intended for her, dumped it out in the sink and then took a bottle of water from

the refrigerator and opened it, glaring at him. James for his part only chuckled, shook his head and started to eat

while Violet sat down.