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4.
Much can be said about what happened afterwards. Susan will certainly have time to think about it in months and years to come. She will have time to analyse the harm she invited upon herself, the shame scarifying her soul for good, the hate and guilt she gave birth to during the course of that evening.
She will also have time to think about why they chose her. Or was it that she chose them? Was she just a victim? Was she encouraging them? Was she inviting them? Would they have raped any random woman like that, given the circumstances?
More importantly, would they have given any other woman a ride home?
“Give her the clothes, man, I want her dressed.” Shane was looking for his car keys.
“Aww, man, don't be a pain in the ass… What does she needs clothes for?” Mick seemed reluctant to dress himself.
“Have you no shame, man? The lady needs a ride home and we wouldn't be much of the gentlemen we claim we are if we were to return her home just in her stockings and shoes. Not that her husband is not used to her coming home like that, I am sure he is, but we want to show we know where passion stops and where good manners start.”
Susan was handed what was left of her clothes and ordered to dress. She put the torn clothes on in robotic, stiff manner.
The hallway was even darker when they left the apartment. The walked down the stairs, Shane leading the way, Susan threading uncertainly behind him and Mick, still buttoning up behind them.
“Aww, crap. I need to piss” Mick announced.
“That's fucking typical, man.” Shane mumbled. “Remind me to never take you to the movies.”
He got the keys out of his pocket.
“Here, hurry up!”
Mick laughed aloud.
“Man, sometimes you're, like, the brightest person I know. And sometimes you're so slow. Keep the keys.”
He turned to Susan.
“Get down, bitch. One last drink for the road, OK?”
It should have been over. It should have been over by now… It should have been over. I hate you I hate you I hate you so much.
“Open up.. Open up, aahhhhhh, uuuhhh, that feels good, man!!”
It didn't all go in. Some of his urine fell on her face, on her breasts (exposed through the torn blouse and bra), some of it ended up on her hair. And some of it, quite a lot of it, actually, went into her mouth. And as much of it as she could spit back and send it down her chin and neck, some of it made it down her hurting throat and into her stomach. Not much, perhaps, not that much, but some of it definitely.
I hate you so much. So much…
“What a great slut, man… What a perfect whore!!! People pay big fucking bucks for something like this. Huge fucking bucks, man”.
The same car. The same smell. The same radio chatter. The same laughs and insults between Mick and Shane. The streets she started to recognise. The block she knew. Home…
“Well, it's been a pleasure, ma'am.” Shane said when they opened her door and forced her out of the car. “Say hello to hubby for us and don't forget to show him some of the stuff we taught you. But, you know, keep some of it a secret. You know, kiss and tell, not good. Bad girls do that and we don't want anyone to think you've been a bad girl, OK? Hubby especially. Right?”
Susan nodded. Like a robot. Like a guignol. She nodded and stayed in the same spot as Shane started the car and drove down the street slowly. They left.
And that brings Susan back home. She looks across the street. She can see her house. All the lights are off, save for the one on the outside. That means her husband is asleep. What time is it anyway???
Doesn't matter. The time is later than it should be. She better hurry. She needs to have a shower. Then silently get into bed, without waking her husband up. A pill or two and she will sleep a dead, black sleep, sleep that will take her way beyond her hubby's time for work in the morning. Then she will wake up.
And then… Then it can all start.
Good luck Susan. And I mean it. Best of luck to you and your sinful, broken soul. You made many mistakes. You made many wrong decisions. And your punishment will be many times the proportion of your sins. Good luck, Susan. I mean it.
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