Blood on the floor. It was just a few drops here and there, a delicate trail leading from the bathroom floor to the hall and down to the bedroom on the right. Inside, on the bed, the girl sat with her hands to her face crying. Bruises would begin to show on her wrists and legs. Her sobs were kept quiet so no one would hear her. The pain she feels runs deep within her, the knowing, the physical pain, and the hurt in her chest is like nothing she has never felt before.

The bleeding wouldn't stop. The fear and betrayal wouldn't go away. It was one in the morning and all she could think about was what did she do, what was it that she did to make this happen? Slowly the sobbing lessened. On her side, legs pulled up close and tight to her chest. She could feel stinging pain and hot throbbing between her legs. Pulling her hands away, she gently checked herself by touch to check if the bleeding had stopped. What was she going to do with her ruined panties? And the sheets, her socks, and there was a mess in the bathroom as well.

Getting up, slowly, painfully, she took off the clothes ruined by her blood and placed them in the hamper next to her desk. Using some other clothes to cover them up. The sheets would come later. Walking back the to bathroom she cleaned up the blood left behind with tissues, all the while thinking of nothing. Once at the bathroom she cleaned up the smears and the mess left behind. When there was no more blood she threw the tissues in the toilet and flushed the evidence away. After all, even with that, who would believe that such a person, a person of great respect would do something like this to a girl like her? It was her fault anyway, wasn't it?

Closing the door, she locked it before taking her shirt off and dropping it in a heap on the floor. She turned the shower water on, making the water as hot as she could stand it and stepped inside. The water burned her skin and pounded away the fingers that still touched her. But nothing could take the torn feeling from within her body. No amount of soap and scrubbing could make the memory of his body over hers, holding her down in place and using his lips to muffle her sobbing screams and pleading. She began to cry again, the water drowning her sobs, washing away her bitter and biting tears.

The water at her feet turned a light pink as it took the last of the blood down the drain. She sat down, holding her knees to her chest, her head resting against them, eyes closed tight. She shut the water off and stepped out. Standing there, the person in the mirror looked back at her. She couldn't say what she saw there was who she was not a few hours ago. The look in the eyes, the expression on her face, all of it. It was someone else looking back at her. And it was this person who she will see for a long time, perhaps forever. Turning away, the girl grabbed a towel and dried off. Slowly, quietly, she unlocked the door, opening it and looked around. Seeing everything differently, doing things differently, would now become the way things would be for her. The house is silent, the cost seems to be clear. She makes a dash for her room, closing and locking the door as soon as she is safely inside.

Finding a clean shirt, panties, then pants, she climbs back into bed. It's now three in the morning. School starts in a few more hours as always, her homework done and ready for tomorrows classes. The sun will rise in the next three hours, people will get up and go to work, people will get up and go to school. Life goes on, nothing has changed, and so she too will be as if nothing has changed. Turning over in her bed, she tries to ignore the pain and get some sleep. She has school in the morning.