It wasn't until the sound of his groaning I realized I ought to run.

This time, I didn't count the blocks to Trisha's flat. My feet carried me on their own accord, and my fist—the one that didn't feel like it had shattered into million pieces—saw to beating on her door.

"Emma?"

I barely registered my friend as she cracked open the door, the reminiscing metallic taste of blood inspiring another bout of nausea. I made directly for the bathroom and nearly slammed into the sink. I spat into the basin before running the water on cold. It rushed out of the tap in a welcome fury and I held out my still-shaking hands in order to splash it on my face, which had become stained with tears and snot.

When my face finally felt bearably clean, I cupped my hands and greedily slurped the pooling water. I swished it forcefully and thoroughly around my mouth before spitting again.

Still, I gagged and forced myself to clamp a firm hand over my mouth as I felt the memory of the abrasive ridges of his tongue scrape against mine.

"What are you doing here?" Came Trisha's voice from somewhere off behind me.

"Sorry I—" I swallowed back rising bile as I ripped the medicine cabinet open and retrieved the bottle of mouthwash. I took a healthy portion and gargled until the only sense I could register in my mouth was the taste of spearmint.

I let the water run after spitting one final time. My hands gripped the edge of the basin—my right in miserable protest—and my gaze fixated on the corner of a ceiling tile as I attempted to steady my shaking.

In and out.

"Emma," Trisha's voice cut in again, this time more forcefully.

Out. In. Christ, we need to dust for cobwebs.

"Emma, how could you?" She demanded. "How could you do that to Tom, to yourself, t-to me!"

I glanced over my shoulder to find her standing in doorway looking expectantly at me—no glaring expectantly at me. I blinked.

"To you?"

"Yeah, to me!" She shouted, indignant. "After everything we went through. All those months I spent putting you back together after you'd cut me out of your life for a year!"

I shook my head in confusion, but instead of clearing matters up it only resulted in the room impossibly spinning. "I-I don't... Trish, I really can't take the theatrics. Not right now... I—"

"Theatrics?" She screamed. "I'm not the one reenacting the bloody daytime drama!"

Her shrill tambour unhinged the last fastening of self-control I had managed to grasp on to. "What the bloody hell are you going on about it?"

"I'm going on about you throwing away your literal prince charming to go back to your loser ex-boyfriend!"

I turned to fully face her, my utter bewilderment distracting me from my exasperation. "My... what?"

"You heard me! He's a total cad, Emma. And I won't just standby and watch you go back to him. I won't do it."

"I'm not! Why would you think—"

"Because I'm not blind!" She chucked her phone at me and, by the grace of whatever divine being, I fumbled to catch it before it smashed to the floor. I flipped it over to see the screen and nearly dropped the phone a second time.

He cupped my face as his lips locked with mine, while my hands appeared to rest peacefully on his chest. The picture didn't show unnatural angle my neck was forced to hold or the flailing attempts of my knee. It showed us, alone in the alleyway. Kissing.

I could barely breathe.

"Wh-where did you get this?"

"Where do you think? They're all over the bloody Internet!"

My eyes widened in horror. My finger hovered above the screen to swipe, but mentally I wasn't prepared to see what else the Internet had in store this time. "There's more?"

Trisha practically cackled at that. "Oh yeah. There's plenty more, Emma. You seriously thought you'd get away this? Going to see him in broad daylight and after he gives an interview professing his love for you to boot?"

"I didn't..." My finger lowered and then flicked left. Then again. And again. And again.

Patrick gallantly guiding me down the steps with an intimate hand on my back. Me throwing my head back laughing in his close embrace. Patrick caressing my cheek—

"I thought we were done with this, Emma." Trisha said, her voice low and severe. "You promised me you were done with him. You promised!"

A final picture of Patrick forcing his lips onto mine bounce across the screen as I attempted to swipe past the last photo in the slideshow. I shook my head, disbelieving.

But where are the photos of him grabbing me? Of him forcing himself on to me? Of me pushing and kneeing and biting and punching my way to be free?

"Where are the rest?" I managed to croak.

"What you want more?" Trisha shouted. "This isn't enough for you? What, did you pay the photographer to be there? Mad you didn't get your money's worth?"

A sob lodged in my throat. "H-how can you even say those words?"

"What the hell did Tom ever do to deserve this, hm?" Trisha steamed on.

"I didn't do anything! H-he forced himself on me!"

"Oh please, you practically did him in broad daylight! And from the looks of it you were all too eager!"

My right hand seared out in pain as it clenched her phone. I ground my teeth & tightened my grip on the devise. "So that's it then? Some pictures flood the Internet and suddenly I'm a whore?"

Trisha's gaze fell to the bathroom tile. After a moment, her bony shoulder lifted slightly and then dropped. "If the shoe fits."

My eye twitched before I forced the both of them to close. I licked my already moist lips and nodded. When I opened my eyes again, I didn't try to control the flow of tears.

"Go to hell, Trisha."

I snatched her hand and shoved it into her palm as I strode toward her front door.

It slammed shut behind me.

❤️