Another month has passed.
Life hasn't gotten any better...
The rent is piling up, the food is crumbs, and the looks on the streets about her sexy body no longer hurt her... It didn't even mean anything.
She walked and didn't see.
She no longer eats and doesn't taste.
She slept and did not rest.
One night, she found herself standing in front of the same door... again.
The same light knocking.
The same deadly hesitation in her chest.
The door opened.
Leo smiled, his usual triumphant smile.
"You're back?"
She shook her head silently, as if she had stopped talking a long time ago.
He opened the door for her to enter.
But this time... I felt something different.
Laughter.
Men's voices.
She entered... Then she froze.
Three boys were there.
On the couch, drinking, laughing, and staring at her all at once...
The same old looks.
The same eyes she had seen the first time, the day she was exposed.
One of them said with disgusting lightness:
"Oh... Who is this beauty? Wow, Leo... You are generous."
They laughed.
And she... didn't move.
She looked at Leo, her voice hoarse:
"Why?"
He took a step closer, smiling wickedly:
"You said you want more money, right? This is a group offer."
A laugh came from one of them:
"You can think of us as a business opportunity."
As for her...
There was no sound.
No anger.
No tears.
Just one question...
How much is left of her?
Leo sat watching them from afar, his eyes mesmerized by the scene before him. She sat next to them, curled up in a circle of men, trembling as if her body was rejecting its surroundings, or as if her soul was lost in an unrelenting storm.
One of them, without saying a word, without any preliminaries, slowly reached out and began to run his fingers over her pussy between her legs under her skirt, his movement was slow, deliberate, touching her wet panties as if he had the right to do so.
But she didn't move. She didn't scream. She didn't slap his hand. She just kept shaking... as if she had completely lost touch with reality.
Another heavy hand gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him despite the refusal in her eyes.
The other was squeezing and squeezing her chest hard, as if the pain was deliberate, as if she were a voiceless object.
Her body was frozen.
It was not her voice that was missing, but her sense of the world.
The third man's scent was the first thing to hit her, then his hot breath crawling up her neck without permission, without right.
A kiss imposed on her like a stab, more like an insult than anything else.
He grabbed her by the jaw, deepening the kiss.
There was no warmth, not even silent lust... just filthy possession.
Her body was present, but it wasn't hers.
And inside, something very small was screaming: "I'm not yours, I'm not any of you."
And then...
without saying a word.
she pushed them with all the remaining consciousness and anger in her body.
She stood up - swaying, not only from fatigue, but from the weight of what had been imposed on her.
And then she ran.
She ran as if the distance could erase what had happened, as if the wind could wash away their fingers.
She slammed the door open.
The sound of the handles, the creaking of the hinges, was louder than any scream.
She rushed outside...
in the rain.
barefoot.
Her hair sticking to her face, the water mingling with her tears that didn't have time to come down.
The rain wasn't just cold, it was also sticky - as if it knew.
She ran aimlessly, but all she wanted was: To get away.
From them, from their smell, from the room, from herself.
The rain drenched her, and the water seeped through her clothes until they became transparent, revealing details she didn't want anyone to see. She bowed her head as she tried in vain to cover herself with her arms, but the wet fabric clung to her body, exposing her fragility. She felt cold, ashamed, broken.
Then, suddenly, as if everything she had been holding in for ages had collapsed all at once, she gasped and began to cry. It wasn't a quiet cry, but a painful, heart-wrenching cry, as if her own heart was bleeding.
People passed by; some gave her a quick glance before turning away and continuing on their way, as if she didn't mean anything, as if her pain was just a temporary glitch in their daily routine. Others stopped, tried to talk, to offer a hand or ask a question, but her glassy eyes didn't meet any of them. She was somewhere else, immersed in an ache that needed no words.
She was alone in the crowd.