The Morning After
I woke up to the faint rays of the morning sun piercing through my curtains, but the warmth of the light did nothing to chase away the cold emptiness inside me. My body ached in ways I had never felt before. Every muscle was sore, but the sharp, burning pain between my legs was unbearable. I shifted slightly, only to gasp as the sensation tore through me again.
Panic crawled up my throat. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.
My bedsheets were crumpled and stained. My thighs felt sticky with dried blood. And the moment I tried to sit up, a fresh wave of pain shot through me, forcing me back down.
Tears welled up in my eyes as fragments of the night before flashed through my mind. I had gone to bed early after locking my door—of that, I was certain. But now… now, my body told a different story.
"Could I have been…?"
I couldn't even finish the thought. My stomach twisted, nausea rising as reality began to sink in. My hands trembled as I touched my neck, my wrists—searching for any sign that I had dreamed it all. But the soreness was real. The ache was real.
And then I heard it. Faint voices outside my room.
"I did what you paid me for," a man's voice said—sharp, cold, without a hint of remorse. "I'm done. Don't contact me again."
"Shhhhh! Keep your voice down," a woman hissed. "That bitch had it coming… Just leave. And don't ever show your face here again, or you'll regret it."
I froze, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure they would hear it through the door. My breath caught in my throat as their words echoed in my head. Someone had planned this. Someone had paid for this.
Tears slipped down my cheeks, hot and unstoppable. My mind raced with questions, but no answers came. Who would hate me enough to do this? And why?
I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear open the door and demand answers—but fear held me still. Whoever they were, they had already proven what they were capable of. And I was too broken to fight back.
A wave of shame washed over me as I pulled the blanket tighter around my bruised body. My virginity—something I had held onto for so long—was gone. Just like that. Stolen. Violated.
I thought of Daniel, my boyfriend. For three years, I had refused to sleep with him, asking him to wait until I was ready. He had been patient—so patient—but now… how could I ever tell him? Would he still want me? Or would he see me as damaged, ruined beyond repair?
A sob broke free from my lips as I buried my face in my hands. I wanted to disappear—to vanish from the world where something this cruel could happen.
But beneath the pain, beneath the fear, a spark of anger began to burn.
Someone had done this to me. Someone had taken everything from me while I slept, helpless and unaware. And no matter how long it took, no matter how much it hurt—I would find out who it was.
And I would make them pay.