I walked home and stood outside my house, unable to bring myself to put my keys in the lock.
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‘They’re in the washing machine,’ said the woman who I still assumed was his mum, turning from the counter where she was preparing food. And he’s out.’ And with that, she punched me in the face.
‘But they weren’t dirty,’ I mumbled, sitting down at the table and feeling confused. I wrapped the dressing gown tighter around my body, suddenly awkward. Sometimes when I look back on what happened to me, I still wonder whether I could have fought back harder. Occasionally I’d hear movement from upstairs or thuds from around the rest of the house, but most of the time the building was silent.
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Shaken and scared, I saw my trainers were still by the door, so I pulled them on and crept up the stairs. I ran to the window, but it was locked with bars across the outside. The more I screamed, the more they seemed to enjoy raping me.