Olivia knew deep within her that something was terribly wrong. She showered six times a day, trying to remove the stain, scrub the scent from her body. As the minutes bled into hours and the hours into days, Olivia had more flashes of what had happened. It was as if her mind was sending out a trickle of water from the dam, but not trying to cause a flood. It was protecting her, but also wanted her to remember what happened.

The sound of flesh striking flesh, the dirt caked under her fingernails. She remembered that. She remembered losing her shoes somewhere and cutting her feet stumbling back to the car. Where were her shoes and what was she doing out in the middle of that field, alone? She may never get answers; her mind remembered reading an old article once about how the brain will build a barrier around itself and its memories to protect you and may release them in time when you could handle it.

The hand that choked her around her neck surprised her, cutting off any air she tried to breathe in. She panicked, but her arms were pinned down by steel bands. Steel bands that left finger marks. Olivia looked down at both of her arms; the marks almost matched the ones on her thighs perfectly. Another piece of the puzzle. But who would have hurt her?

Her dad hadn’t pushed her on going back to school; after what happened last time, he had been very careful not to exert any parental authority over her, besides, how could he know if she didn’t fully understand what had happened herself? She went into the bathroom to brush her teeth, studiously ignoring the mirror just in case she caught sight of her reflection. She didn’t want to be seen, but when she rinsed her mouth, her eyes connected with the mirror.

She saw Wren, beaten, bloodied, punched, kicked. His eye black and swollen, his lip split and bleeding.

Why? Quickly, she turned away from the mirror and went back to her bedroom. She heard the front door close quietly and assumed that her dad was leaving for work, but she didn’t much care, she was beyond caring what he did now.

Then she remembered.

She hadn’t checked her phone in days. It sat, uncharged, in her bag. She pulled it out and plugged it in. A little trickle of life booted it up just enough for her to check her messages. Wren. She traced his name with her finger.

Her underwear ripped from her body, shoved deep in her mouth so she couldn’t scream again, so as not to be heard by a crowd of her classmates close enough that she could hear the high-pitched laughter of the girls over the music. Would they hear her?

No one will hear you scream. He seemed to get off on it.