This bloke – Pete? Matt? Drake? Christ, she couldn’t recall his name either – was a big chap: tall, broad-shouldered, not bad-looking with dark layered hair to his shoulders. He’d bragged about him and his sister opening a tattoo shop in the town centre, and how his sister was the talent – dim, but arty – and he was the brains. He clearly didn’t have the same kind of bond with his sister that she had with Hugh. Despite him making her laugh a couple of times, she wasn’t keen. A bit of an arse – had a real downer on women. In fact, he could piss off. She’d had enough. She didn’t want sex with him or anyone else. She needed to call a taxi.

She rose, stumbled across the room towards the phone in the corner. But he was right behind her, looping his arm around her waist, guiding her towards the exit, and into the quietness of the late hour.

‘I need to get home,’ she cried, as he dragged her across the silent road, and into the woods opposite the pub. ‘No, please. I need to get a taxi.’

*

Water cascaded, cooler now, making her shiver after the deliberately scalding flow from the shower moments ago. Soapsuds snaked down her shaking legs, before spiralling down the plughole towards oblivion, along with the foul, yet fuzzy, memories of the early hours.

A mistake, not rape – Verity tried to convince herself – a hideous way to lose her virginity. She hadn’t wanted sex with a beer-soaked stranger. She’d told him no over and over. Why hadn’t he stopped?

The plan, before her stupid idea to venture out half-pissed, had always been to never lose her virginity. Her petal, as she liked to call it, would stay intact forever, because the only way she’d ever lose it was for love, and she could never imagine loving anyone in the intense way she loved Hugh.

But this, this thing that happened on the damp grass, with a bloke she’d just met – with a name she still couldn’t recall – was the furthest thing from love that she could get. What the hell had she been thinking? This, this had been sordid and cheap, and now she felt unclean – and however long she stood under this pathetic excuse for a shower, it would never wash away her pain, her humiliation, her sadness. This, this had been the worst moment of her life, and that was really something, because her whole life so far had been a cacophony of horrendous moments.

Tears rolled down her face. She’d said no. She’d said no so many times.

The phone rang, startling her from her thoughts. She turned off the shower, and the pipes groaned as she grabbed a greying towel from the rack, and wrapped it around herself. It felt harsh against her skin.