If it was still night, it was a long one. And one she would prefer to forget. When they eventually let her free, she would contact the ploice and tell...them what had happened. But she knew this was going to be futile. She hadn’t seen anyone of the four men who had raped her. Didn’t know how she had gone from the party to where ever she was now. Even as she knew she would report it, she also knew they would never catch them. She heard footsteps moving into the room and a voice, a voice she had. Suddenly, the door bursts open, and four or five men walk in. Introductions are made, in French, but I am much too far gone to remember any of my French. The door closes, and it looks infinitely far away. One of the men walks to me, a trail of brown leading out behind him. I shake my head, trying to clear it. ‘What’s good man? It’s Rafael.’ I stare blankly at him, he laughs and moves on. The men set up their hookah, and begin preparations. Loud angry French hip hop is being played. Demons. More

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