“I have to get this over with.” You step closer and run your hands over your shoulders, moving down to your wrists where your grip tightens. And as soon as the fingers close in a rough grip, your face contorts with anger and you push me against the wall, cold and wet. I just stifled a scream, hitting the back of my head on the tile, and dumbfounded looking at you, who pressed me with the weight of his body. You do not pay attention to the fact that the water from my hair drips onto your chest, covering the light fabric with stains of various sizes, and you whisper,...