The next morning, Doris crept from the sofa, fumbled for her clothes, staggered back to her room, and went directly into the bathroom. Once the door was closed behind her, she looked in the mirror and frowned. Doris felt like crying. "Nobody cares about your suffering," she told herself. "So, quit whining…"
Without bothering to undress, she climbed into the shower, curled up into a ball, and ran hot water over her trembling body. Eventually, the water began to cool, and she stripped off her clothes so that she could wash away the events of the night before. But, like a particularly bad smell - like that of a cigarette or a skunk's spray – no amount of scrubbing could alleviate her mental trauma. She could not believe that she had allowed herself to be raped for money, and she hated hersel
