Kids played here and there, there were grass verges and some of the homes even had front gardens, but most of them contained old furniture and junk that the occupants probably couldn’t afford to get rid of. Sex Again, no answer. He said, “I think you need to get out of my house,” beginning to turn towards the door, but she grabbed his arm, digging her nails into his wrist. “What sort of an asshole hits their girlfriend?!” there was a fury in her eyes, a rage in her tone that mixed with an incredible, churning anxiety. He’d cum in her vaginally and following that, he’d sodomised her. Her eyes had opened following the hit – an expression of fear, teary-upset, anger and alarm. In the warm air that emanated from his home, contrasting with the cold sun, she could smell the sweet smell of marijuana. His name was Scott. She’d turned to look at him, arms folded; the football could be heard from the room to the right of her. “So, do you ever hear from anyone else from school?”
Janet had pondered, was about to name someone but was struck suddenly by a different story. Consent classes, graphic news stories, harassment panics, extreme TV and virtual reality, a confused miasma of cultural expression that from one minute to the next, couldn’t decide
