Cowering with a whimper, Gretchen peeks at the piercing eyes that bore into her tender bones like parasitic worms. The rage and hate contained in them are twin storms. They rage black, but the light through the window makes them visible even though she wishes they would remain hidden. In their gaze, she feels naked. Not just naked, more than naked. Stripped bare. Reduced. Crushed. She feels like a piece of meat sucked clean of its taste and spat out onto a dinner plate. She doesn’t know much about what sex is, and yet she has a good idea, and right now, she feels the way a woman must feel when she’s getting a taste of the rough stuff. She’s unsure where she first heard that expression, but it’s stuck in her head regardless. Perhaps it was her mother? Some biblical rant about how women of low morals attract the punishment they deserve, no doubt. Vice attracting vice? Something like that. Momentarily pondering why the adult world is so preoccupied with the sexual act, the stench coming from the thing’s mouth snaps her out of it. With tears of fear rolling down her cheeks, she’s not sure how many of them are brought upon knowing how alone she is and how many are caused by the knowledge that anytime soon, she shall be chewed up and spat out as if she were just another mouthful of girly meat.