30 Days of Passion and Revenge

The air turned slightly cold, and the wetness and sharp pain between her legs made Lily unable to bear the weight, causing her to sit down with her back against the wire fence. The rough metal dug into her skin, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil she was experiencing.

She had been the victim of a strange man's rape today.

How could she, Lily Anderson, have allowed herself to reach this point, all for the sake of a piece of gossip news? Was it worth it? The question echoed in her mind, taunting her, as she grappled with the consequences of her actions.

Her shoulders trembled uncontrollably, and tears finally fell, hot and heavy, leaving trails down her pale cheeks. The weight of what had happened crashed down upon her, and she felt a wave of despair wash over her. She had always prided herself on her strength, her ability to handle anything that came her way, but this... this was something she had never prepared for.

With her slender hands clutching the collar of her shirt, Lily sobbed uncontrollably, her body shaking with each gasping breath. She felt violated, dirty, and utterly alone. The realization that her innocence had been brutally stolen from her hit her like a physical blow, leaving her reeling and desperate for some kind of comfort, some kind of solace.

Tying the sweater around her waist to cover her ultra-short skirt and conceal her embarrassing buttocks, Lily barely managed to return to her home in the small flat, or more precisely, her uncle's home. 

Each step was a struggle, a reminder of the pain and humiliation she had endured.

"Lily, you ran off to stake out last night. How did it go? Did you capture any mysterious creatures?" her uncle, Mark Anderson, asked as he bumped into her while carrying his briefcase out of the house. 

At forty-eight years old, he had a receding hairline and a beer belly, just like everyone else.

But oddly enough, he wasn't considered successful in his career. He ran a magazine company that always seemed to be on the verge of collapse, barely surviving.

Lily gave a bitter smile, the action feeling foreign and forced on her face. "No, I didn't."

She had originally captured an even bigger scoop, one that could have revived the entire magazine company, but unfortunately, now she had even lost herself in the process. The irony was not lost on her, and she felt a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

"If there's nothing, then forget it. I'm off to work." Her uncle patted her shoulder good-naturedly and walked out, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside his niece.

From inside the house, her aunt's shrill and harsh voice rang out, "This life is unbearable! Mark, other men are men, and so are you. Others drag their families and move to the city, living in bigger and bigger houses, while you, you good-for-nothing, have accomplished nothing and even brought back a burden to live with us for nine years!"

Lily Anderson was that burden.

Nine years ago, when she was just a seventh-grade student, her father's company declared bankruptcy, and he was thrown into prison. Her mother committed suicide by jumping off a building.

Overnight, she went from being a little princess with everyone revolving around her to a disaster that everyone avoided. The memories of that time flooded back to her, the pain and confusion she had felt as a young girl suddenly thrust into a world of uncertainty and loss.

She remembered the whispers, the pointing fingers, the looks of pity and disdain that followed her wherever she went. She remembered the emptiness, the loneliness, and the feeling of being utterly adrift in a sea of sorrow.

Fortunately, she still had an uncle who took her in and let her help out at the magazine company. It was a small comfort, but one she clung to desperately in those dark days.

Casually slamming the door to shut out her aunt's scolding, Lily took a shower. The water in her room was never particularly warm, always lukewarm, a fitting metaphor for the state of her life.

As she stood under the spray, she let the water wash over her, wishing it could cleanse her of the shame and trauma she had experienced. But no matter how hard she scrubbed, she couldn't erase the feeling of his hands on her, the memory of his breath hot against her skin.

In the mirror, several red bruises from being pinched could be seen on her snow-white skin, looking shocking and disturbing. The physical evidence of her assault was undeniable, a stark reminder of the violation she had suffered.

The man who had taken everything from her vividly returned to her mind, his face leering at her from the depths of her memory. She shuddered, feeling a wave of revulsion wash over her at the thought of him touching her, violating her in the most intimate way possible.